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mADELIN DE rUMBA BY aRTHUR mEISELMAN

Madelin de Rumba
by Arthur Meiselman

 

The driving sound of Latin music. Madelin appears, colorfully dressed, dancing with a male mannequin, a soft, floppy dummy dressed in a tuxedo without the bow tie. His feet are strapped to her feet. She holds "him" erect by the arms... among other places.

They dance, she and her dummy, in frantic movements, huge sweeps to the floor, dizzying spins across the stage. Suddenly she stops, shifting her shoulders, rolling her hips, staring at her partner. Then she snaps her head to the audience.

Madelin I am exotique... no? I am passionata... eh? I am a mujer without hair... I am desire with fire... I am woo-mahn... I am love... (hissing) I am sssex... (whispering) I am crazy... muy loca!

(She dances off with her "man". At one point, she grabs his ass and makes his body bolt into the air. At another point, she drapes "him" over a chair and kisses "him" roughly, bites "him" in the neck, spreads her legs and his, and rhythmically pumps "him" up and back. She stops abruptly, whirls around, plops in the chair letting go of the dummy's arms. He falls over in a backward arch, his feet still strapped to hers.)

(With no accent) Crazy... and tired. Olá, am I tired... of all the bullshit dripping from their faces. The two-faced looks... the two-faced talks... the this-is-the-way-I-am-today, and tomorrow-is-another-day. Oh yes... I'm tired, but not too tired to go on living, to go on dancing, to go on f...

(She jumps up, lifts the dummy erect, and dances off.)

You know, I got married once. He wasn't my first man and he sure wasn't my last. But I married him... tall, dark, handsome phoney-baloney who thought he was Orson Welles. No... that's not true. I thought he was Orson Welles. He thought he was god's gift to me.
What a straight up married life we had. And there was some love in it. Then he got bored and I got boring. He was a dreamer and I was a sleeper. He was a rat and I was a mouse. He was smart and I was dumb. And when I got smart, he got numb. Ha! I got a life and he got a wife. Man, was I good looking... can't you tell... real good looking. So what's a girl gonna do. Hey, what is a man anyway? A hunk of meat, a stick of skin and blood? Does he make the sun come up? Hell no! But he sure can make it go down.
Hey... how old do think I am? Pretty old? Older than you think? Yeah. The body wants to give up... wants to sag to the floor in a quiet mess. But not me. See... this is me inside. I'm in here kicking and juicing... I'm breathing hard and trying to breathe harder. And until this silly shell finally collapses, I'm a whirling, twirling, stomping, romping, kiss of a woman... a big, wet, kiss of a woman. Hey... want to know how to make time stand still? Keep moving!

(Sings)
Dancin', I'm dancin', my legs are in the air
Movin', I'm groovin', there's color in my hair
Isn't it exciting that I simply want your body dripping sweat
You're panting.
Isn't it exciting that you simply make my body very wet
I'm panting.
We're dancin', we're dancin', your balls are in the air
We're movin', we're groovin'... phew, your dust is in my hair.

(She stops and spits)

How old am I? I'm older than my father was when he died. Man, there was a man. A Latino man. Gorgeous, a Latin Lover. He had it, he knew it, they knew it... he couldn't keep his pants on. He took every woman that came his way. He gave them what they wanted and they gave him every drop of passion they could squeeze out of their tongues. He left them dry because he drank them up like they were banana daiquiris. He was a vampire, a banana daiquiri vampire who left each victim in a glass full of crushed ice, with a smile on her face and a maraschino cherry between her legs. He was gorgeous. My Latina mother didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. He married another woman, another Latina woman, but this time a gray-faced woman and gave her a daughter. So what did they do? They set themselves up like a firing squad. They just shot at him and shot at him until they filled him with so many holes you couldn't see him any more. Why? Why did he take that? This Latin lover, this hunk of filet mignon, this woman's man. Why? Got afraid... that's what did it. Couldn't take his eyes off the clock. Stopped moving. But not me! I'm his daughter but I'm a lot further along than he ever was. And the only hole in me is the hole of holies, the pit of purpose, the cave of candy, the mouth of mystery, this garden of liquid gold.

 

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Loving/Laid/Fucking
Three from Times In The Garden Of Eden
by Iri Kopal

Laid

The stage is black and bare. All the lights are focused on the center making a circle of light. As the scene plays out, the lights change color slowly, many colors, whatever you see. HE enters and stands at the edge of the circle of light. SHE enters and stands at the opposite side.

HE
I thought about you.

SHE
So did I – about you.

HE
I missed you all the time I was here.

SHE
And before that?

HE
I missed you more.

SHE
I can't stop thinking about you.

HE
It's bad, isn't it?

SHE
It's a good bad. It makes me hot and my skin gets wet. And I'm constantly rubbing my fingers together.

HE
Oh yes, my fingers and my lips and my legs.

SHE
What time is it?

HE
I don't know.

SHE
I don't care.

HE
Neither do I.

SHE
I don't know what to do.

HE
Neither do I.

SHE
I miss you, I want to stop missing you. I want to stop aching.

HE
So do I.

SHE steps into the center of the circle and removes her clothes. She keeps the clothes pressed against her covering the front of her body. HE steps in and does the same. They stand there looking at each other. The lights keep changing colors.

 

 ©2005 Iri Kopal

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The Wafer
by Arthur Meiselman

Cast: 2 Women, 5 Men
Setting: Same level, split-interior. Minimal set pieces,
multi-area lighting.
Performance Time: 65 Minutes
 

In the deception and distortion of today's politics, a band of Latin rebels is floundering in their attempt to overthrow a brutal regime. Though the suppressed population adores and supports the group, the rebellion is failing. Rebel leader, Juan Castia, is haunted by nightmares that underscore his doubt and lack of resolve. In a desperate attempt to spur the rebellion into a full-blown revolution, a decision is made: Castia will allow himself to be captured, to be given up to the authorities who will be forced to martyr him. The result will be a symbol... to enflame and lead the country to its freedom. With an eerie parallel to the Christ-story, Castia persuades his young "son" to instigate the betrayal to the police. It works! The execution of Castia launches a widespread uprising that brings down the regime. But betrayal breeds betrayal. The revolutionary government becomes a newly costumed version of the "pigs" they deposed. The final blow to the zeal and idealism comes in the revelation that Castia was never executed. He lives and he will remain a hidden prisoner for the rest of his life as his former comrades canonize him for the sake of the "people."
 

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