As of about 10pm (west coast time) last night, I have officially finished a full draft of The May Play. I celebrated by going out to the edge of the sea, in the fog…and jumping up and down. Hooray!
Everything is written out longhand in my really cheap notebook. I’m typing it up and doing some edits before I share the whole thing…stay tuned.
Stern: Oh my god, I like you so much! I like you so much, I think I’m in love with you, I think I want to live in your heart and die in your lap and go camping in your butthole!
Young: I have it!
{The Young one points skyward.}
Voiceover: Uh…
Young: Eureka! Not hopeless. Not helpless. Not bound by convention or tradition. I have it!
Voiceover: The answer?
Young: I know what I must do. Yes, I am fearful, for it is fearsome, but conquer these fears I must, for all our sakes. For the very first time, and perhaps for the last, I must go.
Voiceover: Go?
Young: I must go…up! Up, up, up, through secret tunnels long forgotten, if they were ever known. Long disused, if they were ever used. Full of cobwebs, if they are even fit for spiders to dwell in. I must go up…to the surface…of the Earth.
Voiceover: Oh, holy shit.
{OMG FOOD FIGHT! They throw things at each other, rub things on each other, feed themselves and each other. One goes face-down into a pie, licks it off his or her lips, then slams the rest of the pie into someone else’s face. One slurps a spoonful of soup, then dumps the rest of the bowl on his or her head, as another one approaches to try and grab handfuls of the dripping mess and eat it. It’s totally gross.}
{Have the Magistrate bring in a fake plastic turkey.
A box of Cheerios.
An elaborate aspic with toy trucks floating in it.
A sack of dried beans.
A bunch of fresh grapes in a glass dome.
A bunch of plastic grapes on a paper plate.
An unopened can of Campbell’s tomato soup.
A sushi platter in the shape of a heart.
A wedding cake.
A wedding cake that is bright red.
A rubber chicken on a kabob.
Three rubber chickens on a kabob.
A pyramid of stacked Ho-Hos that the Magistrate carefully sprinkles crushed Triscuits over before throwing both the pyramid and the box of Triscuits into the pile with everything else.
A luscious, ripe pineapple that you can smell from the audience.
A can of spray cheese.
Salt and pepper shakers.
Everything you have.
Stuff you’d never want.
Stuff that isn’t food, but that the Magistrate squeezes ketchup onto and adds to the pile.
Etc.
The Magistrate should bring each item in with great care, suddenly stop, recklessly or carelessly toss the foodstuff onto the pile, and exit nonchalantly.}
“Maybe next lifetime kid, when we’re all living on the moon and stuff.”
Young: Animals. Beyonce Knowles. Chicks in black jeans. Denise Cabrillo, this girl who was sort of my friend, who I’ve lost touch with. Estuaries. F is for…French dressing, the kind of salad dressing. G is for…goobers, those peanut-in-chocolate-coating candies you can get at the movies. Hats with no brims. INXS, the band with the singer who died of auto-erotic asphyxiation. Jumping rope. Kids named Arthur. Lime wedges in Corona beer. Melatonin pills. New cars. Olympic gymnasts from Russia. Peyote. Questions on the phone. Rutabaga. Sex with minors. Trucks, both the real ones that people drive and the toy ones that little boys have. Urban planning. Venison. Wimbledon, both the town and the tennis championship. Xylophones. Youthful indiscretions. Zappa, Frank. This is a partial list of things that other people care about, and love. But as for me…I just love you.
{The Sexy one drops the pose and springs to life.}
Sexy: You sing a secret song on the bus. It is quiet and reckless and you don’t need no iPod, and darling, no snoring hobo stinking next to you can drown it out. You know a secret tune. Even while you are asleep. You whisper it in your snoring, in your talking and sneezing, and then you hear it echoed in the dialtone of a phone, in the honking of a taxicab horn, in the snipping scissors of your barber, in the trickle of water when you wash your hands in a restaurant bathroom.
{The Magistrate is at the podium or on the platform. The Sexy one the Stern one and the Young one stand in distinct symmetry and order, perhaps arranged by height. They hold a special carpet, which is rolled up. It is one color, a bright color, a strong color. It is what someone stands on when giving a presentation.}
Magistrate: Today, you each present. Of course, these are just your first findings, so there is time to improve from here. That said, if today does not go well, you are probably in big trouble.
Stern, Sexy, and Young: We know.
Magistrate: Like, real big trouble.
Stern, Sexy, and Young: Yes, we know!
Magistrate: For all our sakes, let us hope this is not going to be an uphill battle.
Stern, Sexy, and Young: Yeah, totally.
{They unroll the carpet with great, almost military precision.}
(stay tuned)
when i’m wondering how to do a scene in this play, i think about what would happen if these three videos had a baby.
1.
2.
3.
I can’t embed this one, but it’s worth clicking the link to get there.