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Sunday, April 24, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Elizabeth Meriweather, Excerpt from The Mistakes Madeline Made

The Playwrigt Elizabeth Meriwether, 2007

The Mistakes Madeline Made


I wanted to know if you wanted to have a coffee with me—
I don't shower, Wilson.
Well. Turn on the water.
I can't, I can't just turn on the water. I don't shower.
Oh. Well, I'd like to see you. Um. If not for coffee maybe we could go swimming.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Young Jean Lee, Excerpt from Groundwork of the Metaphysic of Morals

The Playwright Young Jean Lee, 2007
copyright Peter Bellamy 2010


Everything is fairly clear and straightforward, like on a balcony in bare feet with the stone of the balcony against your face, shot in the back, fallen to the ground with an arrow sticking out of your head.

And I’m sorry to have been such a disappointment to you. I mean that sincerely. But I also feel kind of like, fuck you.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Mac Wellman, Excerpt from Antigone

The Playwright Mac Wellman, 2006

By Mac Wellman
Once senses the presence of an unknown god. Then another. Then another. We behold for the first time (once more) the curvature of the earth. Once more the Rock appears. Castle Rock. In the middle of air. High above us. The Rock opens. A brilliant geode, violet and luminous. Antigone is enshrined within. She looks almost like a goddess. Which one? No man can say. No man can say. No man can say. How many can stay. And I slipped out the back and I made myself very small and I slipped out the back way and when I awoke. I was in a different place, a thin place, as though it were the place of a compass focus.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Adam Szymkowicz, Excerpt from Food for Fish

The Playwright Adam Szymkowicz, 2009


Food For Fish

BOBBIE: This is the story of the boy. This is the story of the man the boy could have become. This is the story of the three sisters, Barbara, Alice and Sylvia. This is not the story of the gravedigger, who is the father of the three sisters, or of his wife, the poet, who died young. This is my story. When you have visions that beat at your brains while other people are talking. When you hear non-stop streams of screams. When synapses pop or won’t stop crackling, and when blood pumps, and the pounding don’t stop pounding. Then you look for an exit to start the ending or search sideways in vain to extract a distraction, but even then, what will curls of hair give to you, hips and breasts, lips sip out of you, in a moment, distract what abstraction pounds-pounds ’til you steal ... a kiss.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Will Eno, Excerpt from Thom Pain

The playwright Will Eno 2006

Excerpt from
THOM PAIN (based on nothing)
by Will Eno

What a mysterious scene. And somewhere in the same night another youth bleeds between her legs, staring out a window, wondering whom to tell, wondering what to tell them. What a mystery. The onset of the breeding years. Growth. The cancers are almost all in place. Nature laughs last, ladies and gentlemen, laughs hardest and best and last, deep into the night, at you. But, think of it all. What a paradise, as I have said. What a surprise to have a body.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Playwright Portrait, Brooke Berman, Excerpt from Until We Find Each Other

The Playwright Brooke Berman 2007


"Welcome, Ye of the Congregation of the Broken-hearted. Welcome, Motherless Children. Welcome, you who wrestle with angels. I used to wrestle with angels. But not anymore."