Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Dainty Cadaver Mad Libs-Style Blog Thing: Art Wallace

Last year, I had the pleasure of performing in Art Wallace’s play The Plowman’s Lunch, which as part of The Brick’s Tiny Theater Festival. At the end of 10 minutes of methatheatrical tomfoolery and exhaustive off-centeredness, there was this incredibly long (like a full minute) pause as the lights painfully faded, and every night it was nearly impossible (okay, entirely impossible) for me and my fellow performers not to completely break from the sheer, naked absurdity of it all. This breaking, was, in turn, an integral part of the full vision. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a brief treatise the uniquely left-field work of Art Wallace (who has also starred in many a production, including our own Craven Monkey and the Mountain of Fury). TEAM A!


If I could rewrite the ending to any book it would be Huckleberry Finn because it is too long.

No one’s gonna stop me from laying in my piss when Jesus comes.

When I first read the Dainty Cadaver scene that came before mine, my initial reaction was this is bullshit! I don't know what to do! Then, I thought this is really bullshit. Finally, I got it done at Hope and Jeff’s regifting party all wined up.

The song I listened to most/had in my head while writing my scene was Straight Outta Compton.

As Abraham Lincoln said, “The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget It Must be Butt Day Three.”

Before I had Piper McKenzie in my life, I was a hollow shell of a human being. Now my dreams depress me.

The superpower I would least want to have would probably be imitating Pauly Shore.

Out, out, brief candle! / Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, / That cloys / mewls / abates. It is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of bleak afternoon dust-motes / Signifying Cry of Anal Two.

The first play I ever wrote was Abe Blinkin. After that I went on to 7th grade.

If I were to finish this sentence it would be tantamount.

Writing for the Dainty Cadaver in this manner worked against my usual process by making me use a time limit and someone else’s ideas and then there were these other rules.

If I didn’t write plays or do things like Dainty Cadavers I’d probably be waiting to see how God kills me.

Lentils and boiled urine and time shift theories: that’s what little girls are made of.

I think the Internet does affect the ways we make theater in that it allows me to find all about David McCallum and boiled urine instantly.

The jumble of random nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs I would use to describe my Dainty Cadaver experience includes the following: chip in head making low thrumming sound shrieks white light abandon.

When walking down the Father Demo Square, Flozell Baines picked up a crayon along the small metal ledge slipping in and out of existence. It was, and was not, he had to possess it.

In the beginning God created itself.

I couldn’t live without torture, but the part of it I could live without is the horrible pain.

Have you ever noticed that opposites are always likedifferentwhile one of these things are always like “Not like the others?” What’s the deal?

Snabfllp nibminimmbinmtt falalaboocheray toddlesmick and with his Vorpal blade abbib simblantfermay pobbadooblemirph.

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