Class #5 : Creating Community Specific Text
Adapting Federico Garcia Lorca's Blood Wedding Exercise (led by Peter Howard):
Ching-In Chen's adaptation:
(The stagelight disappears behind the curtains at Jacques. A trans-woman who is the host of this Asian dragnight performance enters, completely covered in flimsy, dark green garments. She is barefoot. Her face can barely be seen under the folds of cloth. This character does not appear on the cast list.)
$1 miso door prize. Rubber gloves. Audience member's phone number. Floss My lighter. Diet pills. Dollar bills. Stage prop brownies. I am so tired! Where the hell did they get to!?! The show is almost done. Where's the goddamn light, Jacques! The light?
D'Lo's adaptation:
New Moon Blood
(A Half Woman/Half Man person enters stage as lights go down on a masculine figure preparing hyself for the work day. S/he is menstruating red petals.)
That moment in moonlight is gone.
He lives now in the dark where I once tried to in the light.
Green, I will prevent him from being
Or else, prevent the moon from shining.
Should’ve been a blue moon myself.
Taking the souls of my duality-driven children, and spanking them over my knee.
Crack whips and bind mouths to finally enjoy the silence that has bound us before.
Fuck the moon who dare shine hys life...
Let hym bind in the dark.
Leyla Eraslan's Writing Exercise to Create Original Text (led by Michael Garces)
I’m Susan Parker—I was named after my great grandmother. It’s a heck of a name, isn’t it? I mean, of all the names to preserve and pass down, why Susan? I’m partial to my middle name, Marilyn. My mother’s favorite film was Some Like It Hot. A lady never reveals her age, so I’m 32. I live just over on Park Lane—I know, Parker on Park Lane—serendipitous, ain’t it? It’s a lovely little house. There’s a great space for my garden—you should just see the size of my tomatoes! Oh, most of them rot on the vine—sad, isn’t it? I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite most nights, and I don’t know who to give them to. Hmmm. Well, anyway, my cat Tiger and I live at 23 park Lane. It’s a quiet life, I’m a secretary over at the travel agency in town, so most days I just go in, read a magazine or brochure about Peru—Parrru—I can’t roll my R’s—wish I could. I come on home, feed Tiger, work on the garden—poor tomatoes—and then I hit the hay. . . I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. . . I could never think of leaving. Besides, I bet it would be hot in Peru. . . I got this fun little haircut recently—I thought it might, I don’t know, add a little excitement to my life. The mailman said it was nice but I’m not sure most people noticed. . . . Say, would you like some lemonade?
