Category: Confessions

  • The Dalingridge Horror – a play by Alysse Aallyn

    (In the Conservatory at Dalingridge Hall)

    VIRGINIA
    Go away, Leonard. I can’t bear to hear you lie to me.

    LEONARD
    I’m not lying when I say I want you to get well more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.

    VIRGINIA
    Don’t bother making me feel guilty, I already know I’m wasting your life. If only I weren’t so stupid a Mandrill, so unworthy of her poor, virtuous outsider Mongoose who is so thin, who trembles so much and who tries so hard. You have headaches too, you suffer from recurring malaria. Why should you toil so that I can be idle? I know these doctors’ bills are crushing us. Nessa sold the silver, I sold the jewelry, Thoby sold the Thackeray letters. What’s left, Leonard? Will you scheme with them to isolate me until there’s nothing left?

    LEONARD
    I can earn money writing. I’ve proved that. You can earn money writing, you’ve proved that. But to get back in the fight we must be hardy and strong.

    VIRGINIA
    I should never have married you. What kind of a wife can I ever be? Save yourself, Leonard. It’s too late for me. Let the wind blow, let the poppy seed itself, let the carnation mate with the cabbage. Let the swallow build her nest in the drawing room where the thistle thrusts between the tiles. Let all civilization be like broken china tangled over with blackberries and grass.

    LEONARD
    That you demand so much of existence, still fighting as you sit among George’s flowers, shows you’re feeling better. What we must do is keep up the strengthening. A few more days, Virginia.

    VIRGINIA
    But how can I return to you? There’s the undisputed fact of my sexual cowardice. Perhaps it’s really nothing but my terror of real life that keeps me in this nunnery. I tried telling my parents but they didn’t want to hear. Parents have forgotten their own childhood. Or they don’t want to remember.

    LEONARD
    What did you try to tell them? You can say anything to me.

    VIRGINIA
    I saw the spirits of evil as soon as I could speak, but because I was a girl child I was not supposed to know. Each child hugs its vice, brooding over the swollen vein, the bruised flesh that was white and sweet but yesterday.

    LEONARD
    I told my parents that life is unquestionably vile and humanity’s nothing but an ant heap. Parents never want to hear that.

    VIRGINIA
    That’s what I love about you, Leonard. You at least will speak the truth. Sometimes.

    LEONARD
    It’s a fallacy to think that children are happy. They’re not. I never suffered so much as when I was a child. Children never forget injustice. But here is the heart of it, Virginia. What we write depends upon what we think. What “spirits of evil” did you see?

    VIRGINIA
    Going to practice Dr. Head’s talking cure on me, are you? Is that the plan? I could make up a dozen stories – I see a dozen pictures. But when I open my mouth I am locked up and shut away. What is my true story? Something lies deeply buried. Shall I grasp it or let it mortify in the depths of my mind? I want to describe the world seen without a self. But I am afraid that there is no future. There are no words.

    LEONARD
    There are words, and there is a future we shall make. Tell me. Tell me everything.

    VIRGINIA
    When I was young, I dug furiously to uncover myself. When I discovered that I was me and not anyone else it seemed a wonderful achievement. Once I sat beside my stepsister Stella on roots as hard as skeletons, and the next day she was a skeleton. It’s strange how the dead leap out on us at street corners or in dreams. Don’t you remember that morning at breakfast when I saw my mother? You said she wasn’t there.

    LEONARD
    I saw nothing.

    VIRGINIA
    Cambridge educated everything but your eyes. What is the hope of talking to you? That was the morning was when I first became aware of the enemies who change but are always present; the forces we must fight even though we suffer terribly becoming separate bodies. Don’t you recognize the enemy advancing against us, pawing at his pavement? It is death. Death is the enemy.

    LEONARD
    Marriage is the opposing force against death. A marriage of true minds can fight all enemies. Once upon a time we shared our thoughts, and fell in love. I needed someone who could hold her own, and there you were. You are the only wife I ever wanted, the only woman I have ever loved. Please, Virginia, I want you to come back to me.

    VIRGINIA

    (dazzled)

    Oh to be a wife, to be wanted, would be so complete! Is it possible, Leonard, after the terrors, the disgusting dangers we have seen?

    LEONARD
    If it isn’t I don’t want to live either.

    (She holds out a hand to him. They clutch hands briefly)

    VIRGINIA
    Sit down, Leonard. You look silly on your knees.

    (She looks away. LEONARD sits)

    VIRGINIA
    I used to make the family laugh. They thought me clever. But when I chased the evil spirits through a hole in the escallonia hedge, I resolved to tell the exact truth and write down the phenomena I’d seen. But no one believed me, and at that moment the laughter turned against me. I said, must not we find some way to get outside ourselves, to give our brains a wider scope? My parents declared God was dead and the world empty and meaningless. Father said to be weak is to be wretched. He said that Society is a ravenous appetite, and Nature is a state of war. You’ve laughed at me behind my back, I know you have. You, my own husband, want to get rid of me, to lock me up forever and steal my money.

    LEONARD
    I love you, Virginia. Maybe it’s a bad thing to love you as much as I do – it cuts me off from the outside world. But the outside world is worthless and your world is so rich. When I went away to school for the first time I was shocked and appalled by the horrifying corruption of dirty-minded schoolboys. It marked me. Then I realized all of humanity are mean, nasty, untruthful, cowardly, and cruel. Perhaps I’ve been searching for a world that doesn’t exist.

    VIRGINIA
    Perhaps we both have.

    LEONARD
    If you will care for your health – if you will allow me to care for your health – you’ll recover. As you’ve recovered before.

    VIRGINIA
    Nessa won’t rest till I’m brought low. When she was ill with typhoid Savage wanted to put her in a home but I backed her up! I told Savage I would care for her. Now look at what she’s done to me. You betrayed our secret, telling Nessa I’m a frigid failure as a wife. She told Clive and now everyone knows. They’re all laughing, jeering. plotting behind my back. You were sent to Ceylon to break the natives and now you’ve been sent to break me. I have been derided, insulted, sacrificed and betrayed, by all of you.

    LEONARD
    Virginia, I am on your side. My eyes were opened in Ceylon. I was an anti-imperialist wallowing in the fleshpots of imperialism. But I changed. Now I support the independence movement with all my heart. All problems can be solved by science and logic, Virginia. It was I who was a failure as a husband. It was my marital duty to arouse you but you seemed so afraid of me. At my wit’s end, I asked your older sister for help.

    VIRGINIA
    Does she offer lessons in humiliation? She knows how better than anyone. Is it my fault that I hate my legs being pried apart? I should never have married you, but I couldn’t bear to remain a spinster. I was struggling at everything, and you seemed so different. You said you liked women. You said you admired women’s minds.

    LEONARD
    It’s true. Women feel more deeply, think more deeply, talk more deeply.

    VIRGINIA
    Yet men demand obedience. You want me to obey you but I never will. You know nothing about me. Did you know that before I tried to die I read a book? Would you like to know which one?

    LEONARD
    Which book did you read?

    VIRGINIA
    It was your book. Your book that I read.

    LEONARD
    My book?

    VIRGINIA
    Your book about me.

    LEONARD
    (a gratified author, in spite of everything)

    You read The Wise Virgins? What did you think?

    VIRGINIA
    So you admit it’s about me!

    LEONARD
    Virginia, please. I’d love to discuss my book with you.

    (She hesitates, turning away her face, then facing him with rage)

    VIRGINIA
    

    You locked me away so I’d never find out!

