 Dear you, all the beautiful faces out here in, I guess it's autumn, right? Autumn afternoon, this crazy world that we're living in. My name is Keith Joseph Atkins. I am the Artistic Director of the New Black Fest. We had been around literally, this is our 13th year this week, which is unbelievable. I'm very grateful to Frank for inviting the New Black Fest to be part of the Prairie Loop Festival 2023. The New Black Fest has a little history with Frank and the Martin Segal Theater. We have premiered all of our social justice anthologies with them going back to 2004, I believe. And we've had three or four of them. So grateful to be here. The way this event is gonna work this afternoon, basically you're gonna hear four excerpts of four brand new plays by incredible actors. Each playwright will come up before their play is read and talk very briefly about the excerpt and the larger context of the play. Then the reading will happen and then we'll break and have another play, playwright, so on and so forth. Following the readings, which should last about 70, 75 minutes, we'll have a quick, not quick, but we'll have a nice panel discussion moderated by Robin Walker Murphy, who is sitting right here. We're gonna talk about survival and resistance and using these plays to sort of jump off that conversation. All right, so thank you again. I'm very excited. First up is Jeannie by Haley Spiney. How you doing today? All right, my play is called Jeannie. The idea of it is the Jeannie is out of the bottle. So this is about a group of old friends who have an annual tradition of coming together for a single night where they are expected to tell the truth, the entire truth and nothing but the truth, including white lies, big secrets they might have been hiding throughout the years. And it's an opportunity where they can ask each other the questions about their lies and beliefs and actually get an honest answer back. And it's a challenge to see how authentic that they can actually be and see how difficult it is to do that. The reason I wrote this play is I'm just very fascinated by the idea that we all have two sides of ourselves, especially when you go to a party setting, the idea is you wanna show up and be the best version of yourself. But what happens if you go to an environment where no one expects you to be the best version of yourself. So this excerpt here is, I chose this one here because it's a nice experimentation about where different characters have different alliances to themselves, to their partners, to their friends in the room. And just a moment where the truth becomes a little bit harder to tell. Pat Gordon enters the bedroom. She looks around. She touches the curtains. She picks up a few framed photographs while hitting her vein. She sits on Tosh and Daniel's bed. She bounces a little to test it out. She lies down with her back and spreads out her limbs. She picks up a pillow. She searches the inside of the pillowcase. She looks under the bed. She pulls out an old shoebox and a rifle spirit. She finds a passport. She looks through it. She finds a folder with various papers. She scans them. She runs her fingers across the top of the dresser. She opens a drawer. She rifles. She pulls out their underwear. She puts it back. She finds a jewelry box. She pulls out the pearls. She puts them that. She pulls out the diamond ring. She puts it on her finger. She opens the closet door. She pulls out gowns and then a suit. She holds them to her body. She keeps digging. She finds a wig. She wears it. She laughs. She finds a pair of lace-up thigh-high leather latex boots and a whip. She tries to crack it. Can't quite figure it out. Offstage, we hear footsteps running up the stairs. Caught her in quickly but fully returns the boots, wig and whip. She quickly moves to the sweet bathroom and shuts the door behind her. Tosh enters. She sits on the bed, frantically dabs a cloth over the giant red stain on her blouse. God damn it. She doesn't want to cry. She takes a few deep breaths as she regains her composure. Rosa enters. You okay? We can stop. We don't need to play anymore. Honestly, call it. Someone calls it every year. Not me. Well, this is your one time and that's fine. No, no. That wasn't the game, okay? That was revenge. He's got me back. Good on him. No, not good on him. We're supposed to let this shit go. Every year is a new game. New, no grudges. Okay. Right. Ouch. Why are you so beat up? This happens every year. This time you just fell in love. I'm not beat up. I'm fine. I'm just cleaning up my shirt. Okay, well, we might as well call the game because clearly you're not playing anymore. What? What do you mean? Your life. You're sitting here lying to me, telling me that you're okay when obviously you're not. You want to lie then end the game. Okay. I am not okay. That was brutally humiliating. But I asked for it. So I don't get to sit here licking my loose. This is the game. A noise from the bathroom. Rosa and Tosh look at the door. Hello? Catherine emerges. Pat. You're in my bathroom. Mm-hmm. For a particular reason? Nope. So she gets to lie. How come she gets to lie? Catherine, go lie. Fine, I was hitting my bae. On the toilet? It's the only place Bolton won't look. Already? Bolton, the man who's known for his wonderful boundaries and ever constant respect. Rosa. You know what that man did to Tash's house says. What happened downstairs? How long have you been up here? What happened to your shirt? He shamed her, humiliated her. He's been stalking our financial records the past year and a half. Oh. Oh. Oh. Okay, so you did know? No. How about I heads up the next time? No. What happened to women sticking together? You know, we could learn something from the men. Men know how to have each other's back. You saw the way they stuck together downstairs. Band of the brothers. Each socially gang fang and Tash until she's tear choking on their misogynistic cops. Meanwhile, Chuck cocked Danny Daniels sits in the corner with his wrecks and shriveled up all the way to his wisdom teeth. Bro, shut up. They're assholes. We get it. I'm serious. What the hell with that? Yeah, okay. She needs out the bottle. I get it. But dad, he just sat there and he let them read me. If Morgan had him pour their entire drink down your shirt would still be down to him. Aren't you pissed? Yes. I'm pissed. I'm fucking pissed. Daniel is a coward. No shit. What's new? Tash scrubs her shirt furiously. I'm gonna get him next year. Just you wait. I'll find everything. This is getting a little ominous for me. What happened to Ghostly? Some line for 10, like you didn't know that that was gonna happen. What else were you hiding up here? Sick of everyone playing the middle. I'm not. You barely said shit even. I was baby. You're posting. You love this game more than anyone. You're just upset. You finally got pushed into the hot scene. Finally, you've been waiting. Remember when this used to be about intellectual debate? A night where we can present the ideas and worries that challenge us. Maybe take a stab at status quo and see what lies beneath conformity. Now it's turned into, who can find out the dirtiest lawn? You can't lecture me about that when it's your husband walking around with my socks in his hand. A knock on the door. What? Morgan sticks her head in. Hi. Hi. I just want to say I'm sorry about the wine. I'm a little drunk. Oh my God, it's fine. It was a really pretty talk. Yeah. I feel so bad. I love silk. I'm really sorry. Dan made a martini. I'm drinking martini. It's fine, Morgan. Can I commend him? Now it's not a great time. Oh. Are you guys talking about me? No. Okay. But I can't come in. Fine, Morgan, please. Come in. Morgan enters. No one says anything. She smiles at them. She sits down on the bed. So what did you need? I just wanted to make sure you weren't mad at me. I'm not. Okay. It's just, you all left me downstairs. What? You left me with the men. All the women were up here and I was with the men. What were they saying down there? Hmm? What else do they know? Or did they turn on you next? Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I bet they sent you up here. See what we're saying, Pop? Andre wants you to report back, huh? You know, they weren't talking about you. Well, actually, they do suspect that you had a few surgeries last spring. So I'd be prepared for that. Oh, fuck, fuck. We didn't mean to leave you. I'm just trying to change my shirt. Yes, of course. Are you all changing your shirts? I'm hiding. I'm talking shit. If someone still whine on me, I talk shit about them too. We're not talking about shit at all. Like this has nothing to do with you. Morgan gets more comfortable on the bed. Okay, great. What were you talking about? About how all of your husbands are snakes, slithering wet baby chicken eating snakes. Tosh opens her drawers for a shirt. She pauses. Did you go through my drawers? No. I mean, sure, but we do the same to them. We just got to coordinate better next year. Can I look through your closet? No. The hosts have to show. I asked, so you have to open. Are you kidding me? Can I have a break? Can I have a five fucking second break? You're a hostess. Come on. I've never played before. I want you to experience it all, including the complete invasion of privacy. Morgan runs to the closet and begins rummaging. Have fun. Anyways, Catherine, are you not disturbed that I believe your husband demonstrated as if I naturally passed your friend? I wasn't there. I didn't get to see it. Tell me. Honestly, this is me asking. This is me expecting the truth. Bolton has anger problems. He's had two online affairs with Instagram models named KitKat and Too Sweet For You. Who loves to humiliate your friends. He humiliates you and sherry on top. He is racist. What do you love about him? He's not racist. He went on a 15 minute rant about how he could never be attracted to a black woman. He loves black women. Trust me, I've seen his porn history. He's just saying that took me off. He strategically uses inflammatory racist conversations just to get a ride out of black people. None of this bothers you. Why does he have to be attracted to black women to be even person? Are you kidding me? Morgan? Not everyone is attracted to everyone. That's fine. People have types. Are you, are you? Oh my God. Are you depending on white supremacists? He's not a white supremacist. Just cause you haven't found the hood doesn't mean it's not in the closet. Honestly, I think he's just an asshole. We have to do a complete psychological evaluation of him. But let's save the money. He's just an asshole. You guys are great. I love hanging out with him. What do you love about him? You just do. She likes assholes. Whatever. He makes you small Catherine. That's all I'm saying. When you stand next to him, I don't even see you. Well, I'm there. Sometimes being small is useful. It's a little easier to go unwatched. Right now. Morgan Dask with excitement. She pulls out the whip. She corrects it. So, is that what you've been doing all night? Being small so the hot seat is off of you? Yeah, you're gonna have all this personality down there. And you kidding? I'd love to be in the hot seat. I haven't been genie all night. You guys are all so self upset. No one asked me a single question. I'm so bored. I don't know what any of you guys are talking about. La, la, la, this what's happened at the alpha party in 2008. La, why did you lie to me once six years ago? Why are you committing tax fraud? Come on. You're a little bitch. Morgan cracks the whip. Oh, I see. You're fun. You're a fun girl. I ain't got no pain then, ladies. What's genie? Morgan hops onto the bed excitedly. Why are you engaged to Andre? That's single of life and ease before his money? Maybe. Probably. That and because he follows the books. Do you love him? Sure. What do you mean, sure? I mean, if he died tomorrow, I guess. And that would be because of love? I don't want to marry someone I love, love. No, I want to marry someone I can respect and spend time with. Why not love? If I married a man who excited me or made me feel especially seen and understood, then I'd end up with something to ask the whole label. Thanks. I know myself. I shouldn't marry the man I love. I should marry a man who will support me and follow the rules. OK, so you're only marrying Andre because he's rich and he won't cheat. You