The Waterlogues are something I created for the sixth San Francisco Olympians Festival, which ran November 4 to November 21 in 2015. As the founder and Executive Director of the festival, there had been a tradition of me introducing each night of the festival but discussing, for ten or fifteen minutes, the traditions and history surrounding what ever figure was the subject of the play being presented that night. In year six, however, we decided to change things up, and after considering a few options I ended up generating 12 new monologues, each themed to the subject of the evening and the festival as a whole (water, or “The Wine Dark Sea”), all of which were then performed by actress Allison Page, under the direction of Ariel Craft. Some of the monologues are funny, some are not, but you could most certainly perform any of them alone, say for an audition, or collectively, with one or more actresses, doing just a few or all of them, and make an evening of it. An interesting twist to an under-sea themed water cabaret? All of the speeches are intended for women, and the language reflects that, but I suppose a man could make something of them too, if he wanted. Either way (and every way in between), here they are, for the world to enjoy.

I. TRITON (GIRL IN A RESTAURANT)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft.
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 4, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco.

Okay, sit down. I said SIT DOWN! No, please, believe me, you want to be sitting for this because it is just… just… THE BEST NEWS EVER. No, I’m not pregnant. Not yet at least! But I did just meet somebody and this time, this time… I said, I MET SOMEBODY. As in like, I didn’t know them before, and now I do, and it’s good that I do because I think it’s gonna get all ultra-romantic in my shit, if you get what I’m saying. Okay, sure, be underwhelmed, that’s fine, that’s… I mean, I wasn’t so underwhelmed when you went into remission, but okay, whatever… Yeah, sorry, I know that was kind of… YOU WANT TO KNOW HIS NAME? Guess. No guess. Cause it’ll be fun. No, it’s not Robert. No, it’s not Paul. No, it’s not Anthony. Nope. No. No. Seriously, you think I would date a guy named George? That’s like… what your uncle’s named. Or your dad, whatever, it’s not George. Oh come on, nobody names their kid Frodo in real life. Well, nobody I’m going to be fucking, okay? Serial, I’m just going to tell you, you’re never going to guess: it’s Triton. Um, fuck you, okay, he’s Greek. Um, I don’t know what it means, like three something. Three times as hot as your boyfriend is what it means, okay? Anyway, he like… couldn’t be more perfect. His parents are like, really well connected. Maybe you’ve heard of them? Poseidon and Amphitrite. Well they’re a big deal in Greece, okay? I don’t know, something with the ocean, like… boats and shit. No, I’m not making this up. And yes, Triton has a job. I don’t know, he like… works for his dad. But that’s not his passion, right, it’s just temporary because what he wants to be is a musician. He plays the trumpet! He plays the trumpet and he’s like super good with animals. I know because I met him when I was swimming with dolphins. Um, because it was Tuesday, why do you think? Stop being jealous because he’s perfect. Yeah you are. You know you are. Because he is. He totally is. He absolutely is. He mostly is. Well, mostly is like… totally absolutely, right? Okay, fine, it’s like… there’s a drawback. I mean, it’s not a drawback, just sort of a… a hurtle. He doesn’t have legs. Yes, of course he has a penis. Yes, of course I know that for a fact. God. You’re so disgusting sometimes. But, yeah, no, no legs, more of like… a tail. You know, like a tail. Like a dolphin tail. Or like… not like… but an actual dolphin tail. Because he’s half dolphin. But you know he is all man from the waist up and- stop laughing at me. No, seriously, stop laughing at me or I will literally gouge out your eyes. What do you mean, “With what?” What kind of question is that? Just… just take the threat okay, Melissa. I mean seriously. Seriously. Why can’t you ever just be happy for me? Why? I mean, who cares if Triton doesn’t have legs when he’s got big muscular arms and huge, strong hands that can hold me, and love me, and play the trumpet? Who needs long walks on the beach when we can have long like… swims? At sea. You think the sunset is romantic from here? Well, it fucking wrecks it from the International Dateline. And really, nobody said anything when you started dating what’s his name? Wyatt? I mean, what was he- a lawyer? Big deal, big fucking deal. That’s about as special as crabs. Which, by the way, Triton can never get. No, not because he lives in the ocean. They have crabs in the ocean, Melissa. It’s because he doesn’t have any pubic hair. God, you’re such a moron. And where the fuck is that waiter?

