#Me when I get to write fucked up girls :000000

[bonefall]

what’s Gray Wing and Sparrow Fur’s relationship going to be like?

Ohhhh Sparrow Hearrtttt

Honestly Sparrow Heart has become so different that sometimes she pulls at the "stick close to canon" leash. She's a baby in the Free Reign Arc of DOTC and can't do much, but by the time of TBC she is an ancient spirit who is SO tired of being nice

But anyway. BB!DOTC.

She had three parents, Turtle Heart, Bumble, and Gray Wing. Gray just has this amazing way with kids, they take everything seriously and break everything down into terms they can understand. Some of Sparrow's and Owl's earliest memories are of Gray Wing bundling them up in their tail and showing them the stars, explaining the constellations, pointing out the ones the Sun Trail Cats used to navigate by night.

They taught her how to trust, to look for the good in things. She was an adventurous kit, and Tom took advantage of that. He lead them right away from their home, and when Sparrow tried to stop because she was tired, Tom taught her the first lesson about cruelty.

Dragged to a strange house by a man she doesn't know, a painful bruise forming, she was terrified. Gray Wing, Lightning Cry, and Acorn Swoop arrived to rescue her, only for her to learn that Turtle Heart died because she left with Tom. Bumble tried to comfort her kids in that moment, but more than ever, they were clinging to Gray Wing. Xey were their savior, in that emotional moment.

Bumble was hurt, they were ALL hurting, but she understood. A kid's grief shouldn't be a performance, it should be about them. What THEY need to heal. Right?

But the next thing that Sparrow Heart learned was that support is conditional. She loved Bumble, that was her OTHER mom, and Tall Shadow called for her exile. Gray Wing agreed. It didn't matter that she screamed and cried for her, tried to bargain she'd hunt for her (when she was still too young to have caught anything in her whole life), they sent her away.

Powerful people can take anything they want from you. They can make you do anything they want you to do.

And you are a commodity that can be bargained for. Gray Wing had to leave the kits behind when they charged off with reinforcements, and Tall Shadow used Sparrow Heart and Pebble Heart as leverage.

Tall Shadow: "You disavowed us, but these kits are still our clanmates. How am I supposed to trust that your group will be able to care for them?"

Gray Wing: "a kit belongs with its parents, Tall Shadow. You are honorable, you would not keep them from us."

"I don't need flattery, I need proof. Proof that you are capable of providing for them."

Thunder Storm: "what, payment? You want to make servants of us?"

As Sparrow Heart grew, the more she became aware of these things. But you know who doesn't get traded like a dead mouse? The one around whom the world revolves?

Skystar.

Sparrow Heart loved her family, all three parents, her brothers, and her friends. But she grew tired of being scared, losing people, being powerless and begging for an audience. She eventually became Skystar's deputy, turning her hungry eyes towards leadership...

And that is where her tale ends, for now. I know where I'd go from here, but I want to know what canon does first. I'm looking at that upcoming super edition with judgemental anticipation.

But for Sparrow Heart, Gray Wing will always be many complicated things. A father. A childhood hero. A traitor. A savior, again, who reunited her and Pebble with Bumble. She will always love them; but they taught her that even the people you love the most can make choices that hurt you.

[earlysunshines]

