Chicken n' Box

 

Chickenpox.

Got it.

It's out there.  Somewhere.

Beware... 

 

I thought I would never get it. I thought it was an allergy. I thought I was Superwoman. I am locked in my tower and princesses bring me food. Flatmates. I look a bit like this: 

 

Spiders

 

I can see them in the imaginarium of my mind.

Their thin black legs spread out like a hand.
Sometimes thick, dark.
Impossibly long-legged. Sharp.
In old spaces. In melancholic rooms disused by time.
I see them sometimes. Outside.
On windows and porches.
I see them in gardens,
hanging on invisible bridges between plants.
I see them on palms of brave hands.
I see them one, two, three climbing
spiders in a song.
I see them too menacing for lullaby.

This Perfect Life - Take Two

My perfect life.

Take Two.
Brand new.
Same old. Same old.
Exciting. For a bit. There. Not anymore. No. Same old. Same shit.
My perfect life.
Today. Yesterday.
Imperfect in places, not new. Never new. Not now. Not anymore. Gone. Already. Gone.
Bye Bye.
So it goes. There is goes, imperfect. Human, life.
Human.
Imperfect always.
Claws, jawbone, bone cage full of hopes.
Empty windowsill.
Theatre place. Market place. Stupid pseudonym. Dance. A choir of ghosts. Papertowel. Just a mess.
All.
My perfect life. Take two.
Action…
And he sits and he sighs.
And distractedly she looks. In a mirror. A pigeon flies south. Not a duck, nor a goose this time.
He sits and he ponders. He makes a mess with a tiny spoon in a cup of coffee.
Stir stir stir. Make a mess. Stir. Stir.
Sugar not included. Batteries not included. Instructions not included. Truth not included.
Action.
This perfect life.
Ah, sighs a paper tree, a mess, a pigeon, a dance of geese flying south.
Cut.

Cut now.

 

 

My Perfect Life-

(For Eddy)

My perfect life.

Dreamt somewhere south.
Centre stage, left. Enters him.
My perfect life.
Imaginary encounters, train stations and posters on walls.
Imaginary cups of coffee, morning rituals, teeth brushing, three eggs on a pan.

Omelet.

My imaginary lie.
Ten thirty, shower time. Ten fifty four, pot of fruit, tv time.
He sits, he tries, he rests his head, he sighs.
My perfect life.
North Williamsburg of somewhere impossible.
Your nest. Your head. Against mine.
Your heart. Not here. Not awake. Now.
No, not now. Not yet.

Maybe. Now?

My perfect life. Was it?

Spanish lessons  before bed-time.
Orange juice. Berry. Elevator. Taxi ride. Theatre making. Love making. Not. Now.
My eccentric lie. Lies ahead. Behind.
Cold breeze, cold hand. Cold stare. At a glance.
Rule of thumb.
If it doesn’t happen. Now.

My imaginary. Perfect, misused life.

EL

 

Sus manos.

Su piel. Suave.
Como la de un niño.
Su mirada sobria,
descripciones de uno mismo pretendiéndolas en otro.
Sus cosas.
Sus modalidades. Conjunciones. Verbos.
Sus aves del paraíso
y veleros volátiles.
Sus abreviaciones.
Sus pies descalzos sobre madera.
Sus olores, todos.

Sus horarios y sus terminantemente prohibidos.

Sus vidas pasadas.
Gestos varios.
Palpitaciones desmedidas.
Varios pares de zapatos.
Anti religiosidades mutuas.
Contradicciones absolutas.
Hojas verdes. Pájaros cantando.
Luz de medio día. Soleado.
Claro oscuro. Tarde.
Júpiter seguro de sí mismo.
Luna llena. Grande.
Cielo despejado.
 

Manos. Manos suaves.

Piel. Segura de sí misma.
Júpiter cantando.
Sentimientos llenos. Grandes.
Contradicciones volátiles.
Desmenuzadas.
Miedos.
Su mirada, como la de un niño.
Sus verbos descalzos sobre madera,
sus palpitaciones de medio día.

 

Cielo despejado.

 

A Recipe for Literary Analysis. Period.

 

Possible Plays to Complicate in an Essay
(A comprehensive list):

 

 

 

-Nocturnal Animals by Juan Mayorga

-The Golden Dragon by Roland Schimmelpfennig

-Crave by Sarah Kane

-Something Shakespearean (why not)

-Anything by me (say whaaaat?)

 

An Essay to Make Any Play Complex
(A recipe step by step (or something))

 

 

 

Ingredients:

-2 grams of a play chosen at random.

 

-2 medium eggs

 

 

-3 spoons of topographic disclosure and morphological interpretation.

 

 

-A can of apprehensive behavior (In water)

 

 

-3 cups of Extra Meaning signifying nothing.
(Make sure they are found in places nobody would have thought of,
and/or borderline between the dramatic and the subtle.)

 

 

-Una taza de Form and Structure (go figure...)

 

 

-A slice of pie.

 

 

 

For the Topping:

 

 

-1 liter of Point of View
(peel and cut in thin slices)
(yes we know it is in liquid form, but use   some imagination - hombre!)

 

-Some Imagination (finely chopped)
 

-Seventy Five seconds of character psychoanalysis

 

-A can of fish

 

 

 

 

Preparation method:
 

Mix the hard ingredients hasta formar una pasta, or until it is brown- depending on the 'Point

of View'. This can be done creatively or merely as an attempt at academic thinking.

 

 

Puuuurr the wet ingredients into the mix (A punto de nieve) (Or not)

If by now you need a dictionary, start again from the beginning but in the opposite direction.

Have a slice of pie and breathe in.

Surely there is some hidden meaning or interpretation there. Look closely and add the fish. 

No, the author didn’t JUST have a stroke of creative flow, there MUST be a political motive,

psychological incoherence or formulaic mishap there somewhere. Milk it!

Add Form and Structure and whisk.

Whisk. Whisk. Whisk. Keep it up. Some more whisking.

 

Add some animals, if there are any in the play.

(Say... Parrots, for example)
 

Now mix this foamy batter with your apprehensive behavior et voila!

Place on a baking tray and bake for 45 minutes or until bored at 51 degrees,

32 minutes North Latitude. (If you’re in London)
 

Enjoy warm with a pot of ice cream- and digest (if you can).

Look at the piece from a distance and think for a moment if this is really what the author had

in mind. 

(We're sorry we couldn't include pictures of the finished mess due to publishing rights.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the eggs???

If you decide to go ahead with this recipe, trust us, you will need them.

 

Girls Who Read