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Paulo is my obsession

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So sweet. Edgar Allen Poe always gets to me.

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My First Forensics Tournament

So today was my first tournament with the Dramahawks and I was soooooo nervous. We woke up and left school at 3:45 and we arrived at Soddy Daisy around 8ish. So I automatically slap on my suit and some mascara and head out the door. My first round went well in Storytelling and Duet. Things were looking well. Second round, fast storytelling, a little rushed but good and a really good duet. Third, a fantastic storytelling round and a pretty decent duet round. After waiting a ridiculous time I discovered that I made top 6 in storytelling. I competed a fourth time and got 4th place overall! Great! But I'm definitely going to bring that up. After awards ceremony we left and after a lengthy discussion with the guy I like I was quite content.

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Monologue

Richard Fisher’s Funeral by Kellie Powell Drew: You don't get it. I've been afraid of my father all my life. I spent every waking moment trying to keep him from exploding. Trying to do everything just right - and not just believing, but knowing... that one day he would kill me. That he'd kill us all. My first memory... is the day my brother spilled a can of paint down the stairs. My parents were painting the house. Ricky thought he was helping, but it was too heavy for him, and... paint just went flying, everywhere. I held my breath. I don't know why I thought that would help. My father put his fist through the wall. I screamed. Ricky and I started crying. And the whole time that he... the whole time, he kept yelling at us to stop crying. I couldn't. I thought he was going to kill us both, and my mother couldn't stop him. I was four years old. Ricky was two. And I have been living in that hole in the wall, ever since. I can't forgive him. I won't pretend. So go read "Footprints in the Sand" if it'll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Today my father's going in the ground. Except I don't remember having a father. A father couldn't do that to his kids

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In love

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Truuuuu

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No Exit by: Jean-Paul Sartre

No Exit is a play about three souls trapped in Hell who find that they are to torture each other for all eternity in a never-ending circle. The characters; sadistic lesbian Inez, socialite and baby-killer Estelle, and Garcin the war-deserter chase each other around a Second-Empire drawing room - an existential version of Hell. INEZ: To forget about the others? How utterly absurd! I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out - but you can't prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I'm certain you hear mine. It's all very well skulking on your sofa, but you're everywhere, and every sound comes to me soiled, because you've intercepted it on its way. Why, you've even stolen my face; you know it and I don't! And what about her, about Estelle? You've stolen her from me too; if she and I were alone do you suppose she'd treat me as she does? No, take your hands from your face, I won't leave you in peace - that would suit your book too well. You'd go on sitting there, in a sort of trance, like a yogi, and even if I didn't see her I'd feel lit in my bones - that she was making every sound, even the rustle of her dress, for your benefit, throwing you smiles you didn't see... Well, I won't stand for that, I prefer to choose my hell; I prefer to look you in the eyes and fight it out face to face. INEZ: Well, what are you waiting for? Do as you're told. What a lovely scene: coward Garcin holding baby-killer Estelle in his manly arms! Make your stakes, everyone. Will coward Garcin kiss the lady, or won't he dare? What's the betting? I'm watching you, everybody's watching, I'm a crowd all by myself. Do you hear the crowd? Do you hear them muttering, Garcin? Mumbling and muttering. "Coward! Coward! Coward! Coward!" - that's what they're saying... It's no use trying to escape, I'll never let you go. What do you hope to get from her silly lips? Forgetfulness? But I shan't forget you, not I! "It's I you must convince." So come to me. I'm waiting. Come along, now... Look, how obedient he is, like a well-trained dog who comes when his mistress calls. You can't hold him, and you never will.

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Monologue from "Funny Girl"

Funny Girl Monologue written by Isobel Lennart Fanny Brice: Suppose all ya ever had for breakfast was onion rolls. Then one day, in walks (gasp) a bagel! You'd say, 'Ugh, what's that?' Until you tried it! That's my problem - I'm a bagel on a plate full of onion rolls. Nobody recognizes me! Listen, I got 36 expressions. Sweet as pie and tough as leather. And that's six expressions more than all those...Barrymores put together. Instead of just kicking me, why don't they give me a lift? Well, it must be a plot, 'cause they're scared that I got...such a gift! 'Cause I'm the greatest star, I am by far, but no one knows it. Wait - they're gonna hear a voice, a silver flute. They'll cheer each toot, hey, she's terrific!, when I expose it. Now can't you see to look at me that I'm a natural Camille, and as Camille, I just feel, I've so much to offer. Kid, I know I'd be divine because I'm a natural cougher (coughs) - some ain't got it, not a lump. I'm a great big clump of talent! Laugh, they'll bend in half. Did you ever hear the story about the travelling salesman? A thousand jokes, stick around for the jokes. A thousand faces. I reiterate. When you're gifted, then you're gifted. These are facts, I've got no axe to grind. Ay! What are ya, blind? In all of the world so far, I'm the greatest star! No autographs, please. What? You think beautiful girls are gonna stay in style forever? I should say not! Any minute now they're gonna be out! FINISHED! Then it'll be my turn!

