You were going to help me be who I am suppose to be
So why are you trying to now push me out of the very thing that will help me to feel that there are people in the world who love me because I can’t feel my feet on the ground and when you can’t do for yourself you look to others to do it for you
So the outside world becomes a place of validation and you are that outside world my place of validation and in this weird mode of therapy that in some way is suppose to help me find myself is really all fucked beyond fucked
We’re in a world ready to blow ourselves up in deception and denial and the future does not look bright we can’t deflect the bad behavior we need to tear down the walls to stand up or fall for anything I need influence and I need love I need sleep need food clothes and care. I need you to influence me. To love me back.
AND BE THE MOTHER I NEED YOU TO BE!
A thunder sound knocks the single light over YG to black out.
Lights up on a female identifying pitch person, dressed in skinny black jeans, with high heels, a tight black turtleneck and a hat adorned with pheasant feathers, carrying a whip.
NARRATOR
You’re here.
Each and every one of you.
Welcome.
For what you don’t know.
You’re here
Given the privilege of looking.
You’re here
Looking at the differences
Challenging the urge to judge
To dismiss.
The otherness what isn’t you
Or is it you?
And you just don’t wanna see it?
Tonight
This moment
Our journey
Together
The Other than what you think
Other than what you know
Other beings
Other expectations
O there. Are. Things. Yet. To.
Be seen.
Bodies are our soul.
A landscape.
A landscape we paint.
Do you like to paint?
Making choices?
Physical choices?
Perceptions, or urges…
What are your urges?
Bodies react
Between what is and what isn’t.
Choices
Perceptions
Binary
Or other
Pushes us to dig deep.
Or deep comes to the surface.
Fantasies or fact.
Little kids love to dress up
And I love the costumes you all wore here tonight.
We put ourselves on the stage.
Dressed bodies
In staged rooms
Rooms telling a story
Each room a story…
Will we turn away?
You paid your ticket.
You want to be entertained.
So come inside our journey through story telling rooms.
Why don’t you like me? I’m…I’m sorry. It..it just seems like…I want us to be friends. You’re so confident — and I..I know I can…I…I…I just want us to share this movie together. I have a friend — Eileen. Or Ellen. Anyway. She’s a PA. On Grind Down, and she tells me how the industry is and what to expect and stuff…and I kinda hoped we can be friends like that…sharing stuff…like she showed me this video a grip guy took during a closed set. Seriously, this actress…totally flippin. Like full throttle breakdown. Zero to 100 screaming how the director’s a jerk While he’s throwing shit everywhere she just walked off. You see this? It’s on the in-ter-net. Damn, can’t remember her name. Eileen thought she’d quit, but she came back with some dude trailing her. God, what’s her name? Ohhhh…it’s on the tip of my tip of my (tongue). “R” something. Ar – r Arianna! Aww so cool.
Anyways…I was hoping we could like be friends, and share stuff like that.
A parent trapeze – a man and a woman – that tried to make a perfect world from imperfect outcomes – a paradox of wits
I am of —
A name – regal power of womanhood – formed from ancient spirits – inherited force and determination – with bow and arrow, a quiver and knife – Artemis searching fields and forests for an entourage
I am of —
Skin and bones – accepting and rejecting – always learning – striving to live with humility in contrast to selfishness needing to be understood
I am of —
Conscious thought – ideas engaged in nurturing brainpower – images and words creating silent narratives – sputtering synapses – memories caught in déjà vu like moments
I am of —
The human condition – OZ –witches and prophecy – wisdom trees – giving wells – deep riches difficult to hold steady – arrogance that seeks recognition but never prosperity
I am of —
An earth absorbed by commerce and speculation – seeing auras of hope that are often blinded by the deep intentions of others to do harm
I am of —
This city home – with family and friends – art and theater – one step – two step – dancing along cement paths – floating islands – screaming silences looking for shade from harsh environs – eavesdropping on conversations
I am of —
Plays and poems – representation of half true stories – spinning narratives – or messaging call to actions – like taromancy signaling a journey in one’s divinity of choices –
I am of —
A workplace – filling pockets with change – giving purpose to sacrificed time – to do more with less – discovering a wavering hope – measured by successes – giving reason to move forward – financing security so the landlord doesn’t foreclose the door
I am of –
My age – withering in an older something – skins shedding – changing colors while a heart beats for truth – legacy – a lasting portrait in dharma – to celebrate the passing.
EARLE: Listen. I’m not what you think I should be to you. I’m a user. Resentful. Angry and never satisfied. I’m unfaithful. I was unfaithful and that’s why I’m alone. Not because of anything I wanted my life to be. I’m here because I can’t be where I want to be.
Pause.
EARLE: No matter how much you feel you can handle the situation. I’ll always look for the exit.
LOURDES smiles.
LOURDES: Of course you will.
EARLE: The only way I can take something from you is if you let me.
LOURDES: And I let you. Because I wanted you.
Pause.
EARLE: Don’t be stupid. Play your cards better.
EARLE starts to move toward the door.
LOURDES: We need to finish this.