    LEONARD
    You were ordered rest cures long before you met me! I don’t believe in guilt or blame. Honestly, I wanted you to read my book as soon as you were well.

    VIRGINIA
    I won’t be stamped and stereotyped. You have publicly lampooned me as a frozen, dowdy, fussy, futile woman.

    LEONARD
    Not true at all. I called you my Aspasia.

    VIRGINIA
    “Cold and snowy, like the rocks.” You said.

    LEONARD
    I’m a bad writer. I agree. I’ve got nothing of your genius. I can never explain what I really want to say. If it’s any comfort to you no one else likes or understands it either. Sales are awful. All I was attempting to do was contrast the world of a poor Jew from Putney with the rarified aristocratic Olympus for which he yearns.

    VIRGINIA
    You hold my world in contempt because you can never be a gentleman.

    LEONARD
    Virginia, you hold “your world” in contempt.

    VIRGINIA
    And then the hero marries the other girl. The stupid, cow-eyed one! It’s a betrayal.

    LEONARD
    It’s just a bad novel, I’ll give you that. Don’t laugh at me. Not everyone is born with your gifts. Consider my perspective. Any rational mind must inevitably face disillusion and depression. I tried to show how poor Harry just couldn’t escape his past. He couldn’t but I think we can. I probably shouldn’t have published it but Arnold was willing and I couldn’t bear to waste all that work and all that suffering.

    VIRGINIA
    What can you, a prizewinning Apostle from Cambridge, an imperialist potentate of a subject country, possibly know of real suffering?

    LEONARD
    Virginia, I’m a Jew from Putney. All my life I’ve been spat upon. Job is the only book of the Bible I ever understood. Who ridiculed who first? I trained myself to avoid personal feeling. Admit you despised me. Your set. You made me into a joke.

    VIRGINIA
    My set despises everyone. That’s what we do. It’s self-defense, from growing up amongst the most monumental hypocrites.

    LEONARD
    You despised me personally. Be honest. You hated kissing me. You could barely bring yourself to marry me.

    VIRGINIA
    But I did it, didn’t I!

    LEONARD
    You wanted to shock them. You were competing with Nessa to see who could be most scandalous.

    VIRGINIA
    I wouldn’t dare compete with Nessa. Competition is a male thing. It’s a brutal, endless game. I think all competition should be abolished.

    LEONARD
    But it’s all you ever do! Your flirtation with her husband –

    VIRGINIA
    (cringes visibly)

    Oh God, not that. Somehow that memory turns a knife in me more than anything. How it catches at me, the fangs of that old pain. I know I lost Vanessa forever. She will never forgive me. I simply couldn’t comprehend why she married such a strange, intolerable creature with his twitching pink skin and a jerky laugh. Before Clive, Nessa and I drifted together on a sea of seducing half-brothers,
    hiding together beneath the dining room table. We spoke a special animal language.

    LEONARD
    But you were no longer children. Vanessa waited till twenty-eight to marry.

    VIRGINIA
    Who would willingly grow up? I never wanted to. As soon as you’re pushed out of the nursery, the happy moments vanish. Vanessa was the bowl of golden water that brims but never overflows. I lie prostrate at her shrine and still she won’t forgive me. When she brought home friends from the Slade they laughed at me behind the door. You can’t think what it feels like, having one’s self so thoroughly extinguished.

    LEONARD
    I do know it. That was my exact experience at both St. Paul’s and Cambridge. St. Paul’s was a disgusting brothel, but at Trinity I met G. E. Moore. He taught me how to ask the important questions.

    VIRGINIA
    

    And what are the important questions?

    LEONARD
    The most important question is why. Why can’t Vanessa forgive a mere flirtation? She must know by now that Clive sets out to bed every woman he meets. You at least resisted him.

    VIRGINIA
    But I did wrong. Clive and I made common cause against my sister, his own wife. Some things should be sacred.

    LEONARD
    

    Wasn’t it true that he respected your intellectual work more than he could ever appreciate Vanessa’s daubs?

    VIRGINIA
    Leonard! How can you!

    LEONARD
    

    If it’s the truth, shouldn’t we say so?

    VIRGINIA
    

    I tried speaking the truth, yet here I am locked up among the imbeciles. And weren’t we just arguing whether all imbeciles should be killed?

    LEONARD
    You’re hardly “locked up with the imbeciles” at Dalingridge Hall!

    VIRGINIA
    You’re wrong. In this castle beats the very heart of idiocy and evil. Aren’t you the one who said the most dangerous imbeciles are running the nation? Here I am at home among the hunters, where the miner sweats and dies and maiden faith is rudely strumpeted.

    LEONARD
    But you used to love George! He told me you’d make an adorable wife.

    VIRGINIA
    Perhaps I’ve been given too much time to think. Get a sense of proportion, the doctors keep telling me. So now I stare for the first time into the very mouth of doom. Look your last on all things lovely.

    LEONARD
    Virginia, if you don’t want to be called crazy, you really must explain yourself. Whatever do you mean?

    VIRGINIA
    George behaved little better than a brute. He never let me alone for a moment. That he was the pet of duchesses hardly excuses him. And yet it was Gerald who broke my hymen, when I was six years old. It’s a painful process. and now I freeze like ice. Give up on me, Leonard, there’s no awakening the dead. I’m ruined by incest, I’ve even desired my own sister. I’m locked up because I stew in murder, just as Laura did. I long to slice Gerald’s fat, transparent flesh, to take a rifle and shoot George directly in his smug, piggy face. Or could I bag him with a net and killing bottle? And why shouldn’t I turn on my tormentors? I suffered, I was helpless, why should I be the one forced to writhe with shame? I longed to be petted but instead was trapped in a cage with lions as sulky and angry as they were ferocious. I’m just a little monkey and little monkeys are too easily squashed and trampled. It’s too late for me, Leonard. My body is spoiled forever by George and Gerald.

    LEONARD
    (shocked)

    George? Gerald? These are pillars of society, your own half-brothers! It’s so unbelievable.

    VIRGINIA
    George drowned us in kisses, me and Vanessa. Each kiss was an amputation. I used to sign my work, “One of the Drowned.” Oh, those horrible parties! The oppressive gatherings of Stephenses ground one to a pulp. Because I wanted to discuss Plato I was told I had no conversation. George was so angry! After I removed my ball gown and stripped off my gloves and stockings, he would come into my room and lock the door.

    LEONARD
    But how can any of this be true? How could nobody have noticed it?

    VIRGINIA
    Everyone did notice it. People contrive to bend it to the conventional heroic shape because he kept insisting on the purity of his love. I saw him kissing Countess Carnarvon behind a pillar at the opera! And now she’s his mother-in-law. I asked to join the British Sex Society, dedicated to the study of parent/child incest, but they wouldn’t let me in. Now that you know, you’ll have to spit in George’s face at the club.

    LEONARD
    We don’t belong to the same clubs.

    VIRGINIA
    Then when you thank him for this execrable house, challenge him to a duel. Will he at least feel some regret? Will he take the pigeon gun and blast himself instead? Then the aristocracy will hate me because it’s all my fault. Yet is it not a noble work, letting light in upon the evil Duckworths? Probably he’ll feel nothing. Possibly some vague imbalance.

    LEONARD
    Let’s try to be objective, Virginia.

    VIRGINIA
    If only I could! What a luxury that would be! How I hunger for the objectivity of beloved Macaulay or the stern analysis of cherished Carlyle. Lockhart’s ten volume Life of Scott was the best present I ever received. Reading relieves all my pain, but they won’t let me read anything here. In spite of them I’m continuing to learn. Only life itself matters, nothing but life – and the process of discovery, the everlasting perpetual process, and not the thing itself at all.

