The Optimist/ Jason Chimonides/ Declan
I am obsessed. It’s startling, isn’t it? I mean, look out there. Every one of those tragic bipeds, indeed, each and every one of us, Noel is the result of a single tussled gooey act of sex. What if you could see it? Through some sort of crazy telekinetic, portal thing? What if you could see in like, this searing flash, the fuck from whence they came? Like this fat Asian guy,- “reverse cowgirl”?… or that crumpled granny woman over there, with the Medicaid sunglasses on: a melancholic missionary position. Certainly not, “upright doggy”…”suspended Congress” maybe? I wonder what it was like when we were conceived. Probably Mom was on top. I wouldn’t doubt it. I bet she was a hellcat in her day. I hope we were conceived in like a sweaty, febrile, primate kinda way. Not in the sort of lovey dovey Sunday afternoon kinda way. I hope it was like: teeth gnashing, feet folding, tangled sheets kinda sex.
"I ate the divorce papers"
Monologue is from play “Goodbye Charles” by Gabriel Davis
I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good…goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.
I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not a crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.
Continue reading on Gabriel’s website, Monologue Genie!
Venus in Fur/ David Ives/ Vanda
Knock knock knock! Am I too late? I’m too late, right? Fuck. Fuck! God, I’m so sorry, I am so, so, sorry. I got caught like way uptown and my cell went out. Then my fucking heel get’s stuck in one of those sewer- cover- thing whatevers. Then there’s this guy from the train, I don’t even want to tell you about him, rubbing up against my ass the whole trip. Then it starts to pour. I get soaked through to the fucking skin. Fuck. Fuck! I’m ok. Just my usual luck is all. Thank you. God, once again! Hi! I’m sorry. Vanda Jordan. See what I mean? I’ve even got her name! How many girls in this town are called Vanda? Actually I’m Wanda but my parents call me Vanda. Anyway, I’m like perfect for the part and the fucking train gets stuck in a tunnel while this guys trying to penetrate me. Talk about fate. And you are Thomas Novacheck. God, I love your plays! I mean the ones I know. Anatomy of Shadows? Like Wow, Anatomy of Shadows was amazing! I saw it twice! […] Right, right. I mean you know, the other one. Anyway. God this is embarrassing. This play sure is amazing. I mean the parts of it I read. Pretty wild stuff.
Fat Men in Skirts/ Nicky Silver/ Popo Martin
I am Popo Martin. My friends call me Popo martin. Dr. Nester says I am a paranoid skitzophrenic. I think I have Marnie’s disease. You know, like Tippi Hedren in that movie. When I see red, I see red! I mean, I have an episode. Although sometimes it happends when I don’t see red. And sometimes I see red and it dosen’t happen. I am the most popular girl in the hospital. I get lots of visitors! I was a cheerleader. I’d do a cheer for you now, but I don’t have my pompoms. All my teachers love me. The girls on the squad come to visit me every sunday. The principal sent me a get well note and the boys autographed a football. You can ask anyone in school about me, and they’d all say the same thing. Popo Martin is always cheerful. Popo Martin is a natural leader. Popo Martin looks on the bright side. Popo Martin has a smile on her lips and a kind word for a saddend stranger. Which is propobly why everyone was so surprised when it happend. I tried to kill myself! I took thirty-five sleeping pills out of my mothers purse. I didn’t want to smile anymore. My jaw hurts. And whistling gives me a headache. I want, more than anything to wallow in a hopeless depression - but it just goes against my grain. So I tried to kill myself. That’s why I’m here.
Scab/ Sheila Callaghan/ Anima
This is the ocean, Susan. She’s vast, isn’t she? The yellow afternoon hanging low above her is her father. He dreamed of her once filled with jewels, emeralds, and sapphires, and diamonds, and she stayed that way. She winks and twinkles for a million miles. You’ve probably dreamed of her as well. Remember the ache you felt in your stem, the small half-pains, the yawning itch…it was her voice riding your dream tides. Stretch to her Susan. Let each new leaf uncurl, one by one life fingers in a fist and let your palms be tickled by her green breath. See. That’s it. Stretch.
