So I am searching for a new project to do: I want to introuce myself to Scott--- but I don't think that counts as HW because I need to do that at some point-- IM PART OF THE GOOGLE GROUPS!!!!
I'm very happy about this.
So today for hw... I think i shall post my personal work rather than tempest work (until tomorrow when I ask for a new job!)
What i have been personally working on are series of conchertos for a full classical piano EP (with standard vocals: btw "My Funny Valentine" may apear to be an easy song but belting the high Eb is REALLY hard. only barbra can do it). So i'm not going to make your ears bleed with that.
However, I do need to decide on a few monolugues from my now finished play "DYKE": for a slot in the reading on February 11th and 25th.
I was thinking about using this:
XIV : PISSED OFF
(Barnes and Nobles Starbucks café: The café has a closed sign on the counter. It’s night outside. ESMIRANDA is sitting on the counter eating whipped cream from the can. BRYANT enters.)
ESMIRANDAWell… look who decided to show up—(looks at the invisible watch on her arm) Six hours late to his shift. You know: I handled it just fine: you’re job at the book check-out, and mine serving coffee to Neanderthals. And I did it just fine. Without you: the greedy little hipsters asking for their latte’s stat and pronto. The girl who wants to pay for her Teen Weekly Magazine in pennies. The over-worked interns pleading for a bigger carrier cup holder: oh, and especially the 3’o clock rush hour with the book signing that apparently, YOU were in charge of! I handled it just fine. Without you. I covered your ass big time. When the manager asked why you didn’t show up I told him you were sick and threw up in the stalls and went home. Said you couldn’t even open your mouth without projectile vomit shooting out of your wazoo: so that’s why you didn’t tell him you were leaving. So he said because we were such close friends: I could do your job. You owe me. I don’t want money… or an apology… I just want you to be here next time, instead of chasing after you’re little swans tail. (Beat.) I was going to go home and forget about everything: but you were my ride home.
BRYANT
Esme, I really sorry.
ESMIRANDA
I know you’re sorry. But I don’t think you know: that I just don’t care. (Hops off from the counter.) I thought you would have been here for me.
BRYANT
I’m here now. Come on, let me take you home.
ESMIRANDA
You don’t even hear me. I said you were my ride home. The only reason I stayed was because I wanted to tell you off. I knew you’d come, you left all your stuff in the back. I knew you’d come back and tell me how wrong I was about your little swan, so I stayed. Cuz I wanted to hear about your wonderful day—away from me. So go on… tell me all about it.
BRYANT
I… well IESMIRANDA
Shocking… for once you don’t have anything to say. (ESMIRANDA starts to leave.)
BRYANT
Esme, I can make it up to you: let me make this up to you…
ESMIRANDA
No, Bryant. This is getting to be like a Soap Opera: one of those crappy ones too. I’m not one of your pathetic romance novels. I’m not going to be that chubby best friend who never gets laid and helps the guy get the girl of his dreams: who never even noticed the fact that he existed before he got popular, or became a vampire or some shit like that. (Pause.) You doodled her name all over me. On the coffee cups, on the gum under the tables. I opened up my manuscript folder this afternoon to find her name doodled all over the pages. “Jessa”. I thought that you would have some more decency than that of a fly. You just swarm around me and vomit wherever you land. (Beat. Gets her coat.) But I’ll tell you one thing that’s true: I’m glad you’re happy. I’m just angry that you wasted my time. (ESMIRANDA leaves and BRYANT sits at nearby table and slams his head into it.)
my issue is that is is still MEGA melodrama. (kinda the vibe I'm gonig for though---) And I really fell in love with the last monolugues but they are too...you know: the climax.
XVIII: LOVE
(JESSA’s bedroom. The once romantic scene is ruined, the table overturned, the candles burnt to the wick. The rose petals scattered and crushed. LYDIA has Jessa’s red paint out. The room is split in half with the paint: right down the center of the room. She then begins to write WHORE on the side of JESSA’s bed. Once she is done, she goes to her side and starts writing another word. Enter JESSA, who is shocked at the horror. She tries to go to LYDIA.)
