Thursday, June 4, 2009

Scars, GPTC 09 Reading

This is a recording of my one-act play, "Scars," when it was read last week at the 2009 Great Plains Theatre Conference. Judy Hart directed it, and it featured Madeline Radcliff as the character SHE, and Judy Radcliff as Frankenstein. Unfortunately, I do not know who was reading stage directions. This recording also includes the feedback I received afterward, so, y'know. You may or may not interested in that.

MP3 Recording of the 5/09 Reading of Scars

In a sentence, this play is a 30-minute, two woman feminist deconstruction or re-imagining of Frankenstein. Before I had really figured that out, the synopsis I sent to the conference was:

"Scars takes the familiar story of Frankenstein and tilts it slightly, as a young woman ‘made from scratch’ recalls her time spent with her creator, the eccentric doctor Frankenstein. What appears to be a dreamlike, fanciful re-imagining quickly becomes a dark allegory for the parent-child relationship."

People were pretty damn effusive about my script, I was frankly shocked. If anything, it energized me with the realization that this is actually is a produce-able piece of theatre. I'd say this recording represents solid first draft, I learned a lot about what this script needs from this, I will return to it before the end of the year.

It has been suggested that in order to expand this piece into the proverbial "evening of theatre," I write a companion deconstruction of Dracula. This idea intriuges me. I will keep all two of you posted.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


[Been doing a lot of straight up poetry lately so I can have pieces to slam. Must do more prosaic/dramatic shit as well soon.]

in a throng of strangers
you pulse against each others
not unlike other nights.
tissue vibrate with the air and earth
As one solid square wave
beats it's palm into the dirt
the light rolls over you like a cement truck
it bounces off the grey smoke
misses the black skies above
and hits you in the mouth.

But tonight, as you watch
all the bodies next to you
glow sticky sweat white
their glass eyes roll back
into lolling, tossed heads
their veins throb in time
with the mob.
These tones, they disinter,
they splinter stop tear
off the thin cotton between you
and these writhing forms
repeat redux,
and the sea around you,
it rolls.

And there is no end to
this party.
You reach out for faces
and find only teeth, find a lot of flesh
but no orifice out.
stumble against walls
built of shoulder blades
and they don't look at you.
You turn, a girl,
she's too young to be here
she shifts and bends
she's an unpleasant memory.
a final sick beat hits her
and she

the mob, the bodies flinch like cats
hot pink viscous drops of her
spatter their chests and cheeks
she is pouring down your front.
You scream,
wring your hands,
the party surges.
Your feet are awash in this
it mixes and eddies,
and across the way
another human pustule goes.
one pop in a hot black electric
bubble wrap.

You push, pushed back.
You cry, pounded down.
Your head is light.
Your fluids boil,
It is a matter of time
measured in broken beats.