Scab/ Sheila Callaghan/ Alan
I am thirty two, nine years older than you. I have penetrated nineteen women, not including you, with my average sized penis. I played the viola all through college and abit professionally before graduate school, I floss my teeth to NPR twice a day, each night I use lotion from a little blue jar to keep me from getting wrinkly, I have an austere set of political beliefs, I am a vegan, I read the Los Angeles Times spread across my carpet every morning, I shop at Trader Joe’s for all my groceries and I use only raw unprocessed honey in my tea.You eat rare meat, you listen to top forty radio, you never read the paper, you drink Bud Ice and you’ve only slept with two men, one of whom was gay. What on God’s good earth ever made you think it would work between us?
In the Next Room, Or, The Vibrator Play/ Sarah Ruhl/ Mrs. Givings
Do you want more children, Elizabeth? That is a tactless question, you don’t need to answer, forgive me, sometimes I say whatever is in my head. I want more children and my husband desperately wants more children but I am afraid of another birth, aren’t you? When I gave birth I remember so clearly, the moment her head was coming out of my body, I though: Why would any rational creature do this twice, knowing what I know now? And then she came out and clambered right onto my breast and tried to eat me, she was so hungry, so hungry it terrified me - her hunger. And I thought: Is that the first emotion? Hunger? And not hunger for food but anting to eat other people? Specifically one’s mother? And then I thought - Isn’t it strange , isn’t it strange about Jesus? That is to say, about Jesus being a man? For it is women who are eaten- who turn their bodies into food- I gave up my blood- there was so much blood- and I gave up my body- but I couldn’t feed her, I couldn’t turn my body into food, and she was so hungry. I suppose that makes me an inferior kind of women and a very inferior kind of Jesus.
In the Next Room, or, The Vibrator Play/ Mrs. Daldry/ Sarah Ruhl
The house where I grew up my mother would wash the curtains every week, she beat them with a stick, and there were no ghosts in them. There was a beautiful view of a grape arbor and when the curtains were cleaned you could see right through to the grapes, you could almost watch them growing, they get so plump in autumn. My mother would make loads of jam - my mother was not a nervous or excitable woman. It was jam, it was laughing, and it was long walks out of doors. We haven’t a grape arbor here - I am full of digressions these days Dr. Givings - but the point is I haven’t the strength to wash the curtains each week and beat the ghosts out of them. You think I am talking like a madwomen but if you see the curtains you would see that I am really very logical. They’re horrible.
I’m currently organizing my library
and because I have nearly nothing to do this summer I’ll upload it and you can choose what plays I’ll read for monologues next. In essence, you’re controlling the monologues.
Blood Wedding/ Federico Garcia Lorca/ Bride
I’ve come so she can kill me and they can take me with the others. My flesh is still warm and it shouldn’t be. Not your hands though- go get some wire or a sickle. It has to be hard so the inside of me snaps. It’s meaningless but I want you to know I’m virgin. You can put me in the soil knowing that. I left with another man. That’s what I did. Maybe you would have too. I was sick! I’d been too close to the fire. I was sick from that time. I thought your boy, your son, my husbandI chose for myself, would help. Cool me. Be my balm. He was perfect. A glass of clean , clear water. Who might bring children, land, health and I wanted him. But Leonardo screamed out to me and now I think he always would. He set a thousand birds off to stop me on my way. He bubbled like a river across the plain. Full of weeds and trees and dark tuneless songs. I didn’t want him! I didn’t choose him! I wanted yours. I wanted your son. He was my future, my end, believe me! I was dragged by Leonardo, a wave, a nature I couldn’t hold off. I would always have heard his moan in that dark filthy river. I think I hated him. I couldn’t keep away! If all the babies of your son’s sons were hanging off my balding hair, I would go to him, that’s the truth. I’d always have left.