    LEONARD
    

    Virginia, I am speechless.

    VIRGINIA
    

    Now you know how it feels. I used to think it would be enough to have someone share my loneliness. But if no one believes me, the solitude is total. The Duckworths are guilty of nameless atrocities, and you’re complicit. You locked me away here, so I couldn’t speak. As soon as I open my mouth they try to destroy me. It’s a conspiracy of hush.

    LEONARD
    If this is something you’ve only just remembered how can it possibly be true? It sounds mad.

    VIRGINIA
    I don’t think memory is always at the forefront, Leonard. There’s only so much a human being can bear. Memory comes and goes. One requires tools to think with, to make sense of one’s experience, and these tools are alternately dull and sharp.

    LEONARD
    Well, there are some things no one wants to think about.

    VIRGINIA
    It’s clearer in my mind than the bad, stodgy meal I was force-fed yesterday. Our summer place at St. Ives, in the dining room; I must have been six years old. Eighteen-year-old Gerald lifted me up to a high ledge and explored my private parts. I fought and I struggled but I couldn’t get away. I could see his face in the dining room mirror. It was the face of a demon. I’ve seen that face since, on the drooling men who expose themselves in the park. Now I no longer look in mirrors. I can’t cross a puddle. The depth looks back at me, concealing malicious, hairy arms to reach out and grab. I can’t go forward, I am stuck in the loop of the six, no power even to lift my legs.

    LEONARD
    The loop of the six? I don’t understand.

    VIRGINIA
    

    I was learning numbers. Six was my number. But I couldn’t close the loop.

    LEONARD
    

    This was Gerald you say? But Gerald is your publisher!

    VIRGINIA
    I know! If I am not a madwoman, then the world itself is mad. What was I to do? I wrote a book and my incestuous brother was a publisher! Who else would even look at my work? When I delivered my manuscript to Gerald I was in such acute despair – so near the precipice!

    LEONARD
    Did you tell anyone?

    VIRGINIA
    I told Nessa and she told Dr. Savage. Who is an idiot, as you well know.

    LEONARD
    I can’t believe it. Gerald seems so – so – well, ordinary. So completely controlled.

    VIRGINIA
    Get out of here! I’m sorry I told you. I wish I was dead!

    (She is tearing at her own throat – he rushes forward to hold her hands down, lifting her body out of the chair)

    The use of force is all you know!

    LEONARD
    Virginia, I love you.

    (He kisses her neck, she becomes a dead weight. He lowers her carefully into the chair, arranges a blanket on her knees)

    VIRGINIA
    When you touch me, I feel nothing. My body goes dead. That’s how I froze when George came into my room, night after night.

    LEONARD
    Oh, Beloved!

    VIRGINIA
    Don’t. He called me that. I don’t want to be loved, I want to be believed.

  • Queen of Swords – the end of the Tarot play by Alysse Aallyn

    SCENE 7


    (Lights up on Hamptons cottage, as before. WHITNEY assaults the door.)


    WHITNEY
    Charmayne!! Charmayne!!


    (Her stepmother opens the door. Slower, less confident; accusatory)


    CHARMAYNE
    You’ve been avoiding me, Whitney. Why haven’t you returned my calls? I thought we were besties.


    WHITNEY
    I wanted to bring you something.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Haughty, but momentarily excited in spite of herself)


    And what could you possibly give the woman who has everything?


    WHITNEY
    Just this.


    (Tenders a bullet)


    CHARMAYNE
    Ooooo, scary! And what’s this supposed to represent?


    WHITNEY
    It’s a bullet, Charmayne. It matches the bullets in your gun, the bullets all over this beach and the bullets in your stepfather.


    CHARMAYNE
    My stepfather!


    WHITNEY
    Yup. I’ve been to visit his grave.


    CHARMAYNE
    Well, thank you for this –


    (Mockingly, as she throws it out to sea)


    I was never was two-faced as you, Whitney. My stepfather – who’s in hell, as you very well know from the personal, confidential disclosures that I made to you during a Girls Night Out – doesn’t have a grave. Anyway, nobody cares about that old stuff anymore.


    WHITNEY
    There’s no statute of limitations on murder.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Tries to grab her)


    Statute! Limitations! Whit, do you need cash to go to law school?

    WHITNEY
    (Evading her neatly)


    It’s time to answer for what you’ve done.


    (CHARMAYNE walks past her towards the ocean – crossed arms, thinking)


    CHARMAYNE
    Your father wouldn’t want this.


    WHITNEY
    I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it for me.


    CHARMAYNE
    This feels so odd. It’s not what I expected, at all. You never fail to surprise me, Whitney. Your enmity is so flattering. I feel… courted.


    (Turns around to face WHITNEY, back in control)


    So you think you know everything about me now?


    WHITNEY
    I know all I need to know. For example, that you’re wondering right now whether it’s worth your while to get rid of me. Whether I have a partner in my researches who knows everything I’m doing. And the answer is yes.


    CHARMAYNE
    I was not wondering how to get rid of you, Whitney! As if! I couldn’t get rid of you if I tried. You’re one of the Immortals.

    WHITNEY
    Am I supposed to know what that is?


    CHARMAYNE
    We Immortals have been here since time immemorial. We recognize each other. We are transformable, but essentially indestructible.


    WHITNEY
    Wow, that’s so comforting. Lucky for us! And now it’s time for my second gift. I’m going to tell your fortune. 



    (Sits at the patio set table and starts shuffling cards)


    CHARMAYNE
    (Approaching nervously, interested in spite of herself)


    You can’t tell my fortune.


    WHITNEY
    I’m the only one who can.


    CHARMAYNE
    But that’s not my deck. So you can’t use it.


    WHITNEY
    No. It’s my deck. You have to play the cards the goddess deals, right? Sit down. First, I’ll tell you your past.


    (Produces a card – Hermit leaps up on the screen. Cards seemingly tremble, shimmer in the air)
    Recognize him?


    (CHARMAYNE sits down)


    CHARMAYNE
    It’s the Hermit.


    WHITNEY
    There he is, with his broom and his light. Don’t you recognize him?


    CHARMAYNE
    That’s a staff.


    WHITNEY
    It’s a broom. It’s holding him up more than he’s holding it up. I saw him. I spoke to him. Mr. Butterbatch.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Sounds delighted)


    Old Butterbatch! Is HE still ticking! I can scarcely believe it – he was a hundred when I knew him.
    How is the old geezer?


    WHITNEY
    Fine and dandy. I must say he remembers you very well, Destiny. He told me all about how the police have been longing to find the source of the female DNA all over the frog gigger they found sticking out of Burt’s throat. You must have cut yourself! Imagine that! Probably just a little nick. How would you even have noticed it, when there was so much blood?


    CHARMAYNE
    Burt was vile, Whitney. Vile. Anyone would have done it. He needed to be put down.


    WHITNEY
    Maybe, Charmayne. Who can judge? O, right, this guy! Justice!


    (Tarot card leaps up to screen and trembles in the air)


    CHARMAYNE
    Justice is female, Whitney. But I have faith in you. You’ll figure it out.


    WHITNEY
    Must be where the phrase “stings like a bitch” comes from. And see that box she’s sitting on? That’s the box they’re going to put you in.


    CHARMAYNE
    No one’s putting me in a box. Never.