act like those are the only rules you follow. What are the rules? And you're not worried he's only marrying you because you're young and beautiful? He's marrying me for that and because I follow the rules. What are the rules? The same ones you've been complaining about all night. The gender charades. Bullshit. Andre wants a wife who stays small, is well-behaved, doesn't disagree, doesn't always stray. Praise to God, cooks cleans. Works hard enough to prove she isn't using him for money, but not so hard that he ever needs to put her job first. He wants a good wife. A woman follows rules. That's honesty, ladies and gentlemen. OK, and what are you getting for time? A man with status. A man who always drives, pays, never stops working even if it breaks him. A man who doesn't cry, doesn't require me to hold him and talk about his little feelings. A man who is so unconcerned about my daily life that I can do whatever I want and he's off doing whatever he wants. A man who won't care when the kids love me more. A man who comes home, juts up, eats his dinner in front of the TV and fucks me and definitely complain about the burden that is lying. Morgan cracks the whip. Give me my whip. Morgan hands it over. She crawls under the covers. I want to be clear, my marriage looks nothing like this. Well, your marriage is something else. Where are you in my bed? I'm just following my impulses. No. But we're supposed to be truthful tonight. And what does that have to do with me touching my sheets? You said at the beginning that tonight is about complete and utter honesty. No hiding, no lying. I'm not hiding my impulses. Think about all the teeny tiny ways we cover ourselves from others. You want to scream, but you don't scream. You want to get into the sheets, but you won't get into the sheets. Where is it true? I like her path. I think she's deeply brainwashed and to some degree broken, but at least she's not gaslighting herself. Eyes capped in. Thank you. Rows of crawls into the bed with Morgan. Okay. When you got sick, did he choke you? I choke him. Downstairs, downstairs. Everybody go downstairs, get out of my closet, get out of my bed, don't touch my fucking bed. When both of my hosts did, you watched my sex tape. Oh, the tape that both couldn't be neatly left out? The one you didn't turn off? This entire night is disgusting. This game is disgusting. Don't put him like you don't know it and don't put him like you don't like it. Kaepern snatches the whip and crawls into bed. This shit, look at this. Kaepern cracks everything. Oh, babe. This used to be fun. This is not fun. It's a good time so long as you're not in the hostage. It feels good to confess, to tell the truth. I never get to tell it. We lie, we lie, we lie, we lie. I have sense. I want to confess. Why? So we can fill your need for attention. You need attention too. We all do. Daniel's always running around filling wine and making martinis, looking for a thank you like a dog looks for a treat. Andre is parading me around like a show. Bolton is just Bolton. And then there's us. Then there's you and you. No. No. You don't think you saw attention tonight? No, I really don't. Andre said you begged to host. You couldn't wait to drop the price of every little vase and candlestick in this place. And we haven't even touched the topic of you and Bolton's obsession with each other. Well, let's not walk that bottle. Morgan climbs out of the bed. I think I'm ready to go downstairs. She climbs out of the bed. I'm sorry. It sounded like there was an implication there. What happened to following your impulses? I'm remembering why I have to don't act like this in regular life. I'm ready to go down. I'm sure Andre wants Forsey to come back to the stables. I'm just going to say, if we're being honest, like you want, I don't want Andre to marry you. You know, there's only some points in the night when it stops being fun. Usually it's around the fourth martini. This is when people go home. Maybe we're there. Morgan, you want to be the good little life? You should do that. Go downstairs and wrap yourself around your fiance's arm. Let's call it. Well, you don't want to end the night too early. How else are we supposed to find out what's going on between cats? And Dan, say that again. There's something going on between cats and Danny. You know, it's always the loud ones that get the attention. But you quiet one. Say, look at Catherine. Catherine scoffs. She's lying. Lying would be against the rules. Morgan, I want you to leave. You don't believe me? I want you to go. Because it doesn't matter if you believe now. Because we're always going to follow the rules. Morgan exits. All eyes on Catherine. Hot seat. She crawls out of the bed. Danny never did that to you. Gosh, Morgan's just one of those girls. You knew it when you saw her. Are you wearing my ring? All eyes on Catherine's finger. That's my ring. It was in my case. I put it away. I know I did. That's mine. Toss lunges at Catherine. Catherine screams. Toss yanks the ring off her finger while shoving Catherine to the floor. Toss stands over you. You could have asked. Just ask. I would have shown you. Just fucking ask. Asshole. Catherine pulls herself to stand in. She recovers. You left it out. It was on the dress. I was just looking at it. Catherine exits. Toss lapses on the ground. Assholes. We're done, OK? We're going to fold it. The game is over. Did you know? Tosh, did you know? This is me asking. I thought they had stopped. They probably stopped. It's over. The game is over. Right when I'm finally out the hot seat. I don't think so. We're done. It's my party. You don't get to tell me when to stop. Tosh wipes her face and straightens the new blouse. She laughs at herself. All right. Back downstairs. It's almost time for dessert. End of play. So there was round the clock. And there was another story. So the next play up is called The Heat Will Kill Everything. And that is actually by me. So I don't usually talk about my plays like this. But I'm going to go ahead and try to explain it to you. So this play is loosely, I'm sorry, loosely, but I'll say this. I am very much interested in climate change as well as toxic patriarchy. And for me, the way the planet is heating up, it's like a crucible for all of us. And it's going to challenge or can challenge all aspects of our sociology, our psychology, our gender expression, our gender power. And so this play, The Heat Will Kill Everything, is about a middle-aged black man during an incredible heated climate event and his daughter goes missing. And he must discover for himself why she ran away. The excerpt you're about to hear is the first part of the play. We meet the main character, his name is Leaton. He discovers, he's telling you a little bit about the context of what's happening. And he also discovers that his daughter, Asha, has disappeared on the hottest day ever recorded. All right? So introducing Corey Jackson. An upstage screen displays a rapid fireflage of climate change images. A F5 tornado and ice shelf collapses, drought hit far away, heavy coastal flooding, wildfires. Lights rise on a solitary black man. He could be British, Canadian, American, African. His name is Leaton, 40s, educated, warm, and occasionally cold switches. He stands on stage and speaks to us. It was the autumn before the floods. When my daughter disappeared, temperatures rose above 120 degrees for weeks. Vegetation, wilted animals, insects, cow. Water was scarce. Black and brown people in the poor were impacted the most. It was a disruption of epic proportions. Scientists warned us about melting glaciers, psychotic climates, the vanishing of monarch butterflies. They said it would be irreversible. And they were right. The authorities, as you can imagine, begged people not to go outdoors. Every hour, on the hour, they told us the heat was dangerous, catastrophic. That it would have no mercy for human life, any life. Some of us didn't believe. Some of us believed more in challenging the truth than the truth itself. I wasn't one of those people. I watched documentaries, read articles, paid close attention to the WMO, the World Meteorological Organization. If they sounded an alarm, I acquiesced, took note. But more importantly, I prided myself on being a sponsor. I was an educator, a voter of an 11-year-old daughter. My sole purpose was to protect her, to make sure nothing absolved her sweet life. Responsibility guaranteed that. A projection, light ship. On a Monday morning, a large flume blackened our skies. The news reported it was smoke from forest fires. A common occurrence these days. A podcaster said it was from a chemical explosion and not to believe anything the news says. If you did, you were an idiot in worthy of extinction. Not sure I agreed, but there was no ash, no toxic smell, just darkness. I thought it was our end, our final bump from earth and that it was justified. A projection, light ship. I was born here in this country. So were my parents, the great great-grandparents who were there to suggest our lives have been easy would be a slap against historical fact. We are black and that's synonymous with a complicated existence. Have we flourished for generations? But that didn't happen without a fair share of systemics and isms. Like everyone else, we also burned fossil fuel, built homes and destroyed forests. We've ignorantly and knowingly exploited the plant. A dark plume of doom would have been the obvious finale. Instead, the opposite happened that Monday morning. It was a reprieve, a climate reprieve, if one could say that the dark plume actually locked the sun, dropping the temperature 30 degrees in 20 minutes. It was miraculous. It was still hot, don't be mistaken, but the air felt cool, tolerable. In comparison, for the first time in weeks, I was happy and long. Doom had not showed its ugly head in my life. So I thought. A projection, light ship. What happened next was commotion, shouting, screaming. I was sure someone had been found dead, but then I heard laughter. It was odd to hear after so many weeks of silence. Even birds were chirping. I ran to the window, of course, to see the matter. Neighbors were in their yards, opening champagne, jumping through sprinklers, celebrating. I understood that heat felt like a death sentence and we suddenly got an exoneration. I went to my daughter's room. I was anxious for us to go out and celebrate. You see, I was a divorcee with partial custody and Asha's three-day visitation had turned into weeks due to the weather and she thrived on the outdoors. It was her sacred space, the curiosities and the weeks inside were killing her spirit. We were about to get a climate break. I knocked on her door several times but she didn't answer. I wasn't surprised at first. Asha always slept hard by product of her three-day days. More rest, more growth, what the doctors told us. You had to knock hard if you wanted to wake her and I knocked several more times, but Asha, sweetie, Asha, she never responded. A projection lights shed. I stepped into a room, something I promised I'd never do without permission but I'm glad I did. A bed was empty, slept in but not occupied. I called out again but still nothing, which was odd, she would at least answer. I'll be there in a sec, daddy. You need to learn patience, daddy. Asha was sweet like that, independent but caring. I touched her sheets, they were warm so I knew she had to be close but I noticed her blue adidas were gone and her backpack. I was not going to panic, that would have been easy to do but I refused. I pillaged through the house, calling for a yelling. Asha, where are you? I'm not in the mood for this type of game this morning. Then I remember telling her if it was too uncomfortable at night, too warm, she could sleep in the tub. She wasn't there even. I ran out and circled the house, I checked the garage, the interior of the car, any place that would provide comfort for a child and things like that. My neighbors whistled over to me. I knew I looked on hinge, they asked if all was okay to have some champagne and relax. Asha is missing my daughter, I can't find her. I mentioned the blue adidas, the dark clone, no one saw anything, no one saw her. A few said, I didn't know you had a daughter, Lee. How is it possible you didn't know I had a daughter? She's not invisible, is it because she's black? Is that what