”and now because there’s…” BecAuSe tHeRe’s WoT ?? :ooo actually don’t answer that i’m js being nosy okay lemme js…lemme js write a lil bit and then u can feed my deluxe delulu how’s that okay. where to start… alright so kscncknfsknxks there’s a pretty girl who’s been a few of my classes before and rn she’s in two..and in econ, we sorta sit near each other and whenever the prof is making jokes (he’s hilarious ngl shud retire and become a comedian i wud pay to watch) she laughs AND ISTG it’s like she’s a goddess and i’m some poor plebeian caught in the aftermath of such a SPECTACULARLY RADIANT SMILE and EVERY TIME, she turns to look AT. ME. MEEEEEEE. WHYYY. and so i see it in my peripheral and sometimes if i don’t turn to look at her back her gaze lingers for a bit (and then I get super worried I have some crazy double chin shenanigans going on but…nah i got a jawline wot am i yappin abt anyway) but when i DO turn to look at her her eyes are crinkled in the best way and i probably have a dopey smile showing off my full set of teeth but like somehow, we both smile harder at each other in a sort of “do you hear this guy?” “yes, yes i do and he’s hilarious” “right?!” sort of way and I SWEAR I MUST BE DELUSIONAL because how would a girl like that NOT be taken or interested in some MUCH LESS THAN WORTHY male specimen -.- like where are ma gay girlies attttt GAHHH but then i become even MORE delusional and think wait… wot if she IS a gay girlie ?! :000 and that’s why she’s not taken ?!? :000000 and SO. I submitted an anonymous confession to our school’s confession page on insta literally name dropping her, complimenting her smile, and asking if she’s taken and if i’m allowed to have a crush on her and it lowk blew up like 20+ ppl shared the post, she herself liked the post, BUT NO ONE SAID IF SHE’S TAKEN OR NOT and DEFINITELY NO POSSESSIVE BOYFRIEND SAYING SHE IS SOOOO…. yea I’m…

I’m a lost cause.

because there's allegedly ppl that find me??? cute?? and are interested in me i don't even branch out like that omfg... but that doesn't matter

AWW funny prof i also have a funny prof but also hes fucking me over with all this writing we have to do

girl okay first of all... this is like a wattpad moment but also from my perspective ppl tend to make things bigger than they are (DONT let this discourage you its just bc my friends have been dleusioal recently LMAO) and hoenstly it could be a spark!! HOWEVER from my own experiecne and other ppls... it could be platonic... i lowk act this way with a girl in one of my classes but we're like bros we're tight like that soooorrryyy

i do hope she is gay and esp for yu tho omg she sounds wonderful!! but also submitting that to the confessions page girl... you lowk lost me there im SO SORRY try to find out trhough mutuals its good to have connections

you'renot FULLY a lost cause though you literally got tihs in the bag and if it's not meant to be / doesn't happen then that's for a reason!! but def try to maek subtle moves and build chemistry and whatnot i beleive you guys can do it consdering how you interact during your classes awww

[quasithinking]