    WHITNEY
    Oh, they’re going to put you in a box, Charmayne. They’re going to put you in a series of boxes, like some kind of dangerous Matrushka doll. That’s three separate states you’ve unleashed mayhem in and they’re all going to want a crack at you.
    And who’s this? The Lovers!


    (Tarot card onscreen)


    There’s your girlfriend, Charmayne Carr. You must have known the cards would turn on you someday, Charmayne. Why don’t you just tell her family where you stashed that body? The prosecutor’s going to get it out of you, one way or another. After a few weeks of instant mashed potato mix, egg substitute, baloney and wonderbread you’ll tell them anything they want to know.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Mocking)
    Shows what you know! I wonder if your much-vaunted “classical education” isn’t a pair of distortion goggles after all. Dr Carr’s family rejected her and she never gave a damn for any of them! She was free of all that. And for your information, the Lovers was never was her card. She was the Empress.


    WHITNEY
    You said you weren’t two-faced like me, Charmayne. But you were careful, weren’t you? Did you give her the honor of confronting her the way I’m confronting you now or did wait until her back was turned?


    CHARMAYNE
    She gave me her life! She was longing for me to absorb her! It was her free choice, one I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I was an Immortal! She recognized it and she yielded.


    WHITNEY
    Sure, sure. That’s what always happens. The fish throws himself into the boat to save you from spearing it. Tell yourself anything that lets you sleep at night. Oh, wait, you can’t sleep, can you? It’s starting to show on your face.


    (CHARMAYNE stands up and turns away, touching her face)


    CHARMAYNE
    That was just mean, Whitney. That was uncalled for.


    (WHITNEY produces another Tarot card – it leaps to the screen and shimmers in the air)
    Who’s this? An Emperor with the long white beard! Who can that be, I wonder!


    CHARMAYNE
    (Turned away from the card, forces herself to sit down, put her feet up and make a show of relaxing)


    Let me guess. A certain cardiac surgeon of our acquaintance?


    WHITNEY
    Thoracic.


    CHARMAYNE
    Thoracic surgeon. Now we get within sight of your real problem, Whitney, the real fountain of your rage. Your father was such a charming man, even in extreme old age. The Lady of Life met the Lord of Death: it was just the way he wanted it, it had to happen. He was so touchingly eager to enrich me, to pass along his acquisitions. You’re just jealous because he found a new pupil.


    WHITNEY
    You thanked him by killing him!


    CHARMAYNE
    I did reward him, Whitney. Your father was suffering. He begged me to put him out of his misery. Would you like me to summon him from the grave so you can ask him? You’ll see I’m right! I think from the first moment our eyes met in the job interview he knew I was the only one who could get the job done exactly the way he wanted. He begged me for that extra dose of morphine. Having a body became a torment to him. He could no longer enjoy anything.


    WHITNEY
    As your body will torment you, while you rot away in jail. But at least somebody will get to enjoy it – whatever bullies or “Immortals” you’re lucky – or unlucky enough to run into. They’ll pass you around like a pizza.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Snatches her feet off the table)
    I’m not going to jail, silly Whitney! Not ever! I served my time!


    WHITNEY
    (Pulling herself forcibly together she produces another card – Judgment on screen – hugely vibrating )


    Sorry, Pearleen – or whoever you are this week – childhood doesn’t count. Now here’s a lady you’ve never met. She showed me your stepfather’s grave.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Labored change of tactics)


    I like this new you, Whitney. So forceful, so ablaze.


    (Pretends to shiver)


    It’s so sexy. Pity it’s all wasted, that you’ve been so misled. Judgment is not the card you’ve been looking for all your life.


    (Picks it up and sends it spinning – onscreen card – which she avoids looking at – seems to swell)


    WHITNEY
    But this is the one card we have in common. The lady who tends your stepfather’s grave – saving it for the investigators – she brandished a trumpet and everything. Looks like the goddess has given up on you, Charmayne.


    CHARMAYNE
    Nice try, but my stepfather doesn’t have a grave. He didn’t deserve one.

    WHITNEY
    Yeah, he does, and I took a picture of it. See?


    (Shows her phone)


    The Hidden Glade developers found him when they paved over Dead Lake and they treated him to a nice box of his very own. There he is, just waiting for someone to find a match to those bullets.


    (She pulls a bullet from a chain around her neck)


    This bullet, for example. I chose it from the many bullets you’ve sprayed around this beach. You’ll never find them all.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Crossed arms)
    I never transitioned anyone that didn’t want it or deserve it.


    WHITNEY
    Transition! Now there’s a word! But the law doesn’t respect your private language, you know. They have a language all their own. You killed Charmayne Carr to steal her identity. You killed my father to get rich. You killed the night manager to steal his stash. You killed your stepfather to steal his wheels and run away.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Firing up immediately)


    None of that is true and you of all people –


    WHITNEY
    That’s what they’ll say. I’m just trying to prepare you. That’s what prosecutors always say, based on what they can prove. It’s worst case scenario right at the beginning, Pearleen, so prepare yourself. I’m sure your oh-so-expensive defense attorney will explain to them about your “Immortals” theory. That’ll sound good to the jury. Or maybe he’ll just give up and plead insanity. Possibly you should represent yourself in court – after you’ve had all that plastic surgery you’ve been thinking about.


    CHARMAYNE
    I ‘m not bothering with the law, Whitney. Don’t you see that the law’s a charade? A puppet dance for marionettes? I was greedy for life, Whitney. For ecstasy, for joy. For experiences and possessions, so I took them. I’m not ashamed. I’ve had everything I ever wanted.


    WHITNEY
    Then isn’t it time?


    CHARMAYNE
    For what?


    WHITNEY
    To give up.


    CHARMAYNE
    I’ll never give up!


    WHITNEY
    (Produces a final card)


    Because here’s your future. The Hanged Man. He sees the world upside down. And it’s the last thing he sees.


    (Card onscreen)

    CHARMAYNE
    You’re young, Whitney. Nothing wrong with that! You know nothing about the real world, by which I mean the invisible world that pulses beneath the visible. Your father kept you from it with that “classical education”. You need to take your time figuring out who – and what you really are. I could help you. We could share all this.


    WHITNEY
    No.


    (Throws a card at her – Death appears onscreen)


    Death, Charmayne. That’s your future. Your future is Death.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Upends the table, scattering everything – rises from her chair)


    I can’t die. It won’t happen. Didn’t I explain it to you? Listen, Whitney. We make our own reality. You’re my mirror.


    WHITNEY
    I’m your parabolic mirror, sent to fry you to a crisp.


    CHARMAYNE
    Don’t say it like that. What if I admit you’ve won? Here, take the dagger. Now you’re the new Queen of Swords.


    WHITNEY
    Someone told me never to “settle”.

    CHARMAYNE
    (Kneeling beside her)


    It’s breaking my heart that I can’t explain this to you.


    WHITNEY
    Don’t kid yourself, Destiny. A heart was one of the encumbrances you left behind.


    CHARMAYNE
    Is this what love feels like? I’m not used to wanting things I can’t have.


    WHITNEY
    You just tried to convince me you’re immortal, you’ll never talk me into thinking you’re human!


    CHARMAYNE
    It’s so strange! You feel about me the way I thought about them. Murder kills feeling. And if you can’t feel, you can’t enjoy. If you can’t enjoy, you might as well be dead.


    WHITNEY
    I guess there’s a limit to everything, and you’ve reached yours.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Turns to face the audience)


    Maybe it is my time to find out my next stage. I’ve always wondered who I really am. Your father called me a “living doll,” Burt said I was cold as ice, the Empress named me “the marble-hearted”. My step-dad said I wasn’t a little girl, I was a cockroach like him.


