“P.S. I kept a list”

The courtesan’s demands are specific; her bodice is moiling, she protests.

Does this speak to us today?

Terrorism is when you don’t target your revenge, responds ACG. That’s what terrorists do, it’s not specific–and it’s ineffective.

Man in intensely orange shirt–color of jujubes?–says we have experienced this desire for revenge, we can identify.

Is this dated? Is it terrorism–no, it’s not just scaring the f* out of them. There’s nothing wrong with identifying with people’s suffering; to be obsessing over it the way Weil does is bizarre. Like Weil. The courtesan’s revenge is seemingly political, but it is mostly about her, too.

Do the specifics of SW’s scene matter to us? The story seems to be effective in its setting, a fitting scene. And now David introduces the boxcar scene, quickly I think–perhaps because the audience already seems to be pretty clear about the effectiveness of this scene. The men who have spoken, that is. The Rumanian aspirin story, while detailed, is not detailed in the same way as the courtesan scene. It’s an entirely different scene here that Gordon has written–but no one ever mentions this. They compare them easily, without specifying how very different in their seeming analogies these scenes are. They are set up almost to fool us, to fool us into thinking they are alike. Will anyone notice this tonight? Or will they allow it to wash over them.

When she says “rooms without windows” like this–does it occur to anyone that WE are in a “room like this” right now? Why does no one make this analogy.


First version puts more pressure on the two guys; a much more brilliant scene, better dramaturgy.

The guy in Binghamton yesterday had a list.

Sex-trafficking allows me to identify the political agenda, the feminism–the sides are taken, so I can sit back. The first leaves us open not to know. We don;t know which “side” we are supposed to be on in the first one (Molly).

We are more intrigued, says woman in Venetian-candy stripes, by the allure of Venice. We are thus more on the spot.

DL invokes the Exonerated. It gets us to DO something in the world. What does the first scene get us to “do”? We can’t “do” anything about Venice in the 17th century.

Who wrote the second one? someone boldly asks–Gordon, volunteered. So is SW a better dramaturge than GD?

Interesting how this information is available to us, if only we would have asked.

DL asks, invoking Ruined: why are people making the second scene, if we know it’s not good? Not effective?

Where is pleasure in the theater that makes us want to do something? Molly is impassioned, angry, impassioned.

A lot of -ations are invoked. The Boston Tea party was an act of political theater and an act of terrorism. These are all allegory.

What’s the difference between theater and social work? Why not just go into social work if you want to DO something–who wants us to DO something?

Molly is getting “asked” to join the table. Somehow the powers that be are always too far in the background, in the spirit of transparency and clarity–David seems to be creating a distraction, stopping the increasingly heated up the debate–but, shocker, no, he goes back to Linda, who is arguing about the personal stakes we all have, and that poetics of individual needs is what gets us to act. Director yielding to the tug of the audience’s pleasure? Radical.

Someone mentions Empathy. An easier exercise of empathy, for better or worse, in the second scene.

They are talking about the act of re-inventing these scenes, these translated scenes of empathy and of re-creating the tragedy, which is more about the performers than the audience. More about creating than witnessing–that is political theater.

Does Molly get it that in this moment, she IS creating political theater, though? That she is NOT a witness? But a maker?

Linda invokes Simone–her play is a play–the performance of her life. Her intent is to live this play in her life; the erotics of anorexia. Radical Acts of Empathy. Except Weil had no choice–she is mentally ill, out of control, not playing a game. She has no power.  Is Simone Weil a spectator? No, she is creating an act of ultra-poesis somehow–but what about the audeince? The crowd?

An example of a woman starving herself to people around her–shocking. Is that theater? SW cared nothing about the audience.

Thirst comes up. 


David talks about Sylvie, what she said about Weil. What it was like to entertain Simone Weil, how disruptive and inconvenient for her guests. Bonjour chien! She was inconveniencing everyone around her constantly without worrying about anyone else. The theater in your own home–the Radical Inconvenience of it.









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