LYDIADon’t climb over to this side. This is my side. It’s mine. (beat.) I went to the museum today. I hate museums. Have I ever told you that? They’re so boring and bland, like a cracker fat guy sat down and said “People will pay lots of money to see shitty bowls of fruit, if I put it in a big gold frame. That’s what I’ll do”. (Beat.) I thought you were there, that’s why I went. But you weren’t. I mean, it’s always the last place you look right? But I stayed there for a while. I looked up at that show that’s there now. David, and the other named sex deities. It’s pornography if you ask me. Public pornography. Big cocks, hanging from the ceiling, and people pay twelve dollars to see it. Anything for the big boys. And out of all the statues there, there is only one woman. And all you have is her body. No head, no arms…just breasts and a torso. That’s all there really is to a woma
n, now a days. That’s all I have left of you. But she’s still considered a light of beauty. Radiance. But I studied her for an hour or so. And I figured it out. Why they don’t show her face. It’s not that the “sands of time erased the art”. There was no art in the first place. She had a face that men would sail across oceans to see; a face that started wars and made peace. It wasn’t a face of a beauty. It was the face of a beautiful liar. A face that only told lies like “I love you”. That’s the worst lie of them all. She had the face of a liar. She lied to herself too. Her posture, her poise…it’s the most masculine thing I’ve ever seen. You can tell it was created by a man. And she’s afraid too. I could see that. Afraid of the truth…She’s the goddess of the L word. The real L word. (beat.) You’re afraid to show your face around here. You have the face of a liar, and I can’t even look at it anymore. So don’t climb into bed next to me and share my air, and touch me if you can’t even look at me like your wife. Look at me like you look at the museum, and tell me that it doesn’t bother you that I’m not David. I’m not Bryant (LYDIA finishes her word it is DYKE)…I’m just a dyke.
JESSA
Don’t use that word…
LYDIA
Why? That’s the word your boyfriend used.
JESSA
He’s not my boyfriend.
LYDIA
Oh, so he’s just someone you fuck?!
JESSA
It didn’t mean anything.
LYDIA
If it didn’t mean anything, than why would you do it?
JESSA
I was drunk.
LYDIA
Well I was hurt. (Beat.) Do you know what today was? It wasn’t just our anniversary. Today was us. The day we stood in front of a judge and he asked you if you would take me to be your lawfully wedded wife. And asked if you could promise to love me and cherish me, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, and to be to mine in all things, a good and faithful partner, as long as we both shall walk upon this earth?
JESSA
It was an accident.
LYDIA
Cheating is not an accident. Falling off a bike is an accident- you don’t just slip and fall on a dick.
JESSA
Lydia, hear me out --- (Tries to go near her- but LYDIA pushes her down on the bed to a sitting position.)
LYDIA
No you listen to me: I loved you. I really did. I worshiped your feet and bathed in your spotlight. I followed you like a puppy and if you said fetch: I fetched. I made you my moon: but all you really did was keep me in the darkness. You lied to me because I was gullible, and you stole from me because you knew I was weak. Kicked my knees out: and now all that I can do is come crawling back to you like a snake. I called you wife, and you call me slave. I can’t carry the baggage anymore, I can’t carry the guilt you won’t fess up to. See this? This is feeling, these are tears: this is life. You’re not anything, but an angel holding a candle. Leading us nowhere, but deeper in the gaping hole in the ground! You don’t have wings, because you haven’t earned them. You were pushed from your cloud and you were supposed to land in hell but instead I caught you because I thought you could catch me too when I fell. I thought you were my someone… but I see that it was just a mask: and the true label should be branded on your forehead like a scar: slut.
so ya.... they both aren't very good on their ow: but they work well in the script! Anyway, now that that's over.... that's all i got---- so ya. Going over and editing, working on my novel (getting better at editing: then again, I'm also working with a professional editor so yay)
This is the end of the blog...i'm going to stop typing now.
thank you for your time-
Hayley
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