The grrlz all now have a tattoo at the base of their spine. The vogue is a midriff-exposing top and low-riding jeans. The thong rises out of the back of the jeans almost as pedestal to display the art.
Fashion is fascist
the tattoo says as much about the dead eye of desire
reading the display
as it does about the playwright marketing his work.
I’ve been spoiled I guess. I came upon my first playwright the way Ishmael came upon Queequeg. His story and words, his script tattooed into his flesh and life in “mysteries not even himself could read.”
Queequeg was a strange bedfellow that first night, but still stranger was the obsessive journey of theatre that beckoned us all.
Keep your Self-Addressed Stamped-Envelope. I am not one who would traffic in the dead. My fellow traveler is the living word.
What is the process by which Queequeg’s coffin becomes Ishmael’s life buoy? This is the only dramaturgy I now explore.