you're saying? Because that's really fucked up. They snarl out of confusion I assumed or perhaps uninterested in race and gender in their moment of celebration. I was a legit buzz kill, but between the time the temperature dropped 30 degrees and my knock on her door, Asha disappeared. That was fat. A projection, lights shift. I'm not a perfect man by any means. Let me tell you that right now. I swallowed my anger more than I expressed it. I was fired from university for fudging the grades of a few male students. I had an affair with a duel and ruined my marriage. My doctor says the polyps in my colon could turn cancerous if I don't get my shit together and change my diet. And living in this country stresses me to fuck out and sometimes call that reverses the stress. But none of that should have justified Asha's disappearance. To put my parenting into question because I know that's what's happening right now. You hear a story like this, you see a black man like me and that's what you think. My past should be trudged up, criminalized. Any slither of evidence for you to have reason to hate or accuse me or to disregard the story I'm telling you, walk out. I gave Asha my best. She only knew the part of me that shines. If we're lucky, children do that for us. Illuminate our good. The heat wane that morning and something dreadful happened to my child. A projection lights shed. I had no other choice but to go to the local precinct. I was weary though, the last time I was there they put me in handcuffs in front of Asha. She and I had dressed as an African king and princess for Halloween and someone called the police. They said some black nationalist is walking around making people uncomfortable. Asha had nightmares about that for weeks but I knew what I was admitting by going to the precinct. Like most men, we wanna believe we're naturally armored and capable but I needed fast results. And I know what a few of you are thinking. His brain must be cracked. A black man with the history with the police going back to the police for help but for me, locating children was the one thing the police did well. What I didn't expect was for them to pull out their blocks. They claimed I was anxious that they felt threatened. I explained I was there to report the disappearance of a child. But I woke up and she was gone. She's 11, has a mole on her cheek. They didn't care. They saw my face, body, my anguish and couldn't differentiate between a black man in distress and one that's a threat. We're in the middle of devil heat. People are dying and in your instinct is to shoot me. A rookie cop recognized me from university. He told him I was a good dude, decent, a real legit professor. But thankfully his vouching worked. My humanity got legitimized. They lowered their guns. The one officer was sent to my house in search for foul play. Evidence for anything I wasn't telling them. The other sat me in the room. Do you give her drugs? Had you beaten her? Are you a bully? Were you sexually inappropriate? Hell fucking no to all the fucking above. I love my daughter and my daughter loves me. The only thing I'm guilty of is unfathomable worry. The interrogation ended on an up note. Thank God. They pledged to issue a missing person report and an amber alert. I was grateful for both. I wanted to know how fast that was going to happen. Today, tonight, tomorrow, will you search for her yourselves? Can I search with you? Follow you? Are you all listening to me? I was instructed to go home. They insisted it was too dangerous for me. Against protocol. They said if Asha was alive or if anybody had abducted her, pray they follow the plume. It was 20 miles in diameter and weather officials confirmed whatever it was. However, bizarre, it had pulling capabilities. Wherever the plume goes, the air would be bearable, safe. They said, just keep my phone closed. But I had other plans. You can't tell this black man if his daughter is alive and expecting to sit and be obedient. I may have valued responsibility in this shambolic world but I was very selective about whose wolves I obeyed. A projection like shit. The call I had to make to Asha's mother was the hardest thing I ever had to do. To tell a woman you lost her child, I nearly went into an arrhythmia thinking about it. What words to use, what tone, how she would react. I knew I had to bring facts to a black woman but I didn't want to debilitate her, break her. Trina, my ex was already salty that my three-day weekend with Asha turned into a shelter at home. Except for FaceTime, she had not seen or held her child in over a month. Since my infidelity, Trina goes out of her way to remind me of my failures. She's accused me of being self-centered misogynist which I guess was partly true. But now she was able to add neglectful father to her list. She's missing, Trina, not dead. The police are looking at me. They said to be optimistic. She was initially silent. I didn't hear her inhale or exhale like her spirit blacked out. Then she exploded. I knew something like this could happen with you. What if she's assaulted, trafficked, be sheltered homes, wake the sleeping diabolical dragons and people? What a fucker. What a degenerate. I tried to assure her that Asha would be fine. She was smart, resourceful, athletic. She earned trophies and soccer. Honors and reading comprehension. Asha was born during the North Side riots. That was huge in this part of the world. If you don't recall the story, a 15-year-old black teen was accused of stealing a pair of socks from a local store. He was arrested and died in police custody. His back had been broken. Thousands poured into the streets, chanting, marching. I was teaching black resistance that semester and took my students. I thought protest would be a good experience for them to feel what many of our ancestors felt when they said, no more to domestic terrorists. I brought Trina. She was seven and a half months pregnant. It was a beautiful moment. Me, my expected wife, my students, and so many others devoted to black resistance showing up for the life of a black boy. You know, I didn't anticipate the fight. People throwing bleach and rocks, shooting, Trina's water broke in the midst of that. And Asha slipped out and into my hands, right on the street, right into the chaos. Trina blamed me for days, months. She said, I forced her to go. She said, I seduced her with bullshit about community and allies. Girls get jacked up by cops every day leading and you never make an effort to march for them? Never. Bottom line, you gave zero fucks that you risked the life of your wife and child because it's always about you and your employees. All others be damned. A projection like shit. Contrary to what Trina ever thought, I carry loads of guilt about that day. Every birthday, every time Asha coughs, gets the flu, sleeps too hard, complains about her small size, I'm reminded how she was forced into this life early because of my selfish whim. And before Trina hung up, she made me shut her. Apparently whenever Asha returned from our weekend, she tell Trina she was deeply worried about her and cried. What is wrong with that it would concern her like that, leading? I don't even know what you're talking about. What do you mean she's deeply, deeply worried? You've got something irreversible stewing inside of you and now our little girl is seeing it. You don't have any business with women in your life. I side-eyed, of course. The hell was she talking about? Well, who in the hell was she talking to? I didn't even have shit stirring inside me. Well, if anything happens to Asha, we, I'll hurt you. Look, if NASA is right about this heat, that it will melt more permafrost, release methane in our atmosphere that our present crisis will leap from catastrophic to apocalyptic, my daughter would be okay. She thought like a mathematician, always putting the pieces together. A troubleshooter every morning, I'd ask what her plans were for the day and she'd say, prepare and fix our world, Dan. Asha was not the type of child who'd worry about anything, especially her father. Rena was dead wrong. A projection might shift. The first 20 minutes of my search, I speeded through the streets, circled the same areas over and over, looking left to right, right to left, speeding, dangerously. The news did say driving a car and people like that was a risk. Tires could explode, engines could blow. I imagine the future of auto-making would need to change to prepare for dangers like that. But if someone found my car wrapped around a tree, my body shoved through the windshield, well, my daughter's life was worth a inconceivable death. I was not going to tell the police that my plan was to find Asha myself in case that's what you're hoping. Fuck that, Rena too. She was 13 hours away and most flights have been grounded since the heat got bad. It would take her forever to get here. No, I had this. There was nothing on those roads, no people, cars. There were dead animals for sure, dozens, deer, coyotes, their corpses blowed in there. The rise in animal extinction was on full display. I saw a dog, one of those golden wolves. It was resting on the road. I blew my horn. Get out of here, dumb ass dog. This heat will lead you up. Then I saw the flies festering on his face. The golden door was dead. I remember thinking, how lucky the flies. This weather was paradise for them. It gave them both food and breeding grounds for days. I prayed Asha hasn't seen that she loved dogs. All animals. I prayed I didn't find her but if Asha had been abducted in heat like that, how did it happen? Who did when? The police said there was no foul play at the house from me or anyone else. Asha just vanished. A projection lights shed. A special emergency broadcast came on the radio. Three F5 tornadoes ripped through some mid-sized city back to back 30 minutes apart. I thought it was happening near me that I was in danger of being obliterated by 175 mile per hour wind that Asha could be obliterated. I wasn't overreacting. Calm skies could go volatile within minutes these days. My resolve was quick. The tornadoes were on the other side of the country. A man was tossed 1,500 feet from his bathroom to an open field. They found him clutching his six month old daughter. One of the worst tornadic events on record. Droughts, ecosystems, fucked, hurricanes, a muck. I got it. The end was near. The end was here. The shit had me stressed. It only reiterated the danger Asha was in. Felt like my head was going to explode. I needed calm. Some kind of meditative elixir. I didn't have any cognac. Gummies. Nothing. I settled on what most black men would settle on. Music. Not Marvin or even Kendrick, but De La Soul. Me, myself, and I. It may sound random to you, but not to me. It's one of those classics that had a way of making the world feel more hopeful than it really was. I don't care what anyone says. Hip hop can save souls. Tell me, Miro, what is wrong? Can it be my daylight clothes? I was already killing the spirit. The uplift. Or is it just my daylight song? What I do ain't make believe. People say I sit in tribe, but when it comes to being daylight, it's just me, myself, and I. You're feeling it, right? Hell, just indulge. Just me, myself, and I. Just me, myself, and I. I see you out there, not me. Now you tease my plug one styling, my plug one spectacular. You say plug one into our hip-feet. No, we're not. That's your plug bull. I don't know. Now you tease my plug one styling, my plug one spectacular. I ain't got help me out. You say plug one into our hip-feet. No, we're not. That's your plug bull. Always pushing that reformed image. There's no need to lie. When it comes to my tiredness. A projection, light shift. I stepped out to see the damage. My God, it was hot. The heat literally sucked my breath, yanked moisture from my skin. I never experienced anything like it. The clone that had been hovering, keeping things cooler, drifted. The temp jumped to 127. I thought maybe I should turn around let the police do their jobs. Your 15 minutes in heat like that could kill. But that would be given up. Leaving Asher to the elephants, to the police, to all other ravages set loose in the world. I had to keep looking. I put on the spare or try. I figured if I placed myself I could, if I pasted myself, I could make the change in five minutes, eight minutes tops. Avoid heat stroke, death, sweat, pour it from my forehead in buckets. You should have seen it. I thought I was going to drown in my own salt water. But I was grateful for all efforts my body was making to pull itself. I learned quickly. Don't ever underappreciate your biology. Sometimes it really wants you to win more than you do. Child's voice pierced the heat. It was faint, like a whisper happened again. I wasn't someone who heard things or talked to themselves. So I knew it was something. Daddy, is that you? Daddy, I see you. It was Asher. I recognized her timbre, her curiosity. I spun around. It was my girl. But I didn't see her. Asher, honey, yes, it's me. Where are you? Asher! It was another voice. This one was older, maternal. Me. It's us, sweetie. You got to turn around. It was my mother and Asher standing together. I swear, hands locked. Waving me to follow. But the thing was, my mother had died five years ago. Of a variant cancer. But they kept waving me to follow. I took a step forward, but something stopped me in my tracks, a man. He was standing behind me. His face was abstract. He was more like a silhouette. And his vibe, his essence felt sinister. Then just like that, my eyes clouded over with sweat. