Dear Joan
A theatre foyer. Night. It is empty. The doors are locked. But if there were a woman there...
Archives
The Age of Duse
Duse’s superpower: her capacity to disappear, leaving only her plaster hands as evidence that she was a material presence in the world. Disappearance. Reproduction. She knew the theatrical drill.
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Couchscore : Gloss
when I close my eyes, this apartment is a faded light when I close my eyes, we begin to doubt
The Other Balcony per Genet
(a scene without distance)
We Balconies will continue to sing our endless songs, our revolutionary shouts and pings: “Other worlds are possible even in impossible times!”
S o n d e r / S t a s i s
We were making a circus show. On a bus. About a bus. Transforming a bus.
Redactions #9: A Fragile Thing
Imagine their devotion. Imagine what they heard.
Oroonoko, Called You, An Essay in Three Acts
I hope you will forgive my using you. This trip we have no compass, but our ship, driven by Providence or stress of weather, needs some constellation to point us home.
[UNTITLED] Water, Perspex, Soil, etc.
Can you see it? A huge expanse of water, crystal clear, a cliché. Dotted with little floating heads.
One-scene-one-person-one-song-musical
I’m a playwright by trade, and like Wainwrights and Shipwrights, in this modern world Playwrights are pretty useless. It is a dying art. Seriously disrupted.