The Oberon Anthology of Contemporary Irish Plays

by Thomas Conway

  I’ll die soon with some luck. Won’t have to face

  Up to the years I’ve put on weight. My waist

  Is fine. It keeps the predators in their

  Apartments. Out of mine. Can’t give them AIDS.

  I call it AIDS sometimes. I know I’m fine.

  I shouldn’t have told anyone. To thine

  Own self be false and to them all. Display

  A milky mask of cow manure and moo.

  Why can’t I just get on with life? There’s queers

  Are riddled years and they seem grand. It’s fear

  That keeps me locked inside my rut. I know.

  I watch the real boys pick each other up.

  I am the last of the great gay ashamed.

  I do not understand the dating game.

  I’ve only ever known the sick pick-up.

  Was phone lines first, my first fuck an old man.

  I hated him. But thought I better, well,

  Who knew when I would get another yell?

  On toilet doors were numbers scribbled and

  I followed the instructions. Then the parks.

  All my seductions, shadows in the shade.

  And degradation paid for my free trade.

  And then just boozy, druggy, sleazy lark.

  I always had a good time. In my head.

  I liked to feel afraid. Adventure play.

  I did eventually date this guy.

  He never kissed. I stayed three years. Then fled

  Because I fancied someone straight. They say

  That’s symptomatic of self-hate. Do they?

  I’m not a sex-and love-addicted freak.

  I’ll have a healthy love life by next week.

  JULY

  She doesn’t say I love you more than God.

  Her word is ‘Fuck’. I’m seventeen. I cry.

  My father has a breakdown. I decide,

  ‘Return to Narnia.’ May my façade

  Remain a closet where I weep and sleep.

  I am too much for Mam and Dad to take.

  The atmosphere at home is of a wake.

  I’ve really let them down. Their hurt is deep.

  They seek a local doctor’s sound advice.

  I see a psychotherapist for help.

  And we agree the ice had best not melt.

  I date a few more girls for Jesus Christ.

  My coming out had not been a success.

  ‘My God is telling me that you’re not gay.

  I know it in my heart that you’re okay.’

  My mother’s tears have power to suppress.

  Who can I sue or blame for this abuse?

  Just like the time when I thought I should broach

  The subject of being fondled by the coach.

  She ran out of the house. So I produced

  A fabrication. My ’magination

  Let run loose. I make her estimation

  Not so devastating. She comes back home.

  She grabs the phone. She calls his Mom. Psycho.

  Some poor old woman and my poor young Mam

  Are losing all the love they’d won in prayer.

  This isn’t news of any gay affair.

  You’re son’s a paedophile. An evil man.

  Mam’s threatening to kill both her and him.

  ‘I’ll tear your son asunder limb from limb.’

  It isn’t any wonder she’s dismayed.

  Nevertheless, I feel like I’ve betrayed.

  The same thing when I said I’d HIV.

  I’m not as angry with my Dad. ’Coz he

  Stays calm these days when I’m in need. Oh sure.

  I’m hypersensitive. I’m insecure.

  Embrace whatever lonely fat old man

  Will take control of me. I understand.

  I’m acting out my nightmare. This is how

  I cope. Don’t feel. ’Coz feeling’s not allowed.

  Sometimes my parents cross my mind in sex.

  What can I do? Each morning with my ex

  Was like I woke up with my Dad. Could be

  That’s normal, possibly, conceivably?

  So silent I wank floor-bound in Paris.

  Some French leather Daddy is slaughtering me.

  I capitalise on the pain I feel.

  A nameless exchange with a stranger. Big deal.

  Sweet Medicine said accept my desire.

  I crawled on the floor, then he killed his fire

  Four times on my arm. Which scars. But no harm.

  There’s cigarette burns on my forearm. Yes, charmed?

  Monsieur is asleep with his husband all warm.

  Silent I wank on the floor. It’s like porn.

  Sun’s coming up, so I get dressed and split.

  The addict’s been fed. Her fire is lit.

  A weekend in Paris binge-fucking is slick.

  Where nobody knows me, or knows that I’m sick.

  Not that you would ever catch me taking a chance.

  But we all take a risk when we dance in our pants.

  Last tango in Paris for me and for me…

  I grab a cab in search of chi.