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't hear anything. My pupils burned. The wave of nausea rippled and I puked. I looked back to where they were standing. It was just three trees. The third one, larger than the others. I stumbled back into the car and down the last bottle of water, extreme heat exposure. It was creating mirages. I hadn't read about that. One of the many climate warnings from the WMO. I was hallucinating. I was both glad and it broke my heart. I thought it was our shit. I waited until dark before I finished with the tire. It was still hot, but I told myself it wasn't re-engineering true. Can help you tolerate most things. The real dilemma was gas was low. A projection, light ship. Found a 24 hour gas station that also hadn't run out of gas. When I walked in, I saw a customer standing at the counter, a man. I then saw the broken beer bottle. He was wielding, he was screaming at the cashier. My kids urine is dark yellow and I need water. What's hard to understand about that? God looked starved. His hair was long, unkempt. His eyes blue, sincere, like those images of Jesus they wanted you to believe was Jesus. I felt sorry for him. Dark yellow urine definitely meant dehydration. Another climate backlash. He redirected his desperation at me. Give me your wallet. Don't stare at me, give me the wallet. Brother, I can pay you for your water. That's not a problem. I can pay for your water. I have to pay my electric bill, my gas bill and some food. Shut the fuck up and give me your wallet. He pulled my wallet straight from my pocket. Lie face down right now. I don't want you looking at me. You ass is judging. Dude, I'm almost out of gas and I'm trying to find someone, my daughter. And I need everything so my kids don't triple up and die. Lie down. I could have sighted some from a vehicle but there weren't any in eye shot and then there was a risk of getting poisoned. The only other fix was my father. He lived 10 miles away, I'd give or take him. If I was lucky, if I was lucky, I could there. I could be there before the fuel ran out. A projection, light ship. My father was a man of endless resources, Sid. It was his brand. It was his posture. He was a pillar. And the one person on the planet that could break my spirit and hat. He lived in a sturdy house at the end of a tree lying street, a black middle class utopia, English tutor, four bedrooms, two car garage, a large garden where my mother grew blue puyas. She won a few local landscape awards at that garden. With one of her biggest joys. My father was king. He loved my mother, but he also silenced her. Her intelligence, opinions. My father believed anything he said, did, requested was paramount. All else fell into second place. All else was hushed or flattened. And it always felt like there was an unspoken thing between he and my mother. Something that never came to the surface. Something defining but unpopular. The last time I saw my father was at the repast for my mom, five years ago. He and I got in one of our many fights. That time was about a pot of beef stew. He insisted on eating it, though it was sitting at room temp for six hours. Leading, if I want to swallow an entire hog and stretch my guts till I split, that's my business. That only a masochist would eat food left out like that. Are you suggesting I'm not intelligent? That I'm too daft to know when food is unconsumable? No, but I'm suggesting an intelligent person would discard the stew. I said that. He left towards me like a lion. We stood there screaming about bacteria and salmonella for what felt like hours. So you're the only one around here with a drone's eye on shit. But if you want to get sick, get sick. The hell if I could. This is my house. I pay the mortgage. I eat what I eat. How I damn well eat it. Our standoff caused Asha to cry. She was six and rarely shed tears. I certainly traumatized her and I hated my father for that. Our screaming match ended with my father stuffing a spoonful of beef stew into his mouth, then telling me to get the hell out and never return. But I'm happy not to come back to the place where you killed her spirit. Because whatever that thing is you never discussed killed her. The words jolted him but didn't stop his last swing. Good. Now I'm wife-less and child-less. Get out. A projection light shift. Dad let me in like he was expecting me as if nothing between us had transpired. He had aged a little, graying in his eyebrows and nose, a head of white hair, maybe an inch shorter his athletic frame thinned out some. He was older but still effervescent. I felt a little ashamed. Global warming had left a significant mark during the last few years and not once did I check to see if he was holding up. Leading. He looked dehydrated. Let me get you some electrolytes. He walked into the kitchen and brought back some high-end sports training. The electrolytes will help. Everyone's dehydrated these days with being burned out. They're counting on us not to stay hydrated. They want to exterminate us so they can have the planet to themselves. Who's there, dad? The fucking one for senators. Who the fuck else? The stormed artificial takeover, late-stage asthma. It's the fall of humanity and they love it. We'll just be cops. The house was littered with news clippings about climate change. Every walled door covered with headlines about rains, methane releases and the arctic viral outbreaks. There were cases of water and non-perishables in every corner stacked to the ceiling. Dad wasn't just well-read in global warming. He had become a hoarder of climate doom. A projection like shit. There was also a shrine of mom above the fireplace. Photos, articles of her clothing, dry cougar flowers from her garden. I didn't think of my mother often. I refused to, actually. The last recollections of her bedridden with cancer, my father's blatant denial of her decline. There's a lot to hold. Whenever memory surfaced, I'd beat it back down, but dad had taken the time to build a shrine. He had made mom permanently visible, unlike in life. I looked over at him and he was staring at me. I started to tell him what happened with Asher, but his eyes were glossed over. I know you've seen that look. Not demented, but consumed, obsessed with something bigger than me. Dad, I need to tell you, Asher is missing. He didn't blink, change expression. There was no spiritual blackout like a tree. He nodded as if I confessed to what he'd been thinking all along. I'm trying to find it. Dad, the police are looking, but can I use your truck? The glossiness of his eyes cleared. You know, I don't have to do a damn thing for you. Showing up at my house after five years with the world buckling like it is, you have some fucking gone. Accusing me of being responsible for your mother's death and now asking for a handout? Talk about the flavor of bullshit. I've done everything for you, including give you life and shape it, whether you like it or not. You're so busy thinking you're better than everybody with your degrees and that bullshit good guy shit you do. First your wife leaves, now your daughter. What do you think that means? It means you're no good with women. You kill their spirits too. I think I got hit. My wife kills the kids, too. I took them and walked out the door. Another runner with applause for Cory Jackson. We are bringing him up. Where was she? I was with a fuckboy that I couldn't leave. I just loved him so much. And I knew his reputation. I got that text, I always answered. And I said, oh my God, this is my relationship with America. I know it's reputation, I know what it does is so bad and yet I'm still here. And that's why I wrote Cinderella's of America. My story, in my village in Africa. Yeah? Whoa, hope it to you, fly. I don't have a poetic story. I'm not like them, I'm not a refugee. I'm not running away from a warlord. I don't need some special sort of ARVs for my special kind of African HIV, but I don't know. Boys feel like America needs us to prove why we need to be here. Like we didn't contribute to the reason we want to be here. That since I was a kid, all I saw was America on my screen. Every version of success on my screen was American. Every version of love on my screen was American. Every version of joy on my screen was American. Maybe that's my tragic story. That I never saw those things existing outside of America. But it's different this time, y'all. I can feel it. I don't think it will be different this time. Like it's going to be different this time, because I have planned this time. It's going to be different this time. Lights out. And to the O to the M-E-M. The Department of Tea, who in another world would have been a comedian, magician, or lawyer. In this world, she is all three without any of the qualifications. You smell right. I have a shower that's 36 hours. I'm hungry, and I can't tell if I have a yeast infection or just a wheat moist vagina. Yeah, remember that time you said Africans weren't hungry, dirty, and struggling? Yet here you are. Don't talk about yourself like that. Lady Sheila told me to give this to you. Aw, your mom loves me. How is she? Aw, she's good. Trying to become an influencer with 15 followers and five of them on her other accounts. How'd she take the news? What news? That she about to have a son of her. You didn't tell her you're getting married? I didn't. You're up. She doesn't need to know all that. I told her I booked a big role, and that I needed to leave. And then I told my mom's sperm donor, that guy. I told him that the least he can do is pay for my apartment for three months. So I'm going to use that money to pay, what's the name? Phil. Right, Phil. No, me hands over a wad of cash to team. See, I have a plan. This time is different. You spending all this money to be in this fucked up country? Just to be with you, be a boy. Get off of me. I'll make you a hugger one day. No, you won't. That's your problem right there. I always think you can change someone. But speaking of change, the someone you are marrying has changed. WTF? WTF, what are we texting? What the fuck? Much better. When were you going to tell me? I just did. What happened with the original dude? He chickened out. Why? He said the money wasn't worth it. You clearly didn't show him my picture. I did. And that's when he said the price wasn't worth it. Bitch. Paying someone to marry him. Never would have thought it. You know, in my heyday, I was a cash. You realize I've known you since college, right? You're trying to say I wasn't a cash? Yeah. Yo, I used to leave coins in your pockets at the airport just to get some action at TSA. Does that sound like someone who was a cash? Yes. Yeah, it is. So what did you like? Who? My boot. Just sexy. Like, just sexy and gorgeous and sexy. Manly and sexy. Like, what kind of sexy? Like, interest, Elba and Denzel Washington had a baby. Why aren't you dating him then? Not my type. You know, I like the white. I just want to say older. T. Licks her finger. T. Licks her finger and sticks it in Nolke's ear. Gross, why are you so childish? I'm on a date with a brother. You're lying. You always do that weird thing where you put your