Tag Archives: play

Bathroom Floors.

Joni – 18
Violet – 19
Ash – 20

Midnight. A bathroom in an old house. There is a door that divides Joni from Violet and Ash. On Violet and Ash’s side there is an old, tarnished chair and a small table with a lamp. On Joni’s side there is a large space with a small mirrored cabinet and a sink facing the audience, a toilet to the right and a large bathtub next to the toilet. Dotted around the stage are old, stacked TV sets that turn on an off at random times; they play black and white horror films, church videos, and various flashes from news stories, old and new. Violet and Ash aren’t able to see Joni and visa versa.

The scene opens with Joni storming into the bathroom and slamming the door before Violet and Ash catch up. Joni is breathing heavily, she locks the door. Violet bangs on the door. Continue reading

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The English

The English.

Kirk – Mid fourties, George’s wife.
George – Mid fourties, Kirk’s husband.
Ted – Late thirties, Kirk’s brother.
Bob – Late seventies, Maude’s brother.
Maude – Early eighties, Kirk and Ted’s mother.
Trisha – Teenager, Kirk and George’s daughter.
Aunty Polly – Mid thirties, George’s sister.
Gordon – Mid thirties, Polly’s drip boyfriend.

(Summer barbeque – everyone is outside either talking around the table, sun-bathing or smoking – all drinking) Continue reading

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1 in 3.

(Mid afternoon. Jane and Charlie are driving to a cottage near the beach for a romantic weekend together. They are sitting in chairs and there is a makeshift steering wheel, which Charlie is turning. A projected, black and white moving image of a country road plays over the top of Jane and Charlie while they’re talking, kind of like in old movies. They have been married for six years. Jane is pretty and neurotic while Charlie is handsome and stubborn. A light is shining down on them both, Jane is relaxing in the “sunlight” while Charlie drives and taps his thumb along to the “radio.” “Wouldn’t it be Nice” by the Beach Boys is playing.) Continue reading

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The Tip of the Tongue: An Uncomfortable Monologue.

I’m just like you, you know. I’m ordinary. I do ordinary things. You might have seen me take out my trash, buy milk, fill up my car. Ordinary things. I pass you everyday on the way to work. You might have seen me on the train, listening to my music. I like music. I listen to The Rolling Stones and I own every David Bowie album on vinyl. I used to have a vast stamp collection, but I’ve lost it now. I don’t like TV much – that might make me un-ordinary. I don’t like people coming into my home and screaming at me, telling me what I must like and what I have to have. I like my ordinary.

Part of my ordinary, is little girls and boys. I like them. I like their untouched skin, un-molestered by too much drink or sun. Their skin holds no crevices for wrinkles or spots. Their skin is a refreshing soft under the caresses of my rough hands. They are pure. I like their smallness: they are tiny and light, much like delicate jewels. They hold perfect, miniature feet, with miniature toes, that hold up the lean, tiny legs that stand them erect and straight. Their hair is the colour of honey on a summers day, or dark chocolate, or cherry pie. They taste pure. They laugh and cry without reserve, and frolic together in harmony. I often like to sit and watch them, but only from afar. If I get too close, I might frighten. I can only admire from a distance, keeping my passionate love and secret in the tightness of my trousers. Their bodies are precious, silken manifestations of God’s light and love. He made them for us to enjoy and love.

I only love them. The way that you love. I love just as you love.

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