Gravity’s Rainbow: Part XII

In my children's literature class in college, the professor often wanted us to write essays based on exactly one sentence from the text. You know, really burrow down into the meat of that sentence! Get to the bottom of those scant few words by writing dozens and dozens of more words. I never really did understand how or why she wanted us to do this. I mean how much did Lloyd Alexander really want us to get out of his description of the protagonist lying down on a tree root to get some rest?! What she wanted was for us to speculate on every possible meaning of every sentence in ways that just seemed like a huge waste of time. Did she expect us to write an 800 page analysis on a 150 page book?! Oh, sure, I've been slowly working on an explication of The Bible that's about forty pages into Genesis and it's already three hundred pages long. So maybe she taught me something? No, no! She absolutely didn't! Because every time I tried to do what she expected, I would branch out (what do I mean by "branch out"? Write a seventy word explication of my word choice) and begin discussing other aspects of the story, like the sentence that came before the sentence I was supposed to be concentrating on and also the sentence which came after and, you know what? Because I was so precocious, sometimes I'd discuss sentences even more distant from the explicated sentence than that! I forgave her though because she complimented me the day I wore my Alice Cooper in Wonderland costume to my classes. But imagine if I took her advice! I already write long-winded digressions of every single thing I write something critical about. Am I also supposed to write long-winded explications of every single sentence as well? Sure, it would probably be helpful for Gravity's Rainbow! But it would also be embarrassing because people would truly understand the high percentage of sentences in this book which provoke this reaction from my brain: "DER!" Although, I will say her method of explicating texts is absolutely the right way to explicate the Lucia Joyce chapter in the third book of Alan Moore's Jerusalem. Just wait until I do some blog entries on that mind fuck! This section begins with an advertisement for Lazlo Jamf's Kryptosam, a substance which is invisible until somebody jerks off on it. Super good for secret messages unless the recipient is a woman. Although I suppose if she really needs to read the secret message, she can find a male friend and jerk him off on the message. The cute bit of the advert is how it suggests the message be sent alongside some porn appropriate to the person in question. So if you're sending a secret message to Brigadier Pudding, you'll want whatever the print equivalent to Two Girls, One Cup was in the thirties or forties. I bet the equivalent was a woman standing fully dressed with a shocked little "o" of a mouth and her hand just about covering it up as you can sort of see the hint of a toilet in the background. So risqué! The actual narrative begins with Pirate looking at the "porn" sent with his current secret message (is it the message that came in the rocket? I don't remember ever learning about the message in the small cylinder! If I had to guess using only the knowledge of what I remember from my first reading, I'd say it was a message sent in the 000000 (Gottfried and his Imipolex womb having been destroyed) about Katje and how to rescue her). The "porn" is a black and white image of Scorpia Mossmoon, the wife of Clive Mossmoon and the woman Pirate thought he could become a civilian for (until it was apparent they couldn't remain together and he re-enlisted), in the room they talked about living together in and wearing a sexy outfit which he often pictured her in but had told nobody about. So somehow They know exactly what will get him to ejaculate all over his secret message. Although it works so well Pirate nearly doesn't get his penis out and pointed at the message before blowing his secret message decoder load. A still encrypted message appears through the smear of Pirate's jizz which, after decoding in his head, gives Pirate a time, a place, and a request for help. So it might be to rescue Katje. But is it from Katje? Or is it a gift from Blicero for his little Gretel? Perhaps, although doubtful, it was from Gottfried. "There is a time given, a place, a request for help. He burns the message, fallen on him from higher than Earth's atmosphere, salvaged from Earth's prime meridian, keeps the picture, hmm, and washes his hands. His prostate is aching. There is more to this than he can see. He has no recourse, no appeal: he has to go over there and bring the operative out again. The message is tantamount to an order from the highest levels." Now to undo some of my speculation! There is no reason to believe this message came in the 000000. That rocket, being as mythical as it winds up being, was almost certainly launched nearly straight North along the magnetic line (this has to do with mathematical reasons discussed during the subsequent and much, much later allied launch of the 000001 (and was somebody in that one as well? Slothrop?! Bianca? Ludwig and his lemming?!)). But who would have sent this one? It seems obvious the operative is Katje, even Blicero suspected as much. But would she have been able to get the message into a rocket? Or, and I think maybe I might sort of understand this better when I get to the Blicero/Hansel/Gretel section later, Blicero sent it himself. This is why I needed to re-read this thing immediately! Because the first time through, I quickly forgot about Pirate's message from the rocket here. That's the problem with being so easily entertained by the secret message that can only be read after you smear semen on it. Of course I was concentrating on that aspect of this passage!

[thisweeksroommates]

Backpacker Brain: Cuba Flight

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So here I sit on my Cuba flight. I discovered upon a google search just 10 minutes prior to boarding that they may not have ATMs at the airport, and even if they do, US cards may not be accepted. I have 9 euros to my name as far as cash goes, but hey - it’ll work out, right? Or not? Can’t be fucked to care to be honest. There’s technically no where I need to be at all.

This flight is chasing the sun so no darkness will come, which I find aggressively agitating. What’s a flight without getting wasted and watching shit films on a tiny screen and some uncomfortable dangly neck naps in the dark? But all the same, I indulge in my favorite pastime here with a tiny bottle of grey goose in tow, which just so happened to be cheaper than the Johnny Walker I was eyeing at the Duty Free. On top on that, I’ve ordered a tiny bottle of prosecco with olives - it was a combo deal, so how was I to resist? The question is, how do I pour some vodka into this glass of prosecco without unearthing myself as a melancholic borderline alcoholic with a deeply unrefined palette? 

Egal.