    (Touches WHITNEY)


    Help me.


    WHITNEY
    I’m helping you to see that it’s the end. You’ve had a good run, but it’s over.


    CHARMAYNE
    You don’t even know what you’re rejecting! Let me show you what you’re missing –


    (Tries to embrace WHITNEY who pushes her away)


    WHITNEY
    (Roughly)


    You’re not my type.


    CHARMAYNE
    Isn’t there anything I can give you to change your mind? Think, Whitney. Aren’t I the only person in the universe who really understands you? Sees you for what you are?


    WHITNEY
    Actually, you aren’t. But there is something you can give me.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Such relief)


    What? Anything! Name it.


    WHITNEY
    I want you to prove your immortality.


    (Points out to the audience)


    Swim out there. Keep swimming. And don’t come back.


    CHARMAYNE
    Are you sure that’s what you really want?


    WHITNEY
    (Gesturing)


    Challenge your Goddess to a swimming match. Be my guest. Bye-bye.


    CHARMAYNE
    A swim? That’s all you want? When I am willing to share everything? All the secrets?


    WHITNEY
    A swim to eternity. That’s all that I want.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Brittle laugh)


    You can see me naked any time, Whitney. No need to go through all this.


    WHITNEY
    Just swim. I don’t care how.


    CHARMAYNE
    But it’s freezing!


    WHITNEY
    You swim here every night.

    CHARMAYNE
    But the weather’s changed. It’s gone dark and cold. Still, they say beyond the water lies a place where all waters part. I could re-invent myself.


    (Looking out)


    So once again I’m the initiate, am I? It’s funny how things come around.


    (Comes closer peering way, way out beyond the audience’s eyes.)


    I wonder what’s out there. A little tequila before I go? For old time’s sake?


    WHITNEY
    You’ve had all the tequila. Go.


    (WHITNEY’S implacable so CHARMAYNE starts undressing.)


    CHARMAYNE
    Look at my beautiful body, Whit. Won’t it be a shame to waste it?


    WHITNEY
    Stop begging and save your strength.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Insulted)


    Begging? Is that what you think I’m doing?


    (To herself)


    The Empress told me that to find your dominant was heaven. I see it now. You’re the goddess who can never be denied.


    (Bows at her feet – WHITNEY steps away in agitation)


    WHITNEY
    Stuff it. Soft soap won’t work on me. I’ve never had it and I don’t want it. Your goddess is out there. Go find her.


    CHARMAYNE
    (Kicking her clothes away)


    This is all so different from what I imagined. I’m so different. It’s the ultimate surprise.


    WHITNEY
    You may have more surprises waiting just around the corner.


    CHARMAYNE
    I can feel myself getting younger. Like a child, begging for that one last story before lights out! Who knew after all this time that sacrifice – that giving up my strength would prove to be the missing fountain of youth! Will the Goddess reveal herself to me unveiled? Whose face will she wear, I wonder?


    (Shivers)


    WHITNEY
    You knew this was coming! You had to know!


    CHARMAYNE
    I thought if my past ever caught up to me I’d…be destroyed. Disemboweled like the Hanging Man. Poison. The asp. Who knew it would feel so sweet? Relief.


    WHITNEY
    (Somewhat shaken)


    More cons.


    CHARMAYNE
    What relief to concentrate on the physical challenge ahead. Oh, the blessing of the physical!


    (Steps into the “water”, clutching her arms.)


    There was always another freedom, right around the corner. What new thing comes next? Freedom’s the lover I pursued all my life, and still she evades me. There’s always a greater freedom… somewhere.


    (Steps down into the audience. Swimming)


    Suddenly I feel so shy. It’s like being thirteen again. If my stepfather had never existed, who would I have become?


    WHITNEY
    (Coming down to the water to watch)


    Maybe you’ll find out.


    CHARMAYNE
    The Empress recommended surrender. She said it felt so good! They all told me…or tried to tell me. Who could predict that Death would come to me as a beautiful young woman?


    (Breaststroke)


    Is this right? Am I doing it right?


    (WHITNEY gestures “farther out”. CHARMAYNE blows her a kiss.)


    Goodbye, my nemesis.


    (Faces outwards.)


    Hello, Virginity!


    (Swims away through the audience. Exit.)


    (WHITNEY drops her “Judgment” pose, leaps to her feet, paces up and down the beach, peering out to sea. Increasingly anxious. Enter EIGHT to stand behind her and put his arms around her. She shakes him loose. Pacing.)


    EIGHT
    Is she gone?


    WHITNEY

    I’ll never know!
    I thought it was all an act! I never thought it would work! She can’t be gone if I don’t feel she’s gone, can she? I’m so scared she injected herself inside me, like a brainworm!
    Am I a murderer now, too?


    (Calls loudly)


    Wait, wait! I’ve changed my mind! Come back! Let’s talk!


    (EIGHT tries to calm her, she collapses into bitter weeping.)


    EIGHT
    You’re acting like you lost your best friend. Don’t forget she was your bitterest enemy. She was the world’s enemy.


    WHITNEY
    You confused her with your demon, but she was my demon.


    (Shaking her head)


    No, no. It was over too fast. What did I say? I blurted out a bunch of lies, just like she did. I had to turn myself into her in order to catch her! What if I can’t change back? I did everything wrong.


    EIGHT
    (Hugs her)


    Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re decompressing. You were in an impossible situation. It worked! You did everything right.


    WHITNEY
    But I miss her. Now I have nothing. No offense, but now I have nobody.


    EIGHT
    No offense taken. You’re just feeling the emptiness where the anger used to be. Let it melt away. Of course it’s going to hurt. There’s a whole wide world out there and it needs you. The universe is full of treasure.


    WHITNEY
    Didn’t I tell you I hate it when you talk about treasure?


    EIGHT
    No. Sorry. Maybe I need a new expression.


    WHITNEY
    I need a lot of new expressions. New words. I need a whole new language.


    EIGHT
    It’s out there, Whitney. When you can’t manage forgiveness, just let go.

    WHITNEY
    That’s what she said! It’s myself I can’t forgive.


    EIGHT
    It takes awhile. You’ll figure it out. It’s like being born all over again. I have faith in you.


    WHITNEY
    She said that too!


    EIGHT
    She doesn’t own ideas, Whitney. She doesn’t own emotions, or the past, or even the future. She used those things as camouflage for her greed. For her appetites. Come. Walk with me.


    WHITNEY
    No. No. I can’t leave. She might come back. You’re just trying to re-make me in your image.


    EIGHT
    Absolutely not. The thing I like most about you is, you’re not me. Take your time, Whitney. This is your chance to be you. You’re telling your own fortune, now.


    WHITNEY
    (Looking out over the ocean)


    If I’m telling my own fortune I might as well give myself a really good one. Do you think she’s really gone?


    EIGHT
    She’s less than nothing now. Hold my hand.


    (Touching her)


    You’re cold. Don’t you want to go inside?


    WHITNEY
    No. I have to stay right here. For awhile.


    (Sits down.)


    In case she comes back. She might come back. Will you wait with me? At least till dark? Or till I get used to missing her? There were so many things I forgot to say.


    EIGHT
    Rehearse them. Tell them all to me. I’m here.


    (Sits beside her, they clutch hands, staring out into the audience. Lights out)


    END

  • Queen of Swords – the Tarot play by Alysse Aallyn

    SCENE 6


    (Lights up on – Graveyard with sign, DEAD LAKE CEMETERY. WHITNEY approaches to read a stone aloud)


    WHITNEY
    “John Doe – a friendless stranger. The Lord will recognize His own”.