  I, like,…meditate in Père Lachaise.

  I listen to Jim Morrison, he says,

  ‘Heal, Heal, Heal, Neil, if Christ could be

  A Jew born to a Virgin, and be me.

  He sure as hell can be a riddled gay.

  They only washed your brain so they could stay

  ‘In power. They’re devouring themselves.

  The ones who criticise are stuck in hell.’

  I’m suddenly officially the Christ.

  I sense a bit of pressure. But it’s nice.

  AUGUST

  Here yous, I’ve got the need for weed.

  My head is pounding off of me.

  Roll up, roll up, roll up the green.

  The universe is loving me.

  It’s August. I’m in Finland. Drunk.

  Got thrashed with twigs by naked men.

  And jumped into a lake. I froze.

  But it feels good to live again.

  It’s 3 a.m. No orgy in my room.

  The hotel carpark down below…shows

  Three skateboarders smoke. They’re chilled.

  From three flights up I smell the blow.

  Forget about my fear. I want

  To get out of my head. Hi there.

  You guys from Finland? Have some sweets.

  Would you be so kind as to share?

  The marijuana kills my pain.

  These headaches are a fucking curse.

  These lads seem nice. There’ll be no fight.

  I say I’m gay. They’re all adverse.

  But they’re too stoned to raise a hand.

  We don’t like gays. We think it’s wrong.

  And monged I say. I understand.

  There’s people I hate too. It’s grand.

  I tell them that I do gay plays.

  All their faces are dead. They look like this.

  I look dead too. So we liaise.

  One takes his cock out, has a piss.

  They’re fifteen, sixteen, thereabouts.

  No sexy feelings for these teens.

  I like my men post-puberty.

  When they’re older, they can treat me mean.

  They’re just three stoners. I’m some fag.

  I ask them what their passions are.

  One loves his skateboard. One can’t speak.

  And the other says that drugs by far

  Are all he does day in day out.

  That drugs are totally what life is.

  His pal butts in and says he’s hooked.

  The silent skater shows unease.

  I’m totally stoned. Now I’m on fire.

  We hang by trashcans, carpark’s dark.

  A bit of light…the hotel sign.

  This lad’s too young. I must remark.

  ‘You think that you love drugs. You don’t.

  You’re on the run from
painful shit.’

  His pal chimes in. ‘He’s got a problem.’

  ‘Me as well,’ I say, ‘Let’s quit.’ He’s got a problem, man.

  Don’t be like me. My life’s a mess.

  Because I ran away from pain.

  Don’t you see that I was sent to warn you?

  This is huge. It’s massive. ‘Don’t you see, we’re the same?’

  The one who can’t speak faints at my feet.

  My words are blowing his mind. ‘I’m Christ.’

  I say. ‘My words have just blown his mind. He’s just getting a healing. Let me deal with him. Back off. He’s like ice.’

  I say that my power has even scared me.

  One translates what I say. When the other’s, like, what?

  Now he’s conscious again, Mr. Silent is like,

  Get your hands off my chest. Whoops, I forgot.

  I’m stoned. I’m Christ. Ascend to bed.

  I long for porn to soothe my shame

  The shame that I must come again.

  Again. Again. Again. Again.

  In bed I wank and act out hurt.

  Need better props to get me there.

  Next week, I’ll get some crystal meth.

  Some problems are beyond repair.

  SEPTEMBER

  Because I could not stop Miss Konnt

  I had to stop us both.

  I tied a rope around our throat

  And eased the pain with dope.

  My dearest darling Mother,

  How I wished I had been good.

  I cannot go on troubling you.

  Your lot’s more than enough.

  You’re from the time when little girls

  Were not allowed to smile.

  You’re not to blame, Mam, for my pain.

  I’m sorry. I’ve been vile.

  Now I’m released. So you’ll have peace.

  It’s better where I am.

  No need to honour monsters now.

  Sweet Jesus understands.

  My obsession with The Hours,

  It’s that film that I love,

  Has finally come to this, my death.

  What was I thinking of?

  I’ve watched it every week for years.

  Since headaches first appeared.

  Virginia Woolf knew pain like mine.

  And voices ’tween her ears.

  You’ve given tears straight from your heart.

  God drove us round the bend

  And built a wall between our hearts.