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My Private Monster

I wrote this monologue the other day and I was wondering if it as good as I think it is.... I wish I could be just me. My name only. I don't want to be connected to her in any way at all. I've lived with her for so long, and I'm done. I just can't do it any longer. I've fought her the best I could. But sometimes I slip. She's magical in that way. She could be so wonderful if she wanted to be. So kind and compassionate.... But pain and vengeance are what she loves best. And I'm her pawn. Her insignificant little tool. Her toy. Why does she have to be so strong?! She commands me to jump and I try so hard to fight her... But I end up jumping nonetheless. Sometimes she's making me jump off a bridge, into raging dark water. I cant see the bottom and I know it's too deep for my toes to touch. But I jump in, sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness. Malice laughing all the way. That's her name, Malice. It fits her. She's always had that name, as long as I can remember and she loves it. God I wish I could cut her out of my body, just somehow make her leave me. But I can't. Because somewhere in my sick little mind, I love her. And I love what she does to me. She's always looked out for me. Ever since I was little she's been like a guardian angel. A girl would pick on me at the playground and Malice would make her suffer. She's so good at what she does. I know what she makes me do is wrong but I love to do it. We never physically hurt the girl on the playground, but whenever she sees us, she remembers what we did. She will never forget. For years Malice and I were able to get along with out suspicion. We hurt people who hurt us, but we didn't leave any marks. We were careful. Until her. Her name was Angela. She was as fake as her smile. But everyone loved dear angel. But me and malice knew. We knew she was rotten to the core. But I still wanted to impress her. I wanted her to love me. But Malice wouldn't allow it. She only wanted me to love her! Malice's jealousy grew as I tried to impress Angela in any way I could. Why wouldn't she love me!! I loved Angela so much, I just wanted her to do something to show she noticed me. Anything! One day, after school, Malice told me to follow her. I followed her out to her car and she got in with this strange boy. He draped his arm around her and she snuggled closer to him. He turned and spotted me and pointed his finger at me. Asking angela who I was. She turned and laughed at me. "she's just this weirdo lesbian who has a crush on me. Nobody likes her because she's so weird. " those words shattered my heart into a million pieces. Malice whispered "we' ll show her. She doesn't deserve your love. Only I can love you the way you deserve. She's an obstacle we must get rid of. Without her we can be free." I don't remember I killing them But it was Malice I swear! She was the one with their blood on her hands! The one that plunged the knife into their weak, trembling bodies! I'm not Malice. Malice did those things to that girl. She took over my body and did it. I don't even remember... You can't blame me for something I didn't do!!!

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Phantom of the Opera (excerpt from the novel)