Anyway, it’s in moments like this that I have the fun realization that probably I will end up alone. I often compare myself to other figures, and no matter how different we are, I ogle their depravity and simply assume I will meet their bar or anchor in below it.

I mean, for fuck’s sake - we’re on a flight to Cuba. No one is going alone, save for me and the sweet German woman beside me. It’s not her first time in Cuba, and how voluminously she describes the phenomena that is a friendly, overweight local woman chugging on cigars through a yellow smile. “It’s another world,” she says, in German, “it’s my world.” I smile and say to her reciprocally, in my best German accent, “then you must buy a house and live there.” She smiles and looks around the plane. “It’s not so full, there are empty rows.” I scan the surroundings and consider scooting into a row upon which I could sprawl out comfortably, though I know this would probably offend my new temporary best friend, so I decide against it. She intervenes, “are you flying alone?”

Her question makes me feel a bit on edge, but as a choke back a tangy circumference I am feeling in the mood to practice my German for what may be the last time in a while.

“Sure. I often travel alone,” I say, gasping out sour speckles of bubbles through an unintended click from my throat.

“Me too. I like it to be alone.”

I echo her sentiment, “Yes, it’s nice to meet new people - to have freedom.”

And shit. As I write this my current fix has run dry. And the sinking realization that traveling alone for me was probably always a means of escaping a disconnected reality in order to find common threads is pulling at my throat like a wire weapon. 

Traveling alone is so fucking easy. Being considerate and collective is what’s exhaustive. I hate being told I am brave for going it by my lonesome. Being alone is legitimately the most convenient thing you can do for yourself. To be completely honest, three years ago I was so confusedly and unjustly heartbroken over some Brazilian concert pianist whose name hasn’t expelled off my tongue in what feels like lifetimes that I hit a point where I just didn’t give a shit which way the winds blew. So when I walk home alone in the dodgy side of town or drunkenly put my thumb up for a hitchhike experience that I almost never seem to achieve, or strike up conversations with strangers at stations - it’s not purely because I am this vivacious little gem of a human, though it’s not not because of that. Really, I just lost my inhibitions. But the reality is, that is not at all a pleasant platform on which to dance and tousle for long.

I look up for a moment to form the opinion, “Jesus Christ Ricky and the Flash is a full-blown horror of a film”. Good thing there are at least 20 other relatively terrible films to choose from. I begin to scan the assortment. Anyways…

My half-hearted notions for the stellar romanticized experience of traveling solo are interrupted by visions of a handful of hot dudes with girlfriends. Everyone looks so happy and normal whilst they make their way to their destination. I remember crawling into the tiny pseudo, plastic bed with Matti on the overnight bus in Vietnam. He insisted I wouldn’t fit in this coffin, but I was insatiable in my quest to cuddle. I jetted over like a flying squirrel and nestled in just perfectly. I think that’s the memory I look back on most often with Matti, because he was laughing his velvety laugh with his cheerful squinty eyes, and I could feel his chest convulse with each release as I pressed into him while he threw his head back in laughter like fucking Chewbacca. I was so, so joyful in that moment and so proud, and I could feel it so authentically that our happiness was in a state of powerful exchange - not of give and take, not of push and pull, just cycling through in such a handsome, enthralling sense. But only just then, really. Just that one time probably… maybe another time somewhere. But let’s try to mute that.

And as I mean to mute it I realize, how that fuck could I ever feel that way again? I scoff to myself. I am beginning to hate the past. I glimpse out the airplane window and my blood boils at seeing a sunny sky still. These are nighttime thoughts. I anticipated the upset of the clouds remaining illuminated, but confronting it over and over is dragging sandpapers over my crawling skin. 

I pour the remaining grey goose into my empty prosecco cup. I try to be subtle, but I’m certain that everyone and their uncle sees, but not the sweet solo lady next to me. It’s her judgement I’d like most to go undiscerned. Yes, indeed, I am both classy and cool, and not at all a glisten of tragedy in any dexterous movement of mine. My eyes are welling up a bit as I type, as it’s been a while since i considered any of the lovely moments with that stupid bitchboy. I have blood scabs under my skin from playing the drums, I am picking at them incessantly out of nervousness as I deflect these adorable, ugly feelings. 