II. A BEVY OF BEAUTIES (MOTHER UP LATE STUDYING)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 5, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre, in San Francisco, California.

“Why are you crying? Another nightmare about drowning? I thought we were going to only have flying dreams from now on, eh? I thought that’s what we agreed on in therapy. Or did you dream you flew over the ocean- and then fell in? Damn, kid, I named you Kevin, not Icarus. Don’t look at me like that, you know who Icarus is. We read the story last week. Where the kid builds wings and flies and the sun melts the wings and then he falls into the ocean and dies and oh wait yeah I definitely fucked this one up, didn’t I? Sorry about that. Look, if you ever fell into the sea, here is what would happen to you, okay? Eurybia, the goddess of sailing and swimming, would alert Brizo, the protector of those who braved the oceans, who in turn would summon Galene, the goddess of calm waters, who would make the sea as smooth as glass and as silent as the grave. No, sorry, not the grave, something else, something… I don’t know. What’s quiet and pleasant? Sunday afternoon. There you go- smooth as glass and silent as a Sunday afternoon. Then Doris, the goddess of fish, would tell the sharks to keep their distance, and make salmon and tuna come tickle your toes until you laughed, while Cymopleia, the goddess of the waves, would cause one giant one to lift you up and carry you towards the shore, where Psamathe, the goddess of sand, would catch you on a soft, white bed you could spend the rest of the day making little castles from, while I read a Tom Clancy novel and drink margharetas. If there were rocks or reefs which might block you from getting to the shore, the seagull goddess, Ino Leucothea, who once helped Odysseus reach the island of Scheria unharmed, would lend you the protection of her veil, which rendered the wearer unable to drown and impervious to stone. Of course, she would be so nice- all the lesser sea goddesses are nice- they’re like a gang of mermaids crossed with nursery school moms who are always three mimosas in. It was the gods you had to be afraid of, they were the ones who were always about to turn into a storm- or an eel. Like your father, the snake. But no, really, Ino definitely had a reason to be nice to people lost at sea because she had once herself been mortal, the daughter of Cadmus, the founder of Thebes, and a follower of Dionysus, the god of wine. In her drunkeness during one of the wine god’s rituals, she jumped into the sea with her baby son in her arms, and both would have died if the gods hadn’t turned them into birds before they touched the surface. So Ino learned her lesson, and she always helped the drowning, out of memory for her own mistakes. No, I would never do that to you. Christ, where do you get this stuff? For one thing, have you ever seen me jump into a pool, let alone the ocean? Kid, believe me, there aren’t enough white wine spritzers in the world to make me want to get my hair wet. Anyway, even if it I did, it would all turn out okay, that’s my point. No matter what, everything ends with me on sabbatical from this dissertation, and you and I kicking back on the beach, watching Thetis turn the tides. You remember Thetis, right? She was the one who helped Zeus escape the trap laid for him by the other gods, and who he would have married but there was a prophecy that her son would be greater than his father. So Zeus married her to the king Peleus instead, and her son was Achilles, greatest warrior of the Greeks. Yes, the one who died. Well, I’m sorry, mothers in mythology don’t always get off easy either. Yes, of course I’d never let you die. Who else is gonna tell the cabana boy I want another pina colada? God knows, it isn’t gonna be your father.”

III: NEREUS and PROTEUS (WOMAN IN A NURSING HOME)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 6, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre, in San Francisco, California.