CHRISTINE: I had heard him for three months without seeing him. The first time I heard it, I thought, as you did, that that adorable voice was singing in another room. I went out and looked everywhere; but, as you know, my dressing-room is very much by itself; and I could not find the voice outside my room, whereas it went on steadily inside. And it not only sang, but it spoke to me and answered my questions, like a real man's voice, with this difference, that it was as beautiful as the voice of an angel. I had never got the Angel of Music whom my poor father had promised to send me as soon as he was dead. I thought that it had finally come, and from that time onward, the voice and I became great friends. It asked leave to give me lessons every day. I agreed and never failed to keep the appointment which it gave me in my dressing-room. You have no idea, though you have heard the voice, of what those lessons were like. We were accompanied by a music which I do not know: it was behind the wall and wonderfully accurate. The voice seemed to understand mine exactly, to know precisely where my father had left off teaching me. In a few weeks' time, I hardly knew myself when I sang. I was even frightened. I seemed to dread a sort of witchcraft behind it. My progress, by the voice's own order, was kept a secret. It was a curious thing, but, outside the dressing-room, I sang with my ordinary, every-day voice and nobody noticed anything. I did all that the voice asked. It said, `Wait and see: we shall astonish Paris!' And I waited and lived on in a sort of ecstatic dream. It was then that I saw you for the first time one evening, in the house. I was so glad that I never thought of concealing my delight when I reached my dressing-room. Unfortunately, the voice was there before me and soon noticed, by my air, that something had happened. It asked what was the matter and I saw no reason for keeping our story secret or concealing the place which you filled in my heart. Then the voice was silent. I called to it, but it did not reply; I begged and entreated, but in vain. I was terrified lest it had gone for good. I wish to Heaven it had! The next day, I went back to my dressing-room in a very pensive frame of mind. The voice was there, spoke to me with great sadness and told me plainly that, if I must bestow my heart on earth, there was nothing for the voice to do but to go back to Heaven. And it said this with such an accent of HUMAN sorrow that I ought then and there to have suspected and begun to believe that I was the victim of my deluded senses. But my faith in the voice, with which the memory of my father was so closely intermingled, remained undisturbed. I feared nothing so much as that I might never hear it again; I had thought about my love for you and realized all the useless danger of it; and I did not even know if you remembered me. Whatever happened, your position in society forbade me to contemplate the possibility of ever marrying you; and I swore to the voice that you were no more than a brother to me nor ever would be and that my heart was incapable of any earthly love. Meanwhile, the hours during which the voice taught me were spent in a divine frenzy, until, at last, the voice said to me, `You can now, Christine Daae, give to men a little of the music of Heaven.' I don't know how it was that Carlotta did not come to the theater that night nor why I was called upon to sing in her stead; but I sang with a rapture I had never known before and I felt for a moment as if my soul were leaving my body! I felt myself fainting, I closed my eyes. When I opened them, you were by my side. But the voice was there also, Raoul! I was afraid for your sake and again I would not recognize you and began to laugh when you reminded me that you had picked up my scarf in the sea!...Alas, there is no deceiving the voice!...The voice recognized you and the voice was jealous!... But I was no longer mistress of myself: I had become his thing! You remember the terrible evening when Carlotta thought that she had been turned into a toad on the stage and when the house was suddenly plunged in darkness through the chandelier crashing to the floor? There were killed and wounded that night and the whole theater rang with terrified screams. My first thought was for you and the voice. I was at once easy, where you were concerned, for I had seen you in your brother's box and I knew that you were not in danger. But the voice had told me that it would be at the performance and I was really afraid for it, just as if it had been an ordinary person who was capable of dying. I thought to myself, `The chandelier may have come down upon the voice.' I was then on the stage and was nearly running into the house, to look for the voice among the killed and wounded, when I thought that, if the voice was safe, it would be sure to be in my dressing-room and I rushed to my room. The voice was not there. I locked my door and, with tears in my eyes, besought it, if it were still alive, to manifest itself to me. The voice did not reply, but suddenly I heard a long, beautiful wail which I knew well. It is the plaint of Lazarus when, at the sound of the Redeemer's voice, he begins to open his eyes and see the light of day. And then the voice began to sing the leading phrase, "Come! And believe in me! Whoso believes in me shall live! Walk! Whoso hath believed in me shall never die!...' I can not tell you the effect which that music had upon me. It seemed to command me, personally, to come, to stand up and come to it. It retreated and I followed. `Come! And believe in me!' I believed in it, I came....I came and-- this was the extraordinary thing--my dressing-room, as I moved, seemed to lengthen out...to lengthen out....Evidently, it must have been an effect of mirrors...for I had the mirror in front of me....And, suddenly, I was outside the room without knowing how! I was not dreaming, I was outside my room. Suddenly, there was no mirror before me and no dressing-room. I was in a dark passage, I was frightened and I cried out. It was quite dark, but for a faint red glimmer at a distant corner of the wall. I cried out. My voice was the only sound, for the singing and the violin had stopped. And, suddenly, a hand was laid on mine...or rather a stone-cold, bony thing that seized my wrist and did not let go. I cried out again. An arm took me round the waist and supported me. I struggled for a little while and then gave up the attempt. I was dragged toward the little red light and then I saw that I was in the hands of a man wrapped in a large cloak and wearing a mask that hid his whole face. I made one last effort; my limbs stiffened, my mouth opened to scream, but a hand closed it, a hand which I felt on my lips, on my skin...a hand that smelt of death. Then I fainted away.

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Do you like my painting?