non-existent hair behind your ear when you lie. I'm not lying. I'm going to decolonize this vagina. Come rain, come sunshine. You know how Lauren Hill says, free yourself from mental slavery? Bob Marlon will continue. You out here, free yourself from vaginal slavery. No, no, listen, I'm serious though. I can't remember the last chat I was with. And Tyrone is great, and he's real black. Like, singing Negro spirituals during sex black, like just like real black. Like, don't take off his size 14 Tims when he's like, give me black black. What's the point of? Like, I didn't think of like, Paul thing, and the brother offered me a ginger-real black. I mean, it's not real. What's there to be nervous about? You're nervous. I'm not. You always shout when you're nervous. No, I don't. I'm not nervous. I just, I just want to know what I'm done with. So I can finally have a chance, you know? And I don't even believe in marriage. So it's just fun. It's all fake reading. Look how marriage sent out from my mom and my dad and also like, it's a 5% of marriage and you just made a best decision. But still, how many marriages, you know, there were barely any. If we hold ourselves up to that standard and we just crave the thing we know that's probably going to fail. Kind of like you're an American. Not the time to eat. My point is, everyone I know that's married is miserable. Or pretending not to be. The only difference between my wedding and everyone else is that I'm aware it's one big lie. Is this about Justin getting married? I don't care about Keith who shall not be mentioned getting married to that mom. Instagram models don't count anyway. Oh, I wish them a fruitful, flat tummy tea like built together. That's besides the point. The point is, I don't think even marriage and if I gotta fake it, then good for me because everyone else also, also, also, I am a woman who has had very mediocre sexual experiences. So if I'm good at anything, it's faking things, okay? I'm fine. This is gonna be fine. I'm good. I'm not nervous. I am all good. It's all good. It's okay to be nervous. Hugging me. Good. Okay. Your hugging spires in three, two, one. Mike, a very white man, comes out of the room and just his boxer's doing a sexy dance. I'm gonna kick him out of my teacup bed. Shit. Fuck me, even my third hole. You, Leslie, hi, Rome. Now, what the fuck are you still doing here, Michael? Didn't know you had company. I told you the bride was gonna be staying with me. Oh, the bride. Yeah, the bride is I. Nice to meet you. I'm just the neighbor and I came to borrow some milk. So here you go. You can go now. It's a resting. I thought you didn't drink milk in your coffee anymore. No need to. I'll explain this later. I got time. So is this a half and half situation or are you more a 2% milk kind of girl? This is 100% vitamin D. That up, Michael. Damn, your nipples are really big. Shut up, Michael. You know, I guess now's as good as any time to introduce you to the person officiating your wedding. Oh, this is getting even better. You fucking the pastor that's married? Not a pastor, not fucking. He already had a license to officiate marriages and I figured it was the same as the trauma. Wait, you mean anyone who just married people in America? Not just anyone. I took a course. He took it online. Takes 30 minutes. I take my job very seriously. I put in the work and don't act like you don't know what I mean. Shut up, Michael. Don't worry about that. Look, he has a license and he's white. The whites trust their own. Can I get a little less? Need for some clothes on? That's not what you were saying last night. Oh, is this your boyfriend? No. I personally find nothing wrong with you dating the wife. Thank you. You wouldn't have been the wife I expected, but you know. Wait, wait, wait. What does that mean? Oh, no offense. She just normally goes for a, we don't need to be discussing this. She goes for a what? Like wife with like flavor. I got flavor. I got spice. I got zest. You know, you are so much hotter when you are not talking, you just don't talk. That's because I'm fluent in body language. Oh, you got PTSD? PTSD. Oh, in college, she dated this one white. Somehow when you say white, it sounds crazy. Black people, happy race. She dated a white. You don't need to tell this story. While they bumped ugly, you don't hate it when you say that. While they bumped, she said she heard her ancestors crying. Yeah, that shouldn't be real though. Yeah, I believe in that. That's why I do not do missionary with them. The last missionaries visited our countries, made up, closed our eyes for prayers. When we opened them, whoop, her country, God. You can't have this couch belong to nobody but me. I said, that's why you gotta be on top. Gotta let them know who's riding shit over here. Yeah, know me. I'll just talk to you about it. And that's your question? It's deeper than that. Deep, you say it, know me. I've been trying to make team on for six months if that's what you're asking. So it's serious? It's serious to me. But you know what, I get it. She's got a lot on her plate right now. A lot on your plate. What you got on your plate? You know, work and stuff. You sure? Yeah. Well, now that we've all met, you know, I think many weddings have been officiated. Including yours, one. Team, relax. Really just do the ceremony and ta-da, married. Yes, ta-da, married. I didn't even imagine what's to be my tradition. How's that asking me my thesis that? So I'm a three-part older bitch. And in five years, I'll be American. Oh, Hollywood, you're not ready. That's funny. What? Wait, you're serious? Serious about what? You think a green card is what is in between you and your dreams? Oh, 100%. Okay. Okay, what? This acting thing isn't easy. And not because of like immigration, just because it's like kind of fucked. Me and all my active friends. My active friends and I. My active friends and I were born in this country and still have party guests number three on our IAPT. I'm not you or your little active friends plus. Remember, you'll be there. Well, yeah, I got it. Dumpster, the active friend is in right now. Yeah, I'm just saying that I'm as American as a guest. What does that mean? What does that mean as American as a guest? Why don't we just chill for a bit? Oh, I will chill after Mike tells us what Native Americans try to come from. You know I didn't mean it like that. Oh, let's not forget. We are all immigrants here. Not I. My people were brought here. But they were your people too. Sorry to meet you. Yeah, of course, yeah. And I am sorry for my people and what they did and what they continue to do. And I know, sorry, I can't take it away but I do what I can to bridge the gap, you know? And you know, I didn't mean to shit on you. I was shitting on how shitty this shitty country is. Shit, it's shitty to me. And the shit people have to go through, it's like, shit. So I can't imagine what shit you all have to deal with. You have a wonderful vocab. Baby girl, I invite you. Let me help you understand, baby boy. You're an actor who hasn't booked. And chances are you may never book the thing. But like, you still try, right? Despite knowing that this industry in the words of you is shitty. Yeah. And many people quit and they come back and they try and they quit. Yeah. I've never even had the chance to quit because I've never even had the chance to start. And that feels unfair. I deserve the chance to quit. Like even if I don't make it, which I had without. I'm choosing this guy. You know, you can't see the ceiling in America. Mike's phone rings. Lil John's get low. Is this ring tone? Why the hell is that your ring tone in 2023? Mike's style, this is the phone. Thank you for explaining, especially because you don't owe me your explanation because like I always tell T, I'm committed to the work. Okay, whatever, Sean King. Mike's phone rings again. It's still buzzing you right up. Hi, man. Bill? That's right. You said you look like Denzel, what else? Girl, 1996, man, Bill. Oh, sucky, sucky, now. Knock, knock. End of play. Another run of cloth makes an actor's kid's play. Now we're gonna bring up Dennis Allen, the second in his new play, The Venerable Dog. Dennis also directed tonight's excerpts by the way. Yeah, so I'm tired. Okay, what do you need to know about the play? So John Patrick Shanley wrote a play called Doubt. And if you haven't seen the play, there's also a movie with Philip Segal Hoffman and Biola Davis and Snotmulls. And though it is a three character play, there is a fourth character, Donald, who we never see and never hear from, but he is the central character to everything that happens in the play. And I personally got get tired of black bodies being used as devices and being used. So I was like, oh, what about Donald? What happened to Donald? Why does no one care really about Donald? And so this is my attempt to humanize the character that was so instrumental in a play that actually is going up again at Roundabout, but we never see or hear from, so hope you enjoy. A priest, Father Muller, mid 40s, dressed in all black. The white of his surgical collar glows below his atom apple. He stands at a podium on the steps of the United States Capitol, unapologetically addressing a million black men. My name is Father Donald Muller. I'm from the Bronx, born and raised. And when I got the call from Minister Farrakhan's people to be a speaker here at the March, my first thought was techno. I mean, who was I to speak at such a momentous event? What could I offer a million black men? Then they shared with me the lineup for the day and I got as the kids say shook. My heck no turned into hell nah. Truly Jesse Jackson, Dr. Maya Angel, Sister Betty Shabazz, Reverend Al Sharp, Rosa Parks, Stevie Wonder. I have to follow Stevie Wonder. No one should have to follow Stevie Wonder. But here I am, Father Muller from the Bronx, ready to serve. That's what got me up here. My calling to serve for you, for me, for God. I was recently reading the Paris Review. It's not a magazine I usually pick up, but my brother is a subscriber and I found myself sermon searching. I believe we can find a sermon anywhere. Well, in this particular issue, they were interviewing Nigerian novice, Chinua Achebe, and he shared a proverb with the interview. Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunt. Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunt. I look around at this sea of beautiful black faces and I can't help but wonder how the historians will depict this day of unity, a power of love until the lions have their own historians. The history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter. Who are the lions? Who are the hunters? What images are conjured when you hear the words hunter and lion? The lion, king of the jungle, large with a majestic mane, panic-producing roar, teeth and claws that can shred a man like paper. Imagine the hunter, what do you see? A man with a gun, a rifle, a silly safari hat. He is powerful with that rifle. The boom from his rifle is just as panic-producing as the roar, the bullets can shred flesh. That rifle levels the playing field, gives the hunter an advantage, gives the hunter an advantage. Can you see? If you trade the rifle for a spear, does the image of the man change? Is he as powerful? Did his race change? Now make the hunter a woman. Does she seem as powerful? A man's voice cuts off Donald's sermon and we're transported from the U.S. Capitol steps to Father Muller's Bronx apartment living. Get on stage. This is black man. Seriously. Bring back Stevie. We want the thing. I finally doubt there will be happiness at the march. You need to be prepared for anything, bro. Tell us the march is set at the Capitol in DC, not the Apollo in Harlem. Might as well be in a million fans' homes that you're gonna be put broke to sleep for all that barred ass shit. Okay. Because I'm serious, bro. But no more when they hear these analogies and shit, man, speak from the heart, like the head. I don't know why I asked you to listen to this. You asked me to find my black person, you know? Okay. When you've given a sermon, when have you given a sermon to have more than one black face and a huge? You're just gonna jump to a million? A million? But I serve our community. I've always served- Somebody says so. I'm looking through your thing in these streets. I've said, serve