    (Enter a grave-tending woman, MRS DAVISH with basket of gardening tools and wheeled cart of plants.)


    MRS. DAVISH
    Did you know that poor lost soul?


    WHITNEY
    Looks like nobody knew him.


    MRS. DAVISH
    (Pulls an ear trumpet off her cart and holds it to her head)
    What’s that you say? Speak up.


    WHITNEY
    A trumpet!


    MRS. DAVISH
    Just funning with you! My hearing’s perfect.


    (Tosses the trumpet back on the cart.)


    You wouldn’t believe the things people leave on graves around here. And the signs say, Plants Only. Trust me, Great Grampster hears fine in heaven. Care to purchase a remembrance for this grave? It would be very thoughtful of you.


    WHITNEY
    I’m not sure he’s the right one. Is he the only John Doe you’ve got?


    MRS. DAVISH
    He’s the only one. Usually people no one can identify go straight to paupers’ field. But the Hidden Glade developers paid for this poor gentleman.


    WHITNEY
    Why would they?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Maybe ‘cause they’re the ones that disturbed his peace by digging him up. But they didn’t bother to buy the perpetual care — that is rarer than hen’s teeth… They do say nothing is perpetual but my fond fancy… Look, I could just give you some flowers if you’re not too particular.


    (Rummages in her cart)

    WHITNEY
    Nothing for me, thank you. Doesn’t he ever get … remembrances?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Never. Poor lost soul. Anything that’s ever been on that grave, I’ve put there myself.


    WHITNEY
    Well, that’s peculiar, don’t you think?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Not in the least. It’s the rule, really. You’d be surprised. No one speaks for the dead.


    WHITNEY
    But when you want to speak up for them, it seems like they object.


    MRS. DAVISH
    (Smiles at her)


    Some of them can get a little noisy.


    WHITNEY
    So how long have you been working here?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Oh! Thirty years. Thirty-five years, off and on. My grandmother brought me every Sunday. You could call it a ritual. You’re welcome to try breaking out of long-established rituals – but it can’t be done.

    WHITNEY
    Glad I found you. Seems lately I owe everything to people living in the past. So this man was buried by the Dead Lake developers, eh?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Sssh. They don’t like the connection to anything “dead”. Hidden Glade, it’s called these days. Yup, a backhoe tossed this man up and out like a ragdoll!


    WHITNEY
    But where’d they find him?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Heavens, I don’t know! You never saw such a frenzy of obfuscation! One of those houses around the lake they bulldozed is all I know. There’s no fact-getting at this late date.


    (WHITNEY looks depressed – MRS DAVISH leans to stage whisper)


    But they did have to call the cops!


    (Sage nodding. WHITNEY perks up)


    WHITNEY
    And why’s that?


    MRS. DAVISH
    (Leans forward to whisper)


    He was as full of lead as a shad full of roe! They took some out and left the other ones inside!


    (Pats tombstone lovingly)


    Died of “heavy metal” poisoning, poor old thing.


    WHITNEY
    Wow! Not a popular guy.


    MRS. DAVISH
    Either that, or he was far too popular to suit somebody.


    (They laugh)


    WHITNEY
    But couldn’t they tell what house he came from?


    MRS. DAVISH
    I’m telling you they didn’t want to know! Tenants had been pushed out and disappeared long before.


    (Pulls down an eyelid)


    There’s none so blind as those who will not see.


    WHITNEY
    I guess ancient corpses full of bullets are pretty blind, too.


    MRS. DAVISH
    True, true. Who wants to buy a property that had a murder on it? Who signs up for a haunting? Said they owed it to the shareholders to hush things up. But truth is the daughter of time, not of authority, says the poet.


    WHITNEY
    Surely somebody checked for missing people!


    MRS. DAVISH
    Oh naturally. Naturally. But nobody was missing! Everyone accounted for. He was some poor stranger.


    WHITNEY
    So maybe it was a “good riddance” situation.


    MRS. DAVISH
    Most likely.


    WHITNEY
    (Jubilant)
    Under the circumstances, then, I’d like to buy some flowers.


    MRS. DAVISH
    The pinks are magnificent this time of year. Or acacia. Means “Secret love” in the language of flowers, not that anyone tries speaking that no more. But for those of us in the know, it lends a little added pleasure. Got some beautiful violets just coming into bloom.


    WHITNEY
    The language of flowers, eh? So what do violets mean?


    MRS. DAVISH
    Faithful love.


    (Quoting)


    “The faithful shall be rewarded,” that’s what the violets say.


    WHITNEY
    But what will we get, I wonder?


    (Flower exchange. LIGHTS OUT.)

  • Queen of Swords – the Tarot play by Alysse Aallyn

    WHITNEY
    That went HORRIBLY.


    (Goes to sit disconsolately on the beach behind the boulder, hidden from the house. EIGHT appears, wielding his metal detector.)


    WHITNEY
    (Sarcastically)


    Well if it ain’t the Prince of Wands.


    EIGHT
    Excuse me? Name’s Eight. Like pieces of eight?


    WHITNEY
    Well, I found out the demon’s name. And it got me exactly nowhere. It’s Creature from the Black Lagoon one, and Firewalkers zero.


    EIGHT
    One battle ain’t a war. What happened?


    WHITNEY
    She stole someone’s identity! And then that person disappeared! She killed her mentor. Probably robbed her into the bargain.


    EIGHT
    That one’s a piece of work all right.

    WHITNEY
    It’s real bad. But it was fourteen years ago. The missing person’s been declared dead even though no one ever found the body, my father’s trust says it doesn’t matter who he was married to when he died, and if Charmayne hasn’t already legally changed her name now she’s probably going to.


    EIGHT
    Nothing works when you give up that fast.


    WHITNEY
    She even had the nerve to accuse ME of Black Magic.


    EIGHT
    She did? Oh, Whit! Don’t you see how great that is? You recognized the demon, called it by name, and it recognized YOU! You’re on your way, girl!


    WHITNEY
    I thought you were the one warning me against descending to her level.


    EIGHT
    (Hunkers down beside her)


    She believes this stuff, is all I’m saying. She’s not your ordinary con. You can’t get her where she’s fake, so you have to get her where she’s real.


    WHITNEY
    Well, I’m going to need a lot more magic. You got any on you?


    EIGHT
    (Running his metal detector over her body – it rattles excitedly)


    You don’t need my magic. You’ve got plenty of your own!


    WHITNEY
    (Collapsing disconsolately)


    Prove it.


    EIGHT
    Look. I’d say there’s at least two reasons to steal an identity. One is, you actually want to be that person. The other is, you don’t want to be yourself.


    WHITNEY
    Because?


    EIGHT
    Do I have to spell everything out for you? I’m saying, if you’re willing to get rid of one person…


    WHITNEY
    (Starting to get worked up)


    You mean maybe she’s done it before? My stepmom, the serial killer!


    (As EIGHT ambles down the beach)


    Please don’t go! I need you!


    EIGHT
    Don’t you feel the temperature dropping?


    (Shivers)


    Time to take cover.

  • Writing a novel for class – a memoir by Alysse Aallyn

    THE PINCH OF DEATH – Writing a novel for class

    After my fiancé graduated law school in Kentucky, we came East – where our families lived – to get married. I applied to Brooklyn College for the MFA program and was hired as a writing fellow. What followed was an experience so discouraging I can well understand why graduate students are at a high risk of suicide.

    First, there’s the contrast between the high prestige of the position and the pitiable pay. You could literally make more money (and spend the same amount of time) combing the subway for lost change.

