Work Statement

Act II, Scene I: Outcry

          We're all sweating like the worst kinds of sinners, but just keep dancing the night away, honey. Pray for forgiveness and fever dreams. Fever dream, fever dream, nightmare, nightmare! There's a monster in my closet and he's humming showtunes. Coax him out with a geodesic quilt and promises of social progress—we'll get there some day, I know it. Shout out a thousand names to see which ones stick like spitballs or drop to the floor like gooey rags. Come closer, let me tell you a secret. I ran away to that island inferno once upon a time, and all I found were semaphores. Swollen forms in the sand waving stories with their tassel-tatted arms while straight-acting hellhounds chased water nymphs back into the ocean. Catch of the day. You looking? You hosting? You generous? Ha, ha, ha! Masc for masc. No fems. Red heads to the front of the line, it's just my preference. It's just that I've been grinding my teeth lately, and I just can't stop. Can't stop, can't stop now, it's just too late. We've whipped out our totem poles to summon up a storm, and we just can't stop until somebody's bleeding.