Our Lady of Pain

Here’s a sneak-peek at a work-in-progress. I’ll be pre­sent­ing a staged read­ing of the full play (among other things) in mid-December, at the cul­mi­na­tion of my res­i­dency at The Depart­ment of Safety. Time to build excite­ment, y’alls! This is the begin­ning, which is always my favorite part of a play.

THE MEN from THE GIRLS

Every­thing is at war.

DELORES waits on stage.

She com­mands the silence, then sings.

DELORES

Good­night ladies.
Ladies good­night.
It’s time to say good­bye.
Byebye!

No, just kid­ding. Kid­ding.

She stalls.

Here’s a secret for you: I set the truth loose down there like a dog. Didn’t you know? Dogs know exactly what they want, with­out even thinking.

Sorry.

Seri­ously though, there’s a rumor that just won’t die. Some­thing like, less is more. Desire dis­ap­points. Please. As if we all aren’t sick with all the things we want. Believe me, no one’s a Spar­tan for eternity.

I don’t care what your psy­chol­o­gists say, you are not ruled by your desires. You are ruled by me. By my desires.

You’ve got choices. You know what they say. If you can’t make the sun stand still, make him run.

Just kid­ding!

Life is short. What do they say? Let’s roll all our mus­cle and all our charm into a ball of bait. Well, I para­phrase. But, my advice to you, humans: Roll all your mus­cle and charm up into a stink­ing ball of bait, and…

Oh! This. Did you know this? You can out­run any ani­mal on earth. Lope after him, keep on, and he’ll even­tu­ally drop dead. It’s true. Ani­mals can’t sweat like you–

THE HEARTACHES clam­ber on.

Jesus, I was about to give up.

Girls and boys, I give you The Fuck­ups. Excuse me, Heartaches.

They sing in har­mony and dance in sub­tle syn­chro­niza­tion, a la The Shangri Las.

DELORES and THE HEARTACHES

Ain’t hap­pi­ness a turn off? Ain’t bliss a bore?
Can’t we have a lit­tle fun any­more?
Bit­ter the rind and bit­ter the core.
Give me the mis­ery of yes­ter­day,
The heart­break of yore.

You’d be sad to see us go, we know,
When your trou­bles have only begun.
Tell me where is the fun
If the worst that can be has been done?

No more typ­i­cal ter­rors,
No nor­mal night­mares,
Or pre­dictably empty affairs.
I’ve put plenty of ath­letes in wheel­chairs—
Big deal, they can’t walk, no one cares.

You’re beset with regret, and sad­dled with debt,
But no one here’s had their bones crushed, I bet.
No, none of you have really,
Bru­tally and truly,
None of you have really suf­fered, yet.