them, preach, convey it, inspire, message the folks that ain't milky white. I serve the parish, the bishop of science- And we ain't had this in conversation. You over here being sensitive, shit. What, Thomas, I'm not being sensitive. I'm being sensitive. Acne-sicified. Have you taken the medication you gave to me? You always make the skin. Don't know how them cooks over there ain't get your ass. Don't use that language, Thomas. Have you taken your medication today yet? I am a grown man. I can talk how I want to talk and I'm fully capable of remembering to take my meds. You? I know. You worked so hard to get me in that trial. Broken record. Maybe you think I'm gonna think I want to die from this shit? You think you're gonna not believe I'm being responsible? I'm gonna take it right now. Father Muller, what's over in his notes? You really don't like the Chihuahua chemical? See where you go. Giving our diasporic asses a taste of mother Africa and having us contemplate our conditioning as it pertains to white dignity. These include a little war, play with the toilet. Meaning? Have you listened to any of the tastes I gave you? Ill-mannered, ready to die in that great castle? I am not. What the fuck was that? What was what, Tom? That this Mr. Toad who got all of them back to get those. I am not. See, this is where this old father thing got you fucked up. It is this, this is only in the now. How you wrap the block, you don't like it, Bob? How you gonna minister to the people, to our people and you will down with them? I don't disparage anyone for enjoying rap. It just does not tickle my fancy. It tickles your fancy. See, this is diaspora, there's something that NAS talking about. I believe in the Lord who spread the law to give life to the spiritual, the father and the son, the mother and the son and the daughter and the other body. I'm not. Yeah, we suck the mother with good facts. But we wouldn't have gotten the schooling and opportunities we got. If you got schools on it, or we sit in the back corner of the church and being treated like we just slapped Jesus' mom, how many times will we skip over what you're doing for you? His body for you, not for you. His blood for you, but never you. Yeah, I distinctly remember mom saying you got sent home for spitting the wine out and straightening all the way. I'm not talking about you. I peed them using a different challenge than me. Oh, it's the troublemaker. It's like you had an allergy to anything you deemed unfair. Why did that take your time to see pictures of all sunshine and rainbow? Well, it was only one year, and I was protecting the first half. Protecting? Well, I don't own grudges like you. You can't afford to. You think you were protecting? You definitely shouldn't be quarreling to achieve where you came from, white folk. They don't need a black savior. Shit, they don't want a black savior. I'm done. Thank you for listening. When you're going to listen, the black folk don't want to save you either, even if you think they do. And I hope you don't think you're saving me, thinking of your poor, sick little brother they gave you. That gives you a Godfrey complex. Why does everything have to be some argument or debate with you? You wouldn't have the rhetorical vigor you got if it weren't for you. I wouldn't have the osus I got if it weren't for you. Have you reached out to mom yet? My mother's not interested in everything we've done. Well, how do you know if you don't call? Let it go, bro. I mean, God, you can't fix this. You can only bring it as a burden to me. Right? Yeah, have white folk show up for your shit last week and doctors dancing around the street. Why? Because brother Johnny Popper said, you must acquit. If the gloves don't fit, you must acquit. You can't tell me that ain't right. All right. All right. See, Blake's got a nigga to kill in the white room in full scotty. With just his knees in the little personal grave. Well, give it a hit. Let me see. Take your medication, please. Father Muller begrudgingly hands Thomas the speech. First of all, give it a kiss. From the back. Bronx, born and raised. I can't believe you. I don't know what the heck's going on. In the woods. You stay calling me. All right. Peter, I'm just going to be found with some life. I'm father Donald Muller from the Bronx. When I ran the streets back in the day, they called me late night. That was me. My ass jumped every day in public school. And when my father saw I got beat up, he beat me up for losing the fight. Father Muller snatches the speech out of Thomas' hands. Okay. All right. I got my ass beat in class. My ass beat at home. And now I rep God on that microphone. I got my ass beat in class. My ass beat at home. And now I rep God on that microphone. Maybe not like that. But I'm telling you, Jesus. Father Muller sighs. They look through the pages of his speech. They're going to make your medication flee. All jokes aside, it's a good start. Big rope. It's going to be historic. I'm serious about legal course. Thomas exits the room. Father Muller is transported back to the Capitol steps. The Bronx today in 95 is not the Bronx. I grew up in in 64. I was the first to integrate into St. Nicholas Catholic School in the Bronx. We all wore uniforms, but I stuck out. The nuns tolerated me for the most part. My schoolmates not so much. Their parents not at all. Only one priest went out of his way to make me feel safe, but he wasn't around for long. Then I got older, joined the Marines, went to Vietnam to fight for my country. We all wore uniforms, but I stuck out. My superiors tolerated me for the most part. My fellow Marines, not so much. Americans, when I got home from the war, not at all. Then I found myself back at the church, dedicated my life to God and became a priest. We all wear uniforms. Less than one percent of priests in America are black. The nuns still tolerate me for the most part. My fellow priests, not so much. Parishioners here in America. Thomas falls to the summit that they're about to pass out. Father Mother moves quickly to him and guides Thomas to the floor. They sit with Thomas in the position between his brother's legs. Ramblin' my stomach. Just breathe, focus on breathing. Got you, little pass. Just breathe. Father Mother demonstrates his slow, melodic breathing for his brother. With his left arm wrapped around Thomas, keeping their bodies close. On the other hand, gently rubbing Thomas' stomach. This continues for a long, long. Yeah, I'm good, good. Get off. Get off me. Thomas gets to his feet. May I ask that you wear it inside the place? Should we go see your doctor? I said, I'm good. Pain is a familiar phrase you got me to. We'll call in the morning. Oh, Joe, you got a letter that came in the mail, it's official. Put it over there on the desk. Father Mother goes and retrieves the letter. He looks at the envelope, puzzled by the returners and us. It's his brother. I'm not sure. Father Mother opens the letter as he breathes a wave of emotion engulfs his body. He studies himself, so we'll swap it out. No. What is it? The, uh, you know, the father, uh, Dr. Skinner never had the priest. I'm saying, Nick, that, uh, when I was there, he left. He did. That apparently suicide. So he said, why? The man is the reason I became a priest, Thomas. I allowed him to be stayed. While we said it, suicide is an intentional act, this money money. Look, I see what you're saying, and I get someone to do the job, but look. And I know that look, you ain't look like that since the letter. Well, since they, they, while he did it. No, they requested that I deliver the unit. Why? It was in his will. That's weird, brother. Why would he request you? I'm stuck with this cat. He was in Ohio. The funeral's going to be in, uh, in Ohio. So it's great, not things. Thomas hugs his brother, and as he stands stoically, still in shock. It's on Monday. Well, you, it's come on Monday at 16. That's too bad. Life isn't about getting everything you want. The Faraday needs his death, because he ain't missing that march. He ain't missing this march, right, darling? He don't play with me, though. Well, it's important that I'm still going to. No, no, no. I don't even finish. You're going to miss one of the biggest events. Maybe the March of Washington, 63, for some white man that killed himself, that you ain't saying he's seen this in, like, 30 odd years. He's still gone. Provided to speak to represent for black Catholics in America only. Where's your speech at with all the legendary activists of the hardest equation? Thomas feels the cramp in his stomach is turning. I don't expect you to understand me. I don't think you understand. You should sit down, like the March of Washington, or whatever you and the old boy had in the past. What do you mean by that? You stand. What? What? He was a mentor. My mentor. Maybe if you had someone like him, you wouldn't have made the choices you made. He's sick like you are. I didn't need no mentor, darling. I had a big brother. I need to step back. I need to sit. Father, mother exits. Thomas kneels over. End of play. Another round of applause for those of me and the activists in this play. We are now going to have a post-show conversation. So can the moderator and the panelists please come up? While they are coming on stage, I just want to thank you guys again for being here for these readings that are part of the Prelude Festival. We are very, very thankful and grateful. You want to come down? If some of you back there, you want to come a little further? If you can't come closer, you can. Otherwise, let's have a chat. Now, let's bring it up and let's keep it in production for 12 more times. Oh, but can you all hear? I can go. I'm Kelly Geronok, founder of Deadly Directive Parts Time Festival, and the rest of you work with me at Palo. I'm, oh, I'm Kevin Yonzo-Costino. I wrote, oh, what was it? I'm jumping myself. I'm jumping myself. That's Haley Stibby. Yep, one, two. OK, yeah. Hi, Dennis A. Allen II. Dennis A. Allen II, who also directed all four X-Serves of Deadly Directive. Dennis A. Allen II also directed, and that's why she acted and wrote in her own play, and she also acted in Haley's play. Who are you? I'm Keith Dilsavakis, the new Black Best Artistic Director in the playwright of One of the Plays. I'm Robin Walker Murphy. I'm moderating, and I also give a huge round of applause to the actors who stand. One more time for me. Who are all so incredible? Thank you so much for sharing your time and talent, and just thank you all so much for your incredible words. My first question is, Anita Simone talked about how the role of the artist is to reflect the times. I'm curious, do you all feel like that is your role as an artist and playwright? Do you feel that kind of reflection, or do you just feel like it's my best to kind of free ourselves from that thought? Haley, why don't you start, guys? So you're doing like this. That's what my good eye contact is. OK, so the question is, do I feel like it's new or old? Well, I feel great. I have to say yes, even if you don't intend to. We all are a reflection of the world that we grow up in and what we see, and the things that you write comes from your experiences or fears or desires, which are shaped by the environment. I guess maybe the artist's job is to do it with a little bit more intentionality than the average person does, to think about what it is. Thank you, Ludwine. It's interesting. I think I just write what I consider the truth, and then what your journey with it is like your business. Yeah, it's not mine. And so people take a lot of different things from my writing. So even this piece, people say it's about immigration, but other people will be like, oh, this is about the relationship between Africans and African-Americans. And like recognizing where we come together and where we diverge. And so for me, I just write what I know, and I write people that I know. And then when I look back, it's always people I'm not seeing on my stage, or people I'm not seeing on my screen. And so I think I reflect the times of what I see that I can seem to find on the screen or on stage. Thank you. So Dennis and Keith, when you all look at your starting to your process, and you're looking at this page, or maybe not a page. Maybe it's your computer screen, your laptop. Do you see your words as like weapons? Are you thinking of it like that? Are you