In the eleventh hour, they rollick around the stage. It's tougher to translate what works brilliantly in morbidly hilarious cartoons, however, to live theater. The view is devilishly subversive as they reach their huge finish, boiling and slapping and tap-dancing.
Shelley Jackson, experimental writer extraordinaire (or, even better, conceptual artist of text) is one of this week's featured writers at school, and today I attended her workshop "Recycled Words."
Among other things, one of the things we dabbled in was taking the language from one source and re-purposing it. And that's how I came to write the above -- I was given a review of a musical based on The Addams Family from the New York Times.
It will never be published and verges on the unreadable, but who the hell cares? It brought me back in touch with all the reasons language and writing and finding that odd but logical mix of words will forever drown me in ecstasy.
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