Girl On The Train, that seems like a more appropriate choice for viewing. 10 minutes in and I’m thinking of shower sex.                   

And shower sex in Hong Kong, at the backpackers. We were so drunk and insatiable, but was he only reflecting my character and complexes and concealing his own? Was I so different before him? I don’t think so, not much. I know he was different for me, but it was probably just temporary. I wonder if he still does all the cute things I found so endearing, prisms and mirrors of tendencies I probably initiated myself, voices of my own that he mimicked, cute phrases we’d drummed up together in half English and half German. I hate that idea. I hate so much the idea that he could be how he was with me with anyone else. But I also hate the idea of him being unchanged by me, or disinterested in being his best, with or without me. I think I hate that most. Or maybe I just hate all of it. I even hate thinking of it.

That’s it, dammit. I am so riddled with these vivid memories and thoughts up to the brim of the barrel, how could I possible find vacancy for anything else? I imagine myself in 20 years and have a disgusting notion that I will be this woman beside me, a lone wolf with anxiety about not being able to smoke for 11 and a half hours. She complains often about having to sit still, about how shallow the leg room is despite the fact that she too is petite like me. She orders too many processed snacks and drinks coffee before sinking into a nap. I imagine her in Cuba, too excited and too confident in her independence with an underlying emptiness all the same for not being able to share these visions and moments with another witness. It reminds me of me. She’s dozing off, but gripping onto the little tray table like it’s her confidant, she eyes the digital flight plan with the CGI airplane ominously scooting over the ocean and blinks infrequently. I can’t tell actually whether or not she’s asleep.

She is friendly with kind sunken eyes, but I don’t want to be her, nor do I want to be my other friend in Austin who is in her 30’s and revels in her colorful escapades with men from the era of her 20’s, but has ended up with so many troubles and unrealized diet goals that all she has to showcase in the present are pictures of her very ordinary dog and the occasional over-amplified story of a flirtation which never seems to materialize. Nor do I want to be the friend who is in her 40’s who resigned to end up alone only to meet her ‘person’, yet she was nearly unfaithful to him no less than a month ago. She confided in me about it and it fucked me up. She was my idol in a lot of ways, I thought that to end up like her would be a lovely finish to an overcomplicated but colorful life. Could I become all these things I don’t like due unto an undying aggression to savor more experiences and tap into every possibility that unfolds itself? Does it ever end? The questioning? The seeing? I see myself in every ugly trait I’ve ever seen in another person. I see my heartbreak in every expression of love that ever was. I see my pain in every happiness I realize. I hope that stops! Boy wouldn’t that be fun and fine. Change that plane of thinking. Get it? I made a plane pun from the sky, guy.

I still have a few quick swigs left from the mini grey goose bottle, but she’s awake now - my neighbor. And watching this bitch on Girl On The Train getting tanked is making me jealous and unsettled. AND PHEOBE FROM FRIENDS IS THERE! I’m ecstatic. So excited, in fact, that I’ve dropped my dumb plastic cup on the floor, and leaning over to grab it makes my favorite necklace sound off like a dog collar, waking up anyone who has ever craved rest in this world. People are standing around, I’ve never seen anything like it on a flight. I discretely (at least in my mind) pour the vodka into my sweet, now favorite plastic cup. We’ve been through so much together. The liquor looks like water and I am deeply pleased. I smile, even.