    Next, there’s the “job” they want you to do, which is to prepare seriously undereducated freshman to write an essay justifying their admission into the hallowed world of academe.

    I had fun developing my own syllabus, which was basically teaching critical thinking in the most fun way I could possibly imagine. A teacher “reviewer” who came to watch the class wrote me a rave review – I don’t think anyone in my life has ever praised me as much as he did. I still cherish that evaluation. But don’t get excited – the second guy (months later) disparaged me so much that if you add the two reviews together I think you’d have to give me a sad C-. But at that point, They Knew About Me – that I had no college degree -and so they were trying to get rid of me. Really, you can’t blame them – how could I prepare students to get something I didn’t have myself? And what – you may ask – was wrong with MY thinking and reasoning powers that I had not expected this?

    The truth is, I had flouted “rules” all my life – they always seemed ridiculous – and because I was a “rara avis” I usually got away with it. But clearly, this could not continue. Much chastened by my brush with the universe (which represented itself as “sanity”) I did go ahead and get a BA degree in psychology from LaSalle. I even got half a masters under my belt from Springfield College until I saw that it was useless.

    But back to Brooklyn. There were classes I took, of course, in WRITING – which was my absorbing interest and passion. I kept the fact that I had actually published a novel a secret because the class expressed such a tragic belief that being published was their deepest desire and most desperate and holy quest. I knew that it was the writing of the book itself – finding the subject AND the expression that was your spiritual release into the world – that was the most important absorbing and exciting. My first book was written to specifications – what was “popular” – under the ingenuous theory that I would develop important publishing relationships (my editor lost her job, my company bought out and revamped.) You could hardly brag about an experience like that.

    For my class on the Novel I decided to write a novel. I thought it would be fun. If you wrote a chapter every week you would have a novel at the end.

    One of my classmates was an ex-nun – a most interesting person – whose experiences strongly affected me. I effortlessly adapted her into my heroine, because my book was a mystery. Surely these are the easiest to write – they must evolve according to a plan. You have to introduce the problem, then the suspects, give clues, and make the reader care about the outcome. I had an idea it would be less emotional than my first book, which got bogged down into a bizarre love story about a fatherless girl pathetically seeking mentorship. THIS book would be all business.

    I got such massive pushback from the class I’m kind of surprised I went through with it – but I was enjoying the writing and the characters were alive to me. “Criticism” in class was students laboriously reading each others’ work, describing its emotional effect on them and describing different ways things could be said. The forward motion of a novel – the sweep, the assumption of power – was thereby utterly dissipated. Everyone just rewrote the first chapters of different books endlessly. So it shouldn’t have been called “Novel Writing”, it should have been called “Paragraph Writing” – a class I wouldn’t take.

    This teacher and I butted heads on all kinds of issues. First off, he said great writing couldn’t have a “happy ending.” I saw his point but I thought it shallow. Surely completion of a quest – solving a mystery – is an enormous relief. But mysteries aren’t serious writing, he insisted. (Uh oh. Since I was engaged on one.) Well, what about the Odyssey? Jane Austen? {Probably Tom Jones, if I could recall the ending.)

    MODERN literature!! He insisted. We can’t have happy endings anymore!

    That was when I realized the whole thing was bogus. If I was bogus, they were even more bogus. I was eight months’ pregnant at the time and this man’s feeble philosophy defied the spinning of the planets, the arrival of spring, the creation of Life itself. What a silly fellow.

    I finished Pinch of Death, and still reread it with pleasure, A very charming book.

  • The Demon Lover – a play for 2 voices by Alysse Aallyn

    SCENE II

    EVAN
    Do you really love me?
    Why should you?
    I don’t seem any longer
    To be able to cope with friendships.

    EVA
    It is a horror, an outrage
    That we should not be here together. I struggle against
    The wound of not knowing where you are each minute.
    Everything you do is more important to me than my own life.
    The whole of me is with you.
    I see and feel you so distinctly,
    your beloved cold hand in mine
    Your touch on the nape of my neck.
    Both joy and agony
    – my insides torn by pincers.
    A double goodbye would have been awful
    – two bites on the bullet of pain.
    This love is like something we have given birth to.
    We must never blunt our imagination or tenderness.
    Don’t get a cold in your soul.

    EVAN
    I disappoint everyone.
    I deliberately left one of your letters for Elayna to find.
    With me love is linked with
    A need to betray. I invite possessiveness.
    She made me promise our love would never be physical.
    I lied fluidly.

    EVA
    Even the thought of
    Such a loss of pleasure tears at my heart
    Like some medieval torture.
    You harrow me unbearably.
    My defenses are down.
    I’m filled me with a sense of ghastly injury.
    How I wish I were more beautiful –
    It’s my mouth that ages me.
    I want you seeing all of me –
    Even if it hurts.
    You are your own child,
    You preserve your youth with the harm
    That you cause.
    I am dead and already
    Interred – in you.
    You are my eternity.

    EVAN
    You can’t have everything.
    I am kept aloft by the conflict of
    Unbearables.
    I am happy.

    EVA
    Our dancing life is over –
    Shall I enter a convent?
    There’s no point in being alive
    if we’re not together.
    I show my deepest self to you alone.

    EVAN
    Please – no more shaming conversations
    Over Irish whisky. Let’s cut our losses
    And get some fun from life.

    EVA

    
The gash in our love might close
    But I can’t forget it’s there.
    Life with you is a remote happiness to which I cling.

    EVAN
    And all this time you write
    Fantastic books. If you were as unhappy as you say,
    You couldn’t write so well.
    I am the whetstone on which you sharpen –
    I should be thanked for all your works.

    EVA
    You shed your light around me.
    I am always aware of that other world we share
    – Or do we? Our pattern seems set –
    If treachery can’t break it,
    There is no death.

    EVAN
    I am losing interest in sex.
    My bed gets so icy in the small hours of the morning –
    I feel I am trying to communicate with the spirit world.
    I am in limbo and will never escape this place.
    The adolescent remains alive in me, I have a
    Panic fear of conformity.
    So I cast myself as the elderly rake.
    I’m the bore –
    Marriage gets me down.

    EVA
    When you go on and on about yourself
    You’re a man I don’t recognize.
    I prefer your adolescent self.
    The man of the house is a free agent.
    A respected prowler
    Who looks benevolently upon the faces of his womenfolk.
    Then he’s away – with mistresses or boyfriends.
    In my attack of loneliness, I’m housebound,
    Eating baked beans and drinking stewed tea.

    EVAN
    In other countries women
    Are less bossy and more decorative.