  In heaven we’ll be friends.

  Watch Rabbit Hole. It stars Nicole.

  It will help with your grief.

  It’s all about bereavement.

  It will change your core beliefs.

  This pain has driven me insane.

  I tried to find a cure.

  I couldn’t give up wanking, Mam.

  It’s just how I’ve matured.

  I couldn’t help my isolation.

  And I hate that you could see

  The way your little flower waned

  To mediocrity.

  I hope my suicide works out.

  I’ll be scarlet if it doesn’t.

  Just one more act of shame to share

  With aunties and with cousins.

  God says that I am not the Christ.

  It’s just me being mad.

  So now I take my punishment

  In purgatory’s hands.

  OCTOBER

  Last October my friend knew that I was depressed. So she invited me to join her on a trip out to Swords, Co. Dublin to a warehouse normally reserved for dog-shows. In order to get a hug from an Indian lady called Amma. The usual Friday night out, you know.

  Turns out Amma is known as ‘The Hugging Saint’. It’s said that her hugs are healing. That night, thousands had shown up for a spiritual squeeze. And Jacinta and I waited in line until four in the morning along with all these people dressed in cloaks and sandals, with little dots on their forehead. We basically took the piss out of all of them.

  When Amma hugged me, I felt this huge sense of…relief. I felt a very deep feeling of…unconditional love.

  The following night at home, I was having a dream about Jacinta. I dreamt she was putting giant multi-colored curtain tassels around her neck. And I don’t know why but, I thought that this was the funniest thing ever. I laughed so much in my dream that I woke myself up.

  I sat up in my bed, laughing to myself in the dark. My heart was heaving with happiness.

  At the foot of my bed, I saw an orange glow. And in the glow I saw the face of Amma. This wasn’t a dream.

  And Amma’s face turned into the face of Jesus and back again. And they said to me, ‘Neil, do you still want to die?…because you can come with us now…’ And I’m genuinely afraid that my time is up. And I push myself to speak. ‘No,’ I say, ‘I want to stay.’ And Jesus and Amma reply as one, ‘Then tell your story.’

  Contributor Biographies

  THOMAS CONWAY

  Thomas works as a director, dramaturg, lecturer and journalist. He teaches contemporary theatre practices at National University of Ireland, Galway, and The Lir Academy for Performing Arts, Dublin. He is Literary Manager with Druid.

  GRACE DYAS

  Grace is currently researching and developing HISTORY (the third part of THEATREclub’s social history trilogy) as part of her Public Art Commission Residency in St. Michael’s Estate.

  She is also working with The Abbey Theatre on The Young Covey’s project about young people and politics to coincide with The Plough And The Stars.

  Grace is one third of THEATREclub. She is a theatre director, writer and producer. Recent work for THEATREclub includes TWENTY TEN, THE FAMILY, HEROIN (Spirit of the Fringe Award), THEATREclub stole your CLOCK RADIO what the FUCK you gonna do about it?, GROUP THERAPY FOR ONE and ROUGH (Fishamble New Writing Award). Other theatre includes I am A Home Bird (It’s very hard) which she produced for Talking Shop Ensemble.

  Grace has also worked as an assistant to directors Jason Byrne, Annie Ryan and Wayne Jordan.

  Grace is a proud board member of Dublin Youth Theatre.

  MARK O’HALLORAN

  Mark is a writer/actor from Ennis Co. Clare, Ireland. His screenplays include Adam & Paul and Garage. He has also written a television series, Prosperity. Plays include The Head of Red O’Brien and Mary Motorhead. Trade, which premiered at the 2011 Dublin International Theatre Festival, won the Irish Times Irish Theatre Award for Best Play of 2011 as well as the Irish Playwrights and Screenwriters Guild Zebbie award for best new play. Mark has been nominated for numerous other awards, including a European Film Award for the screenplay of Adam & Paul, Irish Film and Television Awards where he won for both ‘best screenplay’ and ‘best TV writer’ 2007. He also won the London Evening Standard award for Best Screenplay in 2005.