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How I chew gum...

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Teehee cute

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Rindercella (cute story)

Peacorn! Popnuts! Chewing Can! and Gumdy!....Have you ever heard about spoonerisms? Well, now let me tell you the story about Rindercella... Once apon a time, in a coreign fountry, there lived a very ogeautiful birl; her name was Rindercella. Now, Rindercella lived with her mugly other and her two sad bisters. And in that same coreign fountry, there lived a very prandsom hince. One day, the prandsom hince decided to have a bancy fall. He invited people from riles amound, especially the pich reople. But Rindercella could not go because all she had to wear were some old rirty dags. So she just dat sown and scried. She was a kitten there a scrien, when all of a sudden her gairy fodmother appeared. And she waived her wagic mand...and all of a sudden there appeared before her, a cig boach and hix white sorces to take her to the bancy fall. But now she said to Rindercella, "Rindercella, you must be home before nidmight, or I'll purn you into a tumpkin!" So Rindercella went to the bancy fall, where she met the very prandsom hince, who she had been watchin through a widden hindow. She and the prandsom hince nanced all dight till nidmight...and they lell in fove. Suddenly, the mid clock struck night; Rindercella staced down the rairs, and just she beached the rottom, she slopped her dripper! The next day, the prandsom hince went all over the coreign fountry looking for the geautiful birl who had slopped her dripper. He came to Rindercella's house. He tried it on Rendercella's mugly other...and it fidn't dit. He tried it on her two sigly usters...and it fidn't dit. He tried it on Rindercella...and it fid dit, it was exactly the sight rize! The next day, Rindercella and the prandsom hince were married and they lived everly hafter happward. Now, the moral of the story is this: If you ever loll in fove with a prandsom hince, be sure and slop you dripper!

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I really like this monologue

Glioblastoma. That's what they say I have... Glioblastoma. Sounds like some kind of science fiction laser. My Glioblastoma is set for kill. Just give the word Captain and I will vaporize the alien beast. 'Course it's not from Star Trek or Star Wars or Star Blazers. It's from real life. But like one of those types of movies it seems like some kind of alien. It snuck inside my head and began eating my brain. It's no secret that it's set for kill either. A Glioblastoma is probably the worst type of tumor you can get. Nope, I wasn't lucky enough to only get one little tumor. Instead I had a cluster of the damn things. Every time I had an MRI - that's like a CAT scan but better - they managed to find a new one. So three operations and a ride on the radiation rollarcoaster later, I'm still here. It's strange the way people treat you when you're dying. My Mom try's to pretend nothings wrong... Maybe that's for the best. Recently a doctor told me I should consider putting my estate in order. Estate in order! What's that? Some clothing, make-up, and a beat up bicycle. I'm not going to be leaving a whole lot behind to prove I was here. Cancer! Brain surgeries! You wouldn't believe how hard it was in high school to deal with all that crap. You wouldn't believe how hard it was for a girl with no hair to find a date to the prom. Nobody asked me. Nope... Nobody wanted to take the bald chick out. No big deal. Ended up having to hire someone to go with me... Just kidding. Actually I ended up asking Henry Schlatman. The guy had glasses that were about a foot thick and he still couldn't see. On the night of the prom he complimented me on my hair. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't have any. Well at least for the time being I have hair agian. (She brushes her fingers through her hair and pulls out a number of strands. She looks at the hair for a moment, then laughs.) Well, I'm still alive. (She pulls out a scarf and begins to tie it over her hair.) And I have Tom. He took me out again last night and we had a blast. He's actually very funny when he's not thinking with his head... I mean, about his head. (Laughs.) We've been gong out every night for a week now. It wouldn't surprise me if this becomes very serious, very fast. Las night we rented a really stupid Shwartznegger sequel. Usually I would have been annoyed to have wasted my time on such a lame flick; but Tom made it funny. He kept talking to the screen. When the hero said, "I'll be back;" Tom responded by saying, (Imitates accent.) "Don't bother, we won't be here." (She laughs. If the audience does not laugh, add the following line: Well it was funny at the time.) When he brought me home last night... He gave me a kiss I'll never forget. It was so romantic. I've never felt this way about a guy before. Oh, there I go with that junior high cheesy love sick lingo. Well, when you're nineteen years old, and you know you're going to... There's no time to waste. And Tom is such a good guy. I think I might be... God, this sounds so mushy! I think I might be falling in love.

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My love, the X Files.