EARLE: What do yo think we can give each other?
LOURDES: This is a two way street. It didn’t just happen because I willed it to happen. You wanted something out of this.
EARLE: I got what I wanted.
Pause
LOURDES: I’ve never been able to understand your infatuation with Instagram. Perhaps that’s where it all is in terms of the deterioration of relationships, right? All stuck in a blip.
EARLE: . . .
LOURDES: Shallow games. Self worth tied to the “likes.” All Emojis and manipulations targeting for acknowledgement.
EARLE: You don’t post.
LOURDES: You noticed?
Pause.
LOURDES: Texts. Insta-posts.
EARLE: Where are you going with this?
LOURDES: Blips don’t replace real connections. One can’t compete. I..I found myself going deep into their portal to find the truth about people. It became a distorted truth I’d think into my circle of want. Because in this brave new world, that’s the way we resort to find our place. This technology, held tight in our grip, begins to believe that people’s posts are their intuitive truths, their true first thoughts. But they’re masks?
EARLE: They’re curated.
LOURDES: I found myself spending hours, scrolling posts, trying to find some understanding. Something you’d reveal so I’d know what you thought. If you’d thought about me. I posted for your to see me. Then, I had the brilliant idea of writing you a text. Participate on your level sorta speak. Hoping there would be a cascade of conversation that would spark more, and more, and then open into something more meaningful.
EARLE: Curated conversations.
LOURDES: But you didn’t play. So I swore it off. Had no interest communicating that way. Too much misunderstanding or avoidance. But there is something that kept calling me back. Our moments together lifted me. Made me feel I was doing something right.
EARLE: I’m flattered but I’ve nothing worth giving.
LOURDES: Maybe you never stopped long enough to take notice.
I paid the man and he took my money without blinking an eye…and now I’m down all that stuff and can’t make it out to pay the rent. He stole from me my means to an end…I have no way out…no way to keep things close…to allow things to happen…no way to keep it goin strong. When I replay over and over that moment…over in my head…I get so mad I wanna hurt some one…wanna hurt myself…you know what I mean? Do you see what I’m telling you?
This ain’t no Ken and Barbie shit this is real…real life poverty knocking me out of the game…and I’m running…running on soul and the ice…is its real thin…like it don’t matter anymore if I’m dead or alive. You get what I’m telling you?
Across the road, in a small gathering place, elementary children sat, in woods conjuring, fantastic worlds, beyond knowing.
While sitting on logs, heroes pretended, with protecting swords, saving the weak.
One morning, a kindergarten girl, stole in the gathering place, imagining pretended fire, occupied logs, in a summit of conversations.
Realizing her solitude, imagining hands reached, the sky dissolving in-between treetops: a confluence of man and nature.
A broken thought interrupted: Why is it so hard to tell the truth?
Trees answered, understanding, beyond a single moment, representing all moments, as witnesses of harm: nothingness is easier.
Senseless harms, let houses burn, skies smoking war, or oceans disintegrate.
The winds howl, shook branches, pointing to bystanders, with closed eyes, shielding fear, then, returning to circles, around fires, killing all things, outside the circle.
In the clearing across the road, in the small gathering place, children sit in woods, conjuring fantastic worlds beyond knowing.
Sitting on logs around a pretended fire, planning futures, pretend swords, protect damsels in distress: heroes saving the endangered and weak.
Do you like my ribbon? It has a story in it. A bittersweet chronicle. A marine’s moment . . . cherishing life . . . protected by the man’s unselfish act. Life’s more important than self-interest.
The place I rest is with the living. . . but it mostly means people have died.
Can you see my colors clearly? Their symbolism? Red for valor – I know it usually means blood, but I hate it when people say that red is a violent symbol – blood’s a natural element – part of the human condition . . . for me it represents beauty in powerful and courageous acts. Extraordinary heroism against an armed enemy force. When people get all up into it’s political meaning . . . they steal its true value.
My white . . . faith and purity . . . always a favorite . . . but I question whether anything can really be that pure. I suppose giving a life for a life is a kinda pure love. The ultimate selflessness.
But then people take the blue and use that as a means to an end . . . using it as some political tool to defend a political view debunks my value. Blue lives . . . black lives . . . brown or yellow lives representing lived lives . . . yes . . . things endured . . . but all that steels my ribbon’s reminder of the courage and valor that I represent, and symbolize…a saved life.
My cross, held by these ribbons, represents that act of protecting against an enemy of life. Protecting against those in our global community that live to hate and hate to love all equal. Resting on this chest of bravery and determination is my greatest honor. This person protects us from hateful actors.
I represent what’s best in a person because this man . . . or woman . . . without thought took action. A selfless headstrong action into danger.
It saddens me when people throw us away. Or stomp on us as if trying to blot out the actions of madmen. Saving a life in wartime is not a symbol of hate.
My ribbon is not political. It represents sacrifice. Honoring a moment of selflessness. A son . . . lost . . . a daughter . . . lost. The defense of a greater good.
The Experimental Writings of Diane Davis 