Somehow I have a ticker in my brain that reads ‘Matti matti matti’ - imagine that. Thinking of Matti? I never! Welp, Matti, I wanted you, really. But in retrospect, I may have just wanted to prove to myself that I could have it all, that I could tame and control something in a sphere of my reality that was chaotic and free and exuberant. I could have EVERYTHING I wanted, because I knew what to want, right? That didn’t work. Now I know not at all what I want, and thus can have nothing. That doesn’t work. I audibly chuckle to myself, shaking my head, rolling my eyes so far back you can see the whites. Well, not you specifically, as you are not the German lady next to me who is now letting her eyes widen as she scans the horizon as if she’s disoriented and disassociated. We make contact and I smirk at her weakly but genuinely, hopeful that she asserts that my eyes are watering due to a particularly traumatizing scene in this film rather than the process of excavating the hardened textures of the paintings in my mind which is currently underway. I break my glance and though I cannot hear it, I can see from my peripherals that she has let out a sigh and sets her head against the plastic wall. I feel warm inside as if my humanity soothed her for a moment and helped her to relax into rest.

Back to my head gallery. I think I want one person forever, but I don’t know if that’s in the cards for tiny little me. Maybe I’m being type-casted into the lives of these lovers, and once they’re over the spontaneity and crave stability I’ll always be tossed out to the curb with my dumb rucksack that can fit all the things I own, envying the roots planted through peoples feet around me as I think to myself, I too am a tree and I’d like very much to be planted, thanks. I tap on my former love’s glass window and say, “hey wait.. I can be planted.. just.. just dig a hole.. I’m small and it doesn’t need to be that wide or deep.. just enough to cast soil over my small person shoes.”

A stewardess passes by and brushes her hand against my shoulder as another stewardess approaches to bring water - a Godsend. It’s the closest thing I’ve had to intimacy since I hooked up my friend Dimitri in Switzerland on fucking Valentines Day, a session which ended in a complete disregard of what had happened, a session which I would hardly describe as intimate at all. And as I consider the physicality of what transpired, it’s undoubtedly decided that the stewardess is my closest ally after all.

I sit with my knees pressed against my chest on this sky death vessel shared with an endless array of strangers to cast eyes upon, and none of them know me just as I’m starting to think I know not myself. I tick the alert button over my seat as I’m craving more olives. Only olives of course. But that combo deal is a steal so best get them with a side of a tiny prosecco bottle and queue up a dark comedy, ideally a British one.

[vileart]

Shit I'm in Love with Dramaturgy: Rachelle Elie @ Edfringe 2017

Bawdy Romp through Life, Love and Family with Cheeky Songs About Sex

Rachelle Elie can tell you more about love and relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry could ever do – and she’s laying it all on the line.

The Outstanding Canadian Comedy Award winner is bringing her critically acclaimed one-woman show Shit I’m in Love With You Again (SIILWYA) to the Edinburgh Fringe for the first time. Packed with witty observations, tales of embarrassment plus cheeky songs about sex it’s a joyfully bawdy romp through the ups and downs of her life that covers teenage lust, family, marriage, parenthood and therapy.

What was the inspiration for this performance?

For the last 15 years I have been creating and touring one-woman comedy character shows such as Joe: The Perfect Man and Big Girls Don’t Cry. After years of marital distress, my obstetrician/gynaecologist husband and I managed to rescue our love from the cliff’s edge, a recovery that inspired my own story. 

I realised I knew more about love and relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry could ever know. So six years ago I decided to strip away the characters, get on stage in stand up clubs and find my own voice, a decision that led to Shit I’m in Love With You Again. The show is my life, including my time spent in Kenya where my husband worked in a hospital and I taught art to HIV positive adults shunned by society. 

Medical politics forced my husband to resign his post just as I, after making sacrifices and overcoming doubts to accompany him, found my niche and was making a real difference to people’s lives. The rest is history – a history laid bare for all to see on stage. Shit I’m in love With You Again is my first autobiographical show and this is me laying it all on the line.    

Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas? 

I feel theatre is still one of the best ways to share ideas. What I love about theatre is it is an art form that requires an audience. As a performer I get immediate feedback about whether my idea is being understood and it affects my performance.  

With so much social media and texting, face-to-face communication is harder to get but theatre is an old fashioned art form that offers modern present day idea sharing and expression.  

How did you become interested in making performance?