thinking of your words as the need to talk back to something? This is his festival, so I will acquiesce to that. Yeah, weapons. That's kind of what was it? I think weapons. I see it's interesting. I was thinking about the first question, and maybe I'm tied into the second question as well, because I realized that I think I first, I didn't think that I was writing plays to reflect back society so that we can see ourselves. And I realized that I write plays actually so that I can see myself. I think the mirrors actually turn towards me. And everything that I'm exploring is the things that I'm unpacking within myself. And then in that specificity, hopefully, it speaks to somebody out there. And so I wouldn't use the term weapons, but I would say that the words that I put on the page are there to hold me accountable. Hold me accountable to myself, to the society, to my community, to the people that I love. And so in that way, I do recognize the words, but for me. Yeah. I got you too. Yeah, that's an interesting question. I think for me, there's so much going on in the world for the last, well, since the world began, it's been a lot more. But I feel like in the last five years in particular, there has been a lot happening. And it feels like things are moving really quickly. And so for me as an artist, as a human being, dodging the weaponry of society, I feel like I'm dodging the artillery that's being thrown at me, and I'm forced to navigate. And so for me, my weaponry is quieting myself and really tapping into my inner voice, my inner consciousness, my spirit, as it means to protect myself from all that's going on. But what it does for me, I think, is that it allows me to get much clearer about what I want to say. Because I can easily just respond to every single thing that's happening in every single moment, because I want to. You know what I mean? Like, I mean, I go to clubhouse, and I'm all right with people who look at me. I don't even know these people, because I just want to participate in what's happening in the world. But then I get exhausted by that, so I have to really just sit back, like, OK, can you just breathe? And what you need to say will come, right? So I feel like that's in my process right now. It's very, very helpful. Now I was thinking about when I was listening to your piece around the climate change, maybe you think also just about climate change as science fiction, but not like your piece, because it feels like science fiction was very real, but also to be both oppressed and complicit. To be living in a country where we are oppressed, but then there are things that we are also complicit in, in terms of whether it's climate change, whether it's, you know, things are. How have the artists do you all kind of walk that type? But that type of, like, what does it mean to write in a society where you can experience maybe oppression? Maybe you don't feel like you're experiencing oppression, but also can be this duality that I know Du Bois talked about back then, too, this. Does that come into your, you know, thinking as you're writing your work? Oh, me. OK. So when I started writing, I used to really focus on trauma and response, right? I really, and I think I was writing what I thought I needed to write as an African woman. I think now I write about power and choice. So this story, the play you saw is actually really a love story between two best friends. But it's framed around this immigration. So, like, in the actual play, there's like a Greek chorus of immigrants. And so they give their own stories about their loving, love-hate relationship with America. So I think I'm less concerned with oppression or trauma as I used to be, because I actually think we need to start seeing ourselves in a place of power and in a place of making choices. That choice is because this character makes terrible choices. But that's no power. Like, I should have the chance to quit or I should have the chance to fail. And I think I also think there is, you can't be what you can't see. To always see is like oppression, oppression, oppression. I start to think that that's my chorus. No, no, no, no, no, I'm here for the sock lie, OK? So I write a line up, like there's always comedy in my stuff because I want to laugh. And I want people to find joy because I think I want people to see someone that is full, that is complicated, that is powerful, that is making everyday decisions like we all do. And so I think I tend not to focus on that. I found it really interesting the way the pieces were curated because we're thinking about survival and resistance, like the theme for this panel. It seemed even like the diversity of the voices and the diversity of the experience is like resistance, especially when it comes to being like a Black artist where there is like this kind of danger, this kind of single story that she reminded me she talks about. So I also felt like that. Also, Kimmy, I want to say to you that I found myself like a many women in the lines in the play because I'm so used to being in a play or anywhere with someone saying like, we are all immigrants. And when you had the character say not all of us, that was so liberating for me because there's like a way in which the Black American experience is invisibilized through the immigrant experience as if you've always like, you know, so I just really wanted to say that I am completely just appreciated that. So Haley, in your story with Jeanne and Trues, how was that piece, how did that piece go about for you? Where did that, where was he the origin of that piece? I think I'm very fascinated by people who use intellectualism as a weapon and what our relationship to truth is and whether or not we are using truth in a way that is meant to actually set ourselves and other people free, like we claim it is or if we're using truth or observation as a tool to gain power, status in a room, get what we want from other people, shame people who we don't like for some other random reason but disguise it with the lines like we do to say this. And I feel like it's a game that's just been played really intensely right now via social media and then it comes off the social media, it comes into just our personal social groups, work environments and it's just something that when you're speaking power of truth and like your truth power, I have a lot of questions about it and sometimes it's so beneficial and sometimes it's really dangerous and I think it's scary and hard to navigate that whenever you're having conversations with others. I have like a couple of similar questions. So Dennis, time and place seem to play a huge role like in your piece, how did you come up with time and place? Like why did you put a snare in this particular piece? Yeah, the piece that is being reimagined or that inspiring piece was set in 64 and a lot was happening in 64, yeah, assassination of president, segregation, Jim Crow, et cetera, et cetera. And I think that was purposely done by Shannon. And so I was thinking what time period can I flash forward to that was just as charged, right? And so you had the Million Man March, the week before the Million Man March, O.J. got off, right? You had all these things happening at the same time and it's like, oh, that's my jumping off point. That's where we need to start to have, we can have I think conversations about in the same way that we'll have about the pandemic and January 6th, right? We just have these inflection points and so this is I think that 95 time was such a very specific time for hip hop, the killing of rappers, like so much was happening in that moment that I was like, oh, okay, this is a period piece. It hurts my heart to say period piece. That's how old I am, but period piece, I think this is the period that we need to reflect on and just and look back and see what's the same and how if we move forward from there. I'm Keith, you built such an intriguing character for your protagonist and he was flawed, but there was still of course, a father who loved his child, complicated relationships with his own father. Did you think intentionally about building this black male character who had flaws but also was looking for compassion and love and although, did you intentionally build the character in that way? That's a great question. I think I thought more about him being aware that he would not have, get any compassion. I think that for a lot of black men in particular and I think it's the same for brown men and also black brown women, there is a given that you're gonna have to walk into a space and no one's gonna believe you. People are gonna second guess you're gonna vilify you, demonize you, whether it's a workspace, whether or not it's a cook. But I think that I thought about that. I thought about like nobody's gonna, they're not gonna buy this. What did you do wrong? And I wanted him to really just go deep and really just try to interrogate himself to find out if he has done something in his life. And is this the reason why this young girl's daughter is left? And the answer to that is he has to do anything but be a human being and give him the opportunity and the grace to redeem himself for himself. I think that's- This isn't how it's going to be. And my last question for the crew. You alluded to this, of course, there is a lot of pain, death, instruction, happening in the world right now. And we're also living in America in the country where we're about to in the next year, go through an election year that's about to be, I mean, hopefully it won't be too wild and crazy, but it's looking like it won't be too wild and crazy. What do you want to say next? I'll start with you. I feel like I've been starting a life. I'll start with you. I didn't come to America to suffer. Or anyone, anyone. As you're thinking about it, are there stories that you still want to tell? And not even necessarily that it has to be in connection to what we're going into and we're currently now. I think it's hard. I think inspiration wants to make places, but I'm just curious. So just either you can respond to it in the sense of like based on what we're facing or just like the story that's within you. And it can go to anybody. That's it. I don't understand what you're saying. Look, actually, yeah. Hello? Who in there? Adam. Well, so I also, I just wanted to go back to one of the first questions that you asked. Absolutely. This question, because being in this moment as both an artist and as a curator and as a producer, a lot of the times when you're curating, you are so intentionally thinking about what is needed in this moment, not just from the gaps that you have and the stories that aren't told and who needs to be on the stage, but also what is needed when your artist crossed the threshold, what is needed in terms of the care and that like this. And this is where I also just want to take a moment to commend Keith and all of the spaces that make this possible, because when we talk about survival, particularly over the past five years, this has been it for me. The Apollo has been that for me. The New Black Fest has been that for me. Sitting in a room and processing in this way has been that for me. So I think that the intention for me, whether whatever it is that I end up writing or whatever it is that I end up curating, the intention is always starting with the collective effort, the collaborative effort, the community. It starts there and it ends there. Thank you so much. I think for what's next, not really referencing what I showed tonight, but I am getting a fierce interest in telling stories that take place in our legal systems. I feel like what I notice going on in the world is just how our legal systems can be weaponized against us and it's being weaponized specifically queer and trans people right now and the manipulation of laws and constitutions and how you can really have a text. And if you were just a wise enough, sharp enough lawyer, you can really twist anything to support any cause. But then also thinking that us, how can we protect ourselves from that and also use it to advance whatever goals that we have. So I just have a lot of stories in my head right now about people who are fiercely using the legal system and not allowing it to oppress us, but protect us and use it to our advantage because we can't do that, but we just have to have education and knowledge about. I'm