Do not hesitate to ask our help, for we well know how hard any chosen path can be. Take a drink and tell us of your issues, only then may a problem be solved in peace and quietness
Hello everyone! This is the first unappreciated works feature and the first will also have all the rules so that you have ease with following them. But first the works chosen:
I Want To Be An Actress Act 2 Scene 2SCENE 2: The Auditorium
The dressing room set is removed from the stage. A table and phone is put on SR. A water bubbler is put on SR. JASON enters and jumps into the audience but leans on the stage looking at a binder of papers. DAVID enters and has a conversation with JASON. ANNA is pacing around trying to memorize her lines. She looks at the phone. She picks it up and dials. The audience hears ringing.
You have reached the Torman’s. Please leave a message.
ANNA is about to say something but hangs up the phone and sighs.
Alright let’s start on scene 1. Anna? Anna where are you?
I’m here si.
So, this is after the curtain first opens. The curtain will open and students will be frozen in place until they move around and exit the stage in different places and then we’ll see Anna. Billy you’ve been suspended but you got into see Lourie because you have to tell her your
The Voice of HeroinBeing a heroin addict is like being a vampire. You need to feed on a regular basis, you become sensitive to sunlight, and you acquire all the stigma of a social outcast. And you need to fuck people over. Constantly. Oh god, as if there's any break to all the debauchery when you're on heroin.
No crime too big. No risk too great. No cost too heavy. Never with heroin. Heroin is god when you're an addict, and you're worshipping away at a very costly rate indeed. And if heroin says jump, you don't question it, you never question heroin. You jump as high as you fucking can.
But most of all -- heroin is like an abusive partner. Now matter how much you love it and be good to it, you always end up on your cold living room floor, crying your eyes out and telling yourself you deserve better. But you know you're not going anywhere. And you wanna know why?
Because you're weak and pathetic. A strong person would have walked away already. In fact, anybody with any self respect would have walked away.
Identity is a misnomer.
There were two men living in an apartment. Ones name was Alex Parker, the other was Alex Pitman. Pitman had many friends, while Parker did not.
When people called their house, they often requested Pitman. When people stopped over, they always wanted to see Pitman. The fact that there was another Alex in the house did not prevent them from addressing Pitman as Alex. As you can imagine, this got very confusing for Parker.
Then one day, Parker stopped responding to his first name altogether. He assumed that when people said Alex, they naturally meant Pitman. He stopped reacting when people said his name. He didnt react to anyone anymore.
Eventually, Parkers own friends would stop by. They asked if Alex wanted to hang out and watch the football game. Parker would tell them that Alex is at work right now, and shut the door. He stopped filling out his first name on documents, and only wrote Parker. If anybody at wo
Brainwashed.Correction leads to more faults,
and it can also breed perfection.
When they shut me in their vaults,
to prevent my inevitable objection,
they wrapped chains around my wrist
and forced my eyes closed;
taught me how not to resist
and how to stay composed.
I remember that day very clearly,
when the man in black came near.
He leaned close and whispered dearly,
'Son, love's the product of fear.'
Eyes searched for my own,
forcing me to nod.
As I, once again alone,
pretended to be awed.
They sat me down on the chair,
I cowered away from their glare,
and agreed with their convictions.
Black, leather-made stripe
ferociously hit my back,
told me how those of my type
deserved no better luck.
Through my sweaty, bloody haste,
I seethingly spat the floor.
And was once again faced
with my cell and closed door.
It took me months to meet the sun,
eyeballs used to the utter dark bruit.
I was done, they had had their fun
and I have now been set to mute.
Through The MirrorThe stage is set with two chairs on CS representing a living room in a house and another chair is set up on SR, representing LOURIE’S bedroom, along with a mirror on it. LOURIE, a woman in her late 20’s looking sad, tired and messy, enters SL. She kneels down SL and looks at an object sadly. GEORGE, also in his late 20’s enters SL and sits next to LOURIE. She doesn’t notice his presence.
LOURIE a bit startled, looks up but puts her back down. GEORGE looks at the object LOURIE is looking at and his face resembles the same sadness of LOURIE. GEORGE looks out into the audience and speaks.
This is my fiancee Lourie, or was-going-to-be until my accident four months ago. This is the third time this month she’s been here to visit my grave. I will never forget Lourie’s face the day she heard I was killed. It ruined her. That’s why I’m going to stay by her side until the day she dies.
LOURIE gets up and walks over to the two chai
Nobody has the answers
But everybody has the Y’s.
Speculations of a faultless green pasture,
Based on a line of best fit that was drawn to lie.
The solution is a sequence of random numbers and dates.
In addition to a complicated sum of love, grief, fear and hate.
Which form a unique equation that can never be revealed.
It’s the only bit of ignorance that still remains concealed.
Even though we may feel defenseless.
The possibilities are endless.
The opportunities are relentless.
Opinions become senseless
And still we lie restless.
Attempting to solve the unsolvable
And control the uncontrollable.
To know the unknowable.
Kicking The Tires
Please send a note to the painter.
I wont be around today.
I will be losing my mind in my car.
The car will be sitting in
The worlds longest traffic jam,
As it continues to not continue.
The traffic jam will be caused
By some old lady who
Drove under a truck.
This will not keep me from
Complaining about my bad day.
Im still alive, after all.
Please pay the painter for his trouble.
And tell him to wear a seatbelt,
For my sake.
Death's Lullaby.Life drained from its former passion,
hung on the thin thread of luck.
The rules are simple, comical.
Either you stay still or you die.
Sinking deeper, engulfed in unwrought nigritude.
Slate black faces,
buried inside shadows of hoods,
Bony fingers cruddle grinning sculps,
caressing fear as if it were an infant.
Hollow screams echo eternally like a melody
through unsought caverns.
As Death sang a lullaby.
Now onto the rules:
Members will have to comment on the pieces in this feature and give the link or name of the work they have critiqued/commented on as a comment on the Journal. Without commenting, works will not be accepted. The rules are as follows:
1. One work commented allows submission for a week
2. Two works commented allow submission for two weeks
3. Three works commented allow submission for the month
4. Critiques have to be constructive and helpful. One liner critiques will not be considered
5. You cannot comment on your own work
6. This feature allows submissions only for the month
Lastly, the works are chosen by us based on different factors. Yes, not all works are what you might consider unappreciated works but since your work will be accepted AFTER you have commented on/critiqued some works, it is fair that you get some reward. The more you comment, the more you are allowed to submit. The more are your chances of being featured. I hope that enjoy submitting!