From a very early age I would do silly characters to make my siblings laugh. My brother always pushed me to do the characters for others to make them laugh. We would be driving through Florida and he got me to walk up to strangers and do my characters. I got addicted to the laughs. 

Those were early performances. By being weird I realised I could affect a stranger’s day. I failed Grade 8 and at that time a guidance counsellor encouraged me to audition for a high school of the arts. I didn’t know it but I was an artist. I got into the art and dance program and thrived.  At 16 I was working as a professional model and at a Ralph Lauren show we were told to completely ignore the audience. 

This was impossible to me and that realisation led me to persuing a degree in acting at Bishop’s University. Making performance was something I gravitated towards but as I got older the type of performance I was meant to do became clearer. I went to theatre school to be a serious actress but my true calling has always been to be a clown and to do comedy.

Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?

Every show I have created has had a slightly different approach but most of the time it involves collaboration with clown experts. I have worked with Philippe Gaulier, Sue Morrison, Mike Kennard, James Keylon, Francine Cote, Adam Lazarus, David Shiner and others. T

hese people are masters of clown and physical comedy. When starting a new project I often get in a room with one of these people and start jamming. They help me get clearer with my ideas. I also get on stage as much as I can because the audience will immediately let me know if something is working. I am not a linear thinker so I often work with dramaturges or directors to shape the show. 

Once I feel I have at least an hour of strong material I will schedule previews so the show can further develop in front of an audience. I will video those previews and make major cuts at that point.  Friends and family feedback also influences my work. 

Does the show fit with your usual productions?

In the past my work has been theatre based and the shows have revolved around over the top characters. This show was developed in front of audiences in stand-up clubs, cabarets and bars. It became clear after hundreds of 5-30 min sets that a new show was in development but I was to be the central figure. 

Many comedians will say it takes years to really find your VOICE, after six years of consistent performances and feeling like my comedic voice was surfacing it became clear that I needed to create a new piece. I knew I wanted to perform it in theatres so I returned to my usual approach; to shows which involved several collaborators and mentors. 

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

More and more people need to laugh. As a comedian my favourite part of my work is doing just that and I believe this show provides some comic relief. I am also a trained clown. Clowns go too far, push boundaries and talk about things people are usually hesitant to discuss. 

I hope audiences jump on board with me when I go into the good the bad and the rauchy experiences of life. My specialty is “being too much” and “going too far” I hope audiences will enjoy my unique brand of comedy developed over the last twenty years that involves storytelling, stand up, clown, characters and acting.  

Near the end of the show, when we get more into the crisis of my relationship audiences get to see the worst of me. It is very intimate. I try to always come back to the light of it which is fun because things get crazy and then we laugh about how ugly things got. I had a friend who went through a nasty divorce and at the end of the show he was teary and said he wished he saw the show before they broke up. 

Another elderly overweight gentleman said he wished he had "fucked first" in his first marriage. Maybe it would of saved it! I tell the truth about love and relationships and the shows message is that even if a relationship appears to be shit it may be fixable. I hope audiences will laugh and when conflict part of the show comes up that people will relate to my struggle and to my universal message about love.

What strategies did you consider towards shaping this audience experience?

A few years back I discovered Aristotle's “Fryetag's Pyramid". Exposition, Rising action, Climax, Falling action & Resolution. I am not by nature a linear thinker and this tried and true triangle for story development is a strategy that helped me shape my chaotic ideas. Also I perform as much as I can in front of a live audience so that I can ensure my writing and performance are consistently funny for all types of audiences. 

Lastly and most importantly as a performer doing what I have to do before a show, to be in the moment with the audience that is in front of me, is crucial to shaping an audiences experience. There is a magical place, a five star place, between an audience and a performer on stage and when I access that place the audience and I have the ultimate experience. I am getting better and better at stepping into that place and it is the part of theatre that is like skydiving: life and death.

The show was a sing and shout-along success across Canada. Mums empathise with the “Ring of Fire” scene where Elie discusses that unforgettable sensation during childbirth, just before the baby arrives. 