ready. Because I'm always kind of working on multiple projects at the same time in different mediums. What I realize is I'm sort of always telling the same story over and over and over again. Every single project, whether it's TV, I have a TV project, a film project in this play and they're all dealing with the relationship between an African character and an African-American character because I think we don't get to see that. And yet like that's been my world, like my best friends are African-American. I date African-Americans. I'm constantly in those conversations and they're complex and they're nuanced and each side gets it right and wrong at the same time. And I feel like there's this pushing of a monolithic idea of blackness and it's not. And so in many ways, I think I'm always investigating what that relationship looks like because I think there's a lot to be gained from that relationship if, because when I, this is a long answer, see? No, it's great. But like, I've been seeing a lot on Twitter of these diasparas. Tell the truth. Yeah. Diasparas. Diasporas. Diasporas. Diasporas, yeah. It's not my first language. Decated. But the wars, right? Between Africans and African-Americans, but when I look at it like from back home, that's tribalism and they used to separate us. Like, you are this person. You are this person. You are Uganda. You are Matura. So that they could divide and conquer. So when I look at that, I'm like, oh, I've seen this before. And so I think my work is always telling the story of like, no, no, no. We need to come together and have the tough conversations because I think there's a lot more to gain from the togetherness. Thank you so much for telling the story because I can't tell you through these Twitter, you know, Diasporas, how do you go tell me to my face? They don't like this. They meaning all the Africans in the world. And it is such a narrative that feels like it's gaining momentum and your words and your storytelling is so powerful and important to come back to. So thank you so much. You're welcome. You saw it? Okay. We do this. I just want to, I think the question is about just what's next. Something Kelly and I were talking about a while ago, just talking about curation, but also talking about, because I can talk about stories and stuff, but I think we also have to talk about protection, right? Like protecting artists. And part of that protection is providing information about survival and resistance. And what does survival look like for brown and black artists in particular in this world that's being crunched by potential of artificial intelligence and downsizing economically? How do we survive? What is our survival as artists? Are we getting the information about what's really happening in the grad schools when we leave these spaces of readings like these plays going to be produced? What does that look like? Who do we contact? You know, I think that's part of kind of what I'm interested in. Kelly and I were just talking about this a lot about finding spaces to talk about and download with artists about what's next. What's realistic? What's probable? How can you shapeshift your expectation with the world that would live in it right now? It doesn't, like what I wanted 15 years ago at a grad school isn't the same thing that's happened in the world right now. I talked about new play development, which I came out of. Nobody talks about new play development in dramaturgies and importance of dramaturgies. Because when I was in grad school, dramaturgies were literally graduating for the first time. So I came out, you know, writing plays when there's a dramaturg attached to me, right? Now I was kind of like, you got a dramaturg, I don't know, what is a dramaturg, do you need the dramaturg? But I think that's a legit thing, meaning that what does the world look like right now? And how do we inform ourselves about the reality of what we're playing? Because it is a serious business, and I think it's important for us to know that there is a low ceiling in theater in particular around opportunity. I think that there's certain, and I've been also interested in changing that dynamic about who's chosen, who's anointed. I think that's things like dinosaurs. There should be spaces for everybody to tell their story. Everyone has a right to tell a story. And so can we create spaces and institutions that allow everybody to stand forth, right? Which is why one of the reasons why artificial intelligence is such a danger and perhaps a blessing is because it may allow for everybody to figure out a way to tell a story. Interesting, danger and a blessing would be faster than two. I sort of look at it. No, that was beautiful, I'm telling you. Yeah, I should have let you go last. I think my through line, the story, I keep telling when I connect my plays, I'm always dealing with untreated trauma. And specifically untreated trauma in the Black African American community. And so I don't know what's next and I do know what's next. We are one big bowl of untreated trauma. And so when it comes to material, I'm not liking it in that. And I think this particular play is the play that I presented today. It's just the beginning and I'm still working on it. Hopefully to find it a home at some point because there's an intimacy that's missing on stage and we're talking about survival, resistance and intimacy. There's an intimacy that's missing because I think the people who are telling the stories that are supposed to be my stories don't love. They don't love me, I don't see myself. And so I'm really interested in telling love stories. Whatever that love story, I mean we all just saw four love letters to a community and I think I'm interested in continuing telling their stories. And Kelly, let's end with you giving me the last word. What can we expect from the Apollo in response to this idea of survival and what do we expect? Well, I think a place like the Apollo is the building itself is a testament to survival. That building, the Apollo is heading towards turning 100 years old. We just had a massive festival this past weekend that where Tana Hasumi Coates talked about there is no place where we are not. We are everywhere, black people are everywhere. We are a globally recognized cultural force and if that doesn't give us hope, I don't know why it doesn't. But also, we are under the program that I sit on top of, that the new Black Vice is a part of. We're also expanding and about to take over two new brand new theaters, so ours for us by us. And it's incredible. And that space is for us. It's just, we built that and this new Canada American work that includes these four stories that happened here. God is a home for us. And so it's just, it's an incredible, incredible moment that we're all a part of. And yeah, I don't even know how to say it better except to say, yes, it's here, we're here. And we're gonna keep on going. Here's to the next 100 years. Yeah, thank you all. Well, thank you all for coming. How did you, did you want to say anything before we went back? Does anybody have any questions? Yeah, I really want to say anything. You were the first dog for how to do that. You're gonna keep learning what you said. Yeah, you pointed to Craig. Yeah. Kelly has to leave. She has kids. Well, that's a good question. How, like what, how would I design the drops? Yeah. No, go ahead. No, no, I said dramaturge's word thing. Word thing. Yes. Okay, but they aren't any more. What's not the same, it's not the same. It looks differently. It looks different. Yeah. There was a time like, you know, plays like Brent, right? Jonathan Larson passed away but it's a dramaturge continued to build that story because she was attached. She was an equal player in an event. It was a part, it's a sort of like a partnership. I think now dramaturge sort of sit behind and they used to be where they were actually at the table as an equal player. You know, I'm not necessarily like out here trying to like create a dramaturge institution. But you know what I mean? Like I just, I was just saying like for me, like it just, things look differently now. Right, because I don't know what the dump is. I'm trying to know what it is. It's like, I've kind of gone through the whole, the whole three. We talked about the last school of weaponry, which I thought, I remember just like it was my brain. There was one of you playing, I don't know what it is, but I don't know what it is. It's being my brain, my brain bought down to my feet. But, and Dennis, if you're playing about the, we're gonna stop on your talk, but if you're playing about Donald, you can do the same thing. For my version, it's like, well, it's not for the play to bring in an accent or language or character to make them the star of the show. It's like, there's like a pulse to create that boost across the engine. And like your, your explanation that was just a very physical one. And so the question I had was from a very little question in my mind was just like, how did you find that first, how did the first one come to be with this? So going to that and become kind of the shape of it, of all the, I don't know, most of the players that I think could be with this class. Basically, didn't go back to what you think it is, just like, it's me that it comes just like a little boring thing. It's like, I don't want to go first. Like, how would you rate it? I don't think you would want to spend the day Well, I mean, I do know some great drama. Haley is an amazing drama, sorry, action. She's, she's a drama turned into two projects that we've developed into Black Fest and Apollo. I think that for me, like, giving an artist, a creative artist who's very much interested in language, is very, very much interested in the shaping of story who comes to the table with compassion for artists and not trying to silence them but actually advocate for them. Like, that to me is a drama turned and Laos provides space. I mean, we can probably speak better because she's actually a legit drama turned, a current today drama turned. But for me like that to me is ideal. I feel like what's happened is that drama turns are now sort of a secondary thought. Maybe we don't need them. What is it? You know what I mean? And I think it's always great for a writer in particular to have an ally at the table because sometimes directors are allies but they get busy because they also have to ally for the actors and some of the actors and the writers are not always on the same page and some kind of drama turns can actually help bridge that gap. So I think that, you know, that's what I would like to see. Did you want to speak to that, you know, before we wrap up? I mean, yeah, I would say when it's the role of drama turns play on projects a lot of it also comes down to money and how much money a group of people have to offer. So one of the reasons I feel like drama turns are often put towards the back is because when you're trying to cut costs and you're looking at people in the room, they tend to be one of the first roles to go. So when you're on projects like where they have money to put the drama turns really get some freedom to do their work. Do your question about if, you know, the way I ideally would shape it, I would say that I would love a world where every production has a drama turn that's attached to the playwright where they're having those long intimate conversations about what the intentions of the play are. And the drama turns job is to be their lawyer almost and make sure that they can make sure everyone in the room understands. The other thing I would have them do is a lot of community engagement, which is, okay, you want to write a piece that's about priests. Okay, let's go talk to some priests. Okay, it's priests and the bronze. Okay, let's go find some churches and the bronze and some priests. And then maybe we should do a reading there. And so then having not just a theoretical ideal of what the play is, but also find ways to really reach out to community members, bring them into the theaters or bring ourselves to them. We tell it, no, no. And unfortunately, we're not going to be able to go any further into that because we have to wrap it up. But I'm sure if you want to talk to people after we wrap, you can do that. Thank you all so much for coming out. And thank you to all the amazing artists who have done this for me.