  • ALYSSE AALLYN

    Alysse Aallyn is the author of four well-received thrillers, Find Courtney, Depraved Heart, Woman Into Wolf and I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead, one historical novel (Devlyn) and a book of short stories (Awake Till the End.) Her work has been translated into German and Italian. She has three published books of poetry – The Sacred Quiver, The Hot Skin, Haunted Wedding and The Five Wounds and edited another (The Feathered Violin.) She trained in theatre at Circle in the Square Theatre School and Martha Graham School of Dance. She appeared in the part of Isabella in Jean Giraudoux’s The Enchanted at the New Yorker Theatre. She has held writing fellowships at Brooklyn College and LaSalle University. Her novel Depraved Heart won a 2011 CT Press Club fiction award and her play Queen of Swords was a semi-finalist in the 2014 National Arts Council First Play award. She has been invited to read her original work at The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC and has taught creative writing at Catonsville Community College. Woman Into Wolf was a semi-finalist for The National Playwrights Conference (2016) and her play Our Father’s Restaurant was performed on Pacifica Radio. She has also appeared as a crime commentator on ID – TV’s Blood Relatives. Her play, Let’s Speak Vietnamese was published in Dramatika Magazine. She directed The Maids and played the Mother in Jules Feiffer’s Little Murders for Theatre Upstairs. Other plays she’s written are The Honey & the Pang about Emily Dickinson’s posthumous career, Cuck’d – a modern Othello, and Caving, in which the theatre is transformed into a cave for a spelunking dare. Rough Sleep, (based on her novel I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead) was produced by Manhattan Repertory Theatre (W. 45th St) in 2019. Her latest play, The Dalingridge Horror, (short version Leonard & Virginia) explores the partnership between Leonard & Virginia Woolf in their own words and was a finalist for the Tennessee Williams 2021 award. Her newest poetry collection, Haunted Wedding appeared in 2022 from Thriller Library.

    Her current work is The WarriorOracle – Becoming a Warrior on the path to enlightenment.

  • Becoming a Warrior – the Warrior Oracle by Alysse Aallyn

    Birdsong – Art:

    If This Card Chooses You – Your Soul Cries Out for Definition
    Birds gotta sing. It’s who they are. Do you dream of artistic products – paintings, sculpture, film – or artistic endeavors such as performance and construction? Do you get ideas for fresh pieces and experience exciting nonconformist thinking that seem to evaporate upon waking?

    Some of Us Are Warriors for Art – Art is the judge of our poetic confrontation with the world, the cure and the cause. It is also our prime avenue for non-verbal healing. Only non-verbal healing can address pain that can’t be quantified.

    The Warrior Soul Cries Out – Your inner self is signaling to you that it is time for you to access another language – art – and become expert in its terms, and to start inventing terms of your own. Only art can establish the secure connection with others required to nourish you now.

    You Are An Artist Whether You Like It Or Not – Every single one of us chooses mode and objects of expression, consciously or unconsciously, every single day. We buy one object over another because it gives us pleasure; we arrange our living spaces to express some intangible quality about ourselves – a self-definition that signals to others who we are and where we are on our journey.

    Welcome to the Art Warriors – Art demands individuality. We begin by copying but we must move on to expressing our uniqueness or our soul won’t evolve. If we are happy being part of an unthinking mass we are truly “unborn.” This exploration will grant you a deep peace about being alone with yourself, a strong confidence in who you really are and a feeling of spiritual value.

    New Battles to Fight – This journey is awkward at first, and in other people’s eyes it may remain awkward forever. Why wouldn’t you copy what’s popular? Why not mimic the uncontroversially successful? The problem is, while you are doing that the core of your self-hood is dying like an unwatered plant. And if your soul is dying, you are dying. Also, being bullied by the “art enforcers” is not what warriors are about.

    Sometimes We Bully Ourselves Worse – Perfection is not the answer – it is the enemy. Remember – we flee stagnation. Our soul’s “perfecting” never reaches an end – that’s the definition of immortality. Constantly shaming yourself as a no-talent, pretending poseur is horrifyingly destructive to your precious infant specialness struggling for life.

    Make a resolution to start supporting yourself. The fact that a work is unsuccessful, even a horrific mess, doesn’t mean it isn’t an advance for your vision, insight and style. These are the building blocks of creation. Don’t get hung up on approval. You need teachers, not fans. Read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield.

    Models & Mentors – “Creativity takes courage” – Henri Matisse

    “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see” – Henry David Thoreau

    “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight without vision” – Helen Keller

    “You were born an original, don’t die a copy” – Jon Mason

    “Life beats down and crushes the art in your soul to remind you that you have one” – Stella Adler

    #Haiku: Disclaimer

    I don’t write haiku
    They write me
    Jaw slack
    Eyes closed
    Ego playing
    Dead

  • Secrets of the Self – how I became a warrior by Alysse Aallyn

    Dawn – Relief

      After the birth of my first child I bought a printing press – an adorable little toy that printed a 3×5 inch page and elegant “Egyptian” type. I wanted to print my own book of poems – The Hot Skin – and I didn’t want to ”delegate” anything. I also bought a binding machine and designed the covers – plain black and white –by myself. The pleasure of not having to rely on other people was immensely freeing.

      I also bought a sorter in which to place the ordered printed pages, taped to it the slogan “Work Is Love Made Visible” (St. Catherine) and moved this whole conglomeration, plus the baby’s playpen, to the small cottage at StormFall Farm for a poetic summer in the Berkshires.

      My husband planned to commute back and forth from Philadelphia.

      I was determined to have the experience Virginia Woolf so movingly describes in her diaries – sorting type as a way to self-soothe.

      At the time I was staying in the cottage, my husband’s grandmother was up at the big house where I often went for drinks and dinner with her. This grandmother had always been wealthy but was a big believer in “noblesse oblige” and common sense. She was very shocked that I would sometimes alter one of my poems to suit my type requirements and told me, sadly, this meant I was not a real poet. I laughed out loud. This woman would not recognize Art if it bit her.

      When my husband arrived he was angry and aggrieved that I had dedicated the book to him, thanking him for helping with the baby. Didn’t I understand what an insult that was? What would people think? Who would want to invest their money with a baby-minder?

      I was gobsmacked. His violent hysteria was even more frightening than his arguments. My first husband was a cool, smooth seducer, accustomed to lying to get his way. My second husband was very different, but I was beginning to see that the rage and the pathos were deeper than I’d realized. But with poetry you can understand – and express – anything.

      IN THE BUTTERFLY PAVILION

      This evening you said you wished
      I was more ordinary.
      I bowed my head. I did not speak.
      Outside the animals leaned together,
      Breathing lightly; waiting
      For my answer.
      Cats-tongue ferns
      Swelled up like swords, pushed out a stink
      Occluding fields of vision while
      The rabbit-bloodied lawn curled away. 
      Phlox flamed  
        Sows littered in the cyclamen
      Dwarf stars broke free as
      Frazzled molten ore raced across a sky
      Darkening to night.
      Summoning my power
      My hands stay folded in my sleeves.
      Nighttime is my kingdom.

    1. Secrets of the Self – how I became a warrior by Alysse Aallyn

      Legacy

        Difficult to become a warrior without resources. It’s probably not impossible, but it seems to require more psychic strength –or perhaps just the ability to engage a team – than I’ve ever had. On the other hand, I’ve always been able to make the most of whatever resources came my way. It’s the gift I’d like most to pass on to my children, because it helps you persist in the slog and outwit your pursuers.

        I can’t tell you how many job interviews I’ve had where I realized they wanted me to come across as more ruthless, and I just couldn’t do it, even for the purposes of Shapeshifting Performance Art and Fun Impersonations, both of which I was familiar with using on a daily basis and enjoyed. But this was survival we were talking about, the magic metamorphosis of confusion into livelihood. My interest in personal transformation led me to studying a degree in Rehab Counseling and this particular interviewer seemed to want me to express a desire to punish my clients. Maybe that was when I realized I was in the wrong business. I wanted to teach these people how to become warriors.

        How To Become a Warrior

        In heaven the victors
        Celebrate with their rivals
        Not taking it personally
        But loving.
        Forgiving.
        “You thought WHAT?
        I was wrong!”
        You went WHERE?
        It’s so nuts!”
        How we’ll laugh while
        Scars dissolve;
        Iridescent plumage
        Shivers off our beautiful selves
        Unconditionally
        Eternally
        Mysteriously
        Revealed.