And we can all learn from the Fuck First ditty and its core message about going to bed together before, rather than after, a romantic restaurant curry. 

SIILWYA rips through every key moment from Elie’s fall out with Jesus and enthusiastic embrace of sexual freedom, to true love and a marriage that came within an inch of divorce.

Described by legendary French master clown Philippe Gaulier as “fucking funny”, Elie has won bucket loads of praise. Critics delight at the energy and charm with which she delivers this autobiographical tale. Elie’s comedy can switch in an instant from naivety to raunch and then into the pathos of the realisation that she “loves everything about her husband – even the things that she hates”.

Elie treats universal themes in unexpected ways. She says: “It’s all there from splitting up with Jesus to the need for patience, tolerance and blow jobs in saving your marriage. I know more about long-term relationships than Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna and Katy Perry combined. I’ve been in the trenches of love for 20 years with my husband. We’re raising two boys together. I talk about the things most people are afraid to discuss.”

The songs are co-written with Luke Jackson, who provides live musical accompaniment.

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[ryukogo]

Tell us about your story!!

jesus hopping christ is this for real people want me to talk about my story??? :000000 i mean i have lots of story ideas that never really got delved into that much but i’ve got two stories with their own worlds right now

i’m only going to talk about one of them here for the moment - if anyone wants to hear about the other one then maybe next time

under the cut because it’s kinda long

the first one is most likely ending up titled as The Shinkicker Guide to Procrastination, but it’s a story about Darcy Shinkicker - she’s a journalist who procrastinated on writing her article for the school paper for far too long and decided only like 1-3 days before the deadline to look into her school’s myths, like the fourth floor of the oldest building [there’s only three floors so it’s supposedly a ‘ghost floor’] and the mysterious pianist and the doppelganger ghost and the like!!

She plans on sneaking into the school at night for her article, and her childhood best friend Kameron “Kam” Suarez [full name Kameron Raul A. Suarez - KRAS ] tries to stop her, but, Darcy’s a free spirit and Kam cannot tell her to do anything at all so he ends up coming along just to keep her out of trouble

But see it’s not an easy task, because there’s a girl who’s got it bad for Kam and her name’s Victoire van Heusen - she’s got the most disgustingly sappy crush on him and goes weak kneed at the sight of him, but the world seems to be against her and keeps shoving ‘proof’ in her face that Kam will never be interested in her - not like that’s stopping her. Otherwise, she’s rather determined to get him to notice her that way. Behind her is her own childhood best friend Terrence Winsley, who used to be frequently shoved around by her as a child, and quite frankly he still is shoved around, but he knows how to stand up for himself against her now and he’s literally the only person she’ll listen to when it comes to stuff like trouble and stuff [and her nickname for him is Twinky because saying Terrence all the time is apparently too taxing for Victoire - in retaliation he calls her Vicky].

Victoire overhears Darcy and Kam’s plan to sneak into school, and decides to follow them to school that night as well - and of course she ropes Terrence in too. And then the school’s resident pretty boy Inigo Reid overhears both pairs of best friends and decides ‘damn, ghost huntin?? i want in on this’ and decides to show up later that night too.

So all five of them show up at school to sneak in, and when they sneak in they meet with the two other main characters - Chantal Winsley, Terrence’s delinquent big sister, a senior, who escaped to the school that night after a brawl, not wanting to go home until she was patched up, and Frederick Paige, who was literally still in school only because his parents still haven’t picked him up.

Since we now have the group of seven, Darcy decides fuck it, we’re doing some ghost hunting, and long story short, it turns out the ghost stories are true, because when Victoire looks at the old school photos of old batches of students, it’s revealed that the myth of the Ghost in the School Photo is true, and said ghost sees Kam and decides he’s cute and now totally hers - so she possesses Victoire, who’s with Kam at the time.

cue the rest of the story here

It’s a short story compared to my longer one, Destiny Knot, but it’s okay, because I’m doing this in tandem with my buddy Rosemary! She says hi by the way, and hopes that when we polish the story, you’ll like it :D