  LYNDA RADLEY

  Lynda Radley hails from Cork and lives in Glasgow. In 2011 Lynda won a Scotsman Fringe First for her play Futureproof; a co-production between Dundee Rep Ensemble and the Traverse Theatre. She recently took part in the Dream Plays programme for Edinburgh Fringe 2012, also for the Traverse, and shared in a Herald Angel Award. Other recent work includes Berlin Love Tour – a walking tour of Berlin that can take place in any city – which sold out at the Fierce Festival in Birmingham, Cork Midsummer Festival and Dublin Fringe (Playgroup). In February 2012 Lynda travelled to the National Play Festival in Australia, with a delegation from the National Theatre of Scotland, where her play DORM received a rehearsed reading. With visual artist, Jenny Soep, she is currently developing a graphic novel. Her solo show The Art of Swimming was short-listed for Meyer Whitworth and Total Theatre awards and toured internationally. Other works include Birds and Other Things I am Afraid Of (in association with The Arches and Poorboy), Integrity, Dark Week, The Heights and Soap!: a ten episode live soap opera co-written with Ciaran Fitzpatrick (Playgroup).

  PHILLIP MCMAHON

  Phillip is one half of pop
culture outfit THISISPOPBABY. As a theatremaker he has worked as actor, director, producer and playwright. His plays include Danny and Chantelle (still here), All Over Town, Investment Potential, Pineapple, Elevator and the musical Alice In Funderland at the Abbey Theatre. Directing credits include In These Shoes?, All Dolled Up and A Woman In Progress all written and performed by drag superstar Panti, The Year of Magical Wanking and a live arena show for the Rubberbandits at Electric Picnic Music and Arts Festival. Phillip is co-creator and co-curator of the ‘POP’ performance venue at Electric Picnic Music and Arts Festival, ‘Queer Notions’ cross-arts festival at Project Arts Centre and ‘WERK’ Performance/Art/Club at the Abbey Theatre.

  As a teenager Phillip was a member of Dublin Youth Theatre, National Youth Theatre and Australian Theatre for Young People. He was ‘Writer-in-Association’ at the Abbey Theatre 2009/10.

  AMY CONROY

  Amy Conroy has been a professional actor for over ten years and founded HotForTheatre 2010.

  She wrote their debut show I Alice I, which premiered in ABSOLUT Fringe 2010, winning her the Fishamble New Writing Award, nominations for the Stewart Parker Trust Award and a Zebbie Award. I Alice I was programmed in the Ulster Bank Dublin Theatre Festival, the Peacock stage of Abbey Theatre in Dublin, the Irish Arts Centre In New York, LÓKAL Festival in Iceland, and was recorded and broadcast on RTÉ Radio One. Her second show, Eternal Rising of the Sun, for which she won the Best Female Performer Award, premiered in ABSOLUT Fringe 2011 and transferred to the Dublin Theatre Festival 2012. Both shows will tour nationally and internationally in 2013. Amy has begun working on HotForTheatre’s next show which will premier in late 2013. Amy wrote and recorded Hold This, a radio play for RTÉ Radio One, and was a participant on the New Playwrights Programme 2011 in the Abbey Theatre.

  HotForTheatre believes theatre should provoke, move and delight in equal measures.

  UNA MCKEVITT

  Una McKevitt is a Dublin-based theatre practitioner interested in making theatre from everyday life. The ambition and focus of Una’s work is to derive a dramatic text from a documentary practice and abstract personal histories and social realities through performance and design to create theatre that is both artful and innovative. Inspired by Quarantine’s Production of Susan and Darren, Una developed her first documentary work Victor and Gord in 2009 based on the dysfunctional friendship of her sister Gord (Aine McKevitt) and Gord’s friend Victor (Vickey Curtis). Victor and Gord was published by Cork University Press in Queer Notions 2010, edited by Fintan Walsh. In 2010, Una premiered her second work, 565+ ‘My name is Marie O’Rourke’ at the Ulster Bank Dublin Theatre Festival 2010. In 565+ Marie discusses her compulsive attendance of the theatre and her ongoing battle with depression. In 2011 Una, in collaboration with two contributors, edited and directed The Big Deal, based on the contributors’ real-life experiences of gender reassignment and performed by actors. Una is currently developing a new show Singlehood with a cast of ten and based on over fifty interviews with single men and women. Singlehood will premiere at the 2012 Absolut Dublin Fringe Festival.