Charlie Chan In Plattsburgh

Charlie Chan In Plattsburgh A Play By Matthew Paris Characters; Lane K. Snopes Charlie Chan Mozart Shakespeare Michelangelo Act One (In a room that has the haunted emptiness of a studio there are two or three gauzy draperies or wide columns behind which one can hide if they choose. One might even retire into deep

Son Of Spam

E.14th St 9E New York, New York 10009 212-995-0299 [email protected] Son Of Spam A Collection of Trash By Matthew Paris Table Of Contents: 1. Introduction 2. The Abattoirs 3. Alberta Ice Toilets 4. Alein Aber Frei Tonic 5. Kaboom: A Message From His Divine Excellency Ibn Abdul Alhhazred 6. Alpha Inc. 7. Amnesia Incorporated 8.

Judith Malina

Interview With Judith Malina

(With Ilana Abramovitch) MP- Talking about Judaism as a unifying principal in theatre and life, I’m wondering what you think about the connection between tradition and change. If we are talking about a religion, about ritual practices, how do you satisfy on the one hand the need for continuity, the sense of a connection with

Interview with Irwin Shaw

IS: (While having a magnificent lunch with his wife Marian, his son Adam, and M.P.) I think things are absolutely random. Look at physics; you can’t predict the specific movement of the atoms. You can expect that certain things will probably happen, but you can’t be certain. The same for human affairs. We can be


French Baudelaire To The Reader In tired lovers chewing breasts and thighs In neural demons waltzing through the brain In dirty unseen streams of sighs Falling with a hiss beyond your breathy pain That pride of evil, the magic demon Who smokes endlessly like a chemist Whispering, pours atomic semen In the New Man: a

Dunhill Poems

Dunhill Poems Beasts at a feast, ducks pressed, undressed A table of grouse and meat Gooseberry tarts near the nether parts From the eggs to the tripe and the seat Is my idea of an Advent roast With mewling inebriate mirth With two strong pints and a scowling toast Wearing pants of a comfortable girth.

Quantum Leaps

Doppler Ray Mama Indigo lights In the Milky Way clouds Whirling in flights In barely seen crowds Where Doppler rays bend Weary, deep red At the ultimate end Of the dead and undead. Pour mist from that beaker Of nitrogen gas Pilgrim and seeker Of substance and mass If the rocket’s a wreck Our engines