Look, I know this isn’t easy. I know, sometimes… all the times… it’s hard for you to remember, but… I need you to remember. I need you to remember, and to focus, because if we don’t figure this out, if you can’t remember who you are… well, our future is kind of screwed, Old Man. Yours and mine. Nobody here is going to have any of their wishes come true. God, I wish, sometimes… I mean, I’d love to just shake you, you know? Just take you in my hands like Odysseus took Nereus… or was it Proteus? I can never remember. Anyway, I want to just… grab you. Like that. And shake you. Violently. Until you tell me everything I need to know. But I’m pretty certain that would kill you. Which is the only reason why I haven’t done it- why I won’t do it. Otherwise- believe you me: I’d be all over you, and no matter what you did, no matter how you screamed or shouted, even if you turned into a snake or a lion or burning coal- just like Nereus or Proteus or whoever- I’d hold on and I’d keep shaking you until the truth finally fell out of you, until we both finally knew… And you know what? I think you’d thank me, Old Man. I think you’d be grateful to remember. I know I would be, if I were in your place. I mean, I know it’s painful, I know you have worked real hard to bury it all, to make it nothing more than an echo, the sound of the waves in some deep, half-buried beach cave, but… I mean, how? How are you ever going to be able to look to the future again, if you can’t make peace with the past, make peace with us, with… me? And isn’t that important to you? What comes next? I know you’re not psychic, but don’t you dream? Don’t you watch the sun set each day and doesn’t that make you think about Time? Time is all that I can think about. I’m completely trapped in it. Why aren’t you? God, it’s like you’ve always been old. It’s like you never had a name, or if you did, it’s like it was a name that didn’t mean anything except, “Old Man: Outside of Time, Unimpressed by the Future.” Unimpressed by… me. Listen. Listen. Damn it, I’m going to put my mouth next to your ear like a seashell and make you listen to me! Remember. I need you to remember. Old Man. Proteus. Nereus. Keeper of secrets, father of Time, seer of the future: remember. Remember your secrets and tell them to me before I take you in my arms and hold on no matter what you turn into until it either works or drives both of us crazy. Do it now. Do it before it’s too late for both of us. Do it because I need you to. Do it because I wouldn’t be here, right now, in front of you, unless it was my last hope. Now tell me where the god damn money is.

IV: POSEIDON, AMPHITRITE (OLD LADY IN A COFFEE SHOP)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 7, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre, in San Francisco, California.

I think they’ll make a lovely couple. Why wouldn’t they make a lovely couple? They’re both lovely people, aren’t they? Lovely people are lovely together, everybody knows that, it’s in the Bible. It’s in the Old Testament. Okay, maybe that’s a lie, but it should be. Right after “don’t kill your neighbor” and right before what’s her name finds Moses in the burning bush. Anyway, he’s the god of the sea and she’s a mermaid with horns on her head what could go wrong? I ask you: what could go wrong? Nothing. Very little at least. They’ll have beautiful children. Don’t you think? They’re both so beautiful. And they never fight. Not like that brother of his, that Zeus, and his wife, oy, Hera, what a mess. What. A. Mess. I mean, honey, please your husband gets the milk from another cow once, shame on him, he does it twice or twenty or ten million times, shame on you and what good, I ask you, what good is getting mad about it going to do? Very little. Very. Little. Anyway, Amphitrite’s not like that, she’s not the jealous type. Poseidon’s very lucky that way- if you think luck had anything to do with it, which I don’t, he’s not lucky, he chose well. So did she. I mean, who’s Amphitrite? I mean, a lovely girl, yes, beautiful face, beautiful eyes, beautiful horns on her head, but really, who is she? Daughter of some minor sea god and let’s be honest, kind of deformed, but him? Poseidon? He’s a catch. Brother of Zeus, who, say whatever you want, is a very, very important god, and excuse me, hello, he rules the Sea. That’s “Sea” with a capital “S.” For seven. For all Seven Seas. There are seven you know. I don’t know what they’re called but it’s written down somewhere. Probably the Bible. It’s probably on those stone tablets Confucius gives Pontius Pilate. Anyway, I think Amphitrite did very well for herself, definitely married up, as they say, and who can blame her? Who can blame anyone for wanting to get out of their one-Titan town and see the world a bit? And he’ll be good for her- bring her out of her shell. Not that she’s a crab but you know… she does have those horns on her head. Lucky. Very lucky, I tell you, that she could find a man, and such a good catch, with those horns on her head. Says a lot about Poseidon. Says a lot about what a big man he is. Big soul. Big as the sea, you could say. It’s okay, you don’t have to, I already said it. Ah well. If only we could all be so lucky. But we can’t be. So it goes. So. It. Goes. I wish them all the best. No, I really do. Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t anybody? Love thy neighbor. That’s from the Iliad. I don’t know which part. Probably the part where Aphrodite sleeps with Jesus. She’s always getting around. Nobody’s safe. Not that you heard that from me. Anyway, what do you think we should get the happy couple? I was thinking for him, one of those spears with three prongs, like fishermen use, I hear he’s very fond of that. And her? I don’t know. Maybe a hat.

V: ARGONAUTS (SOCIETY DAME IN A COCKTAIL BAR)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 11, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Everyone was there. It was the party of the year. It was the party of the decade. It was the party of the century. Everyone was there and the Argo never looked better, Orpheus, as in son of Apollo and the muse Calliope, was playing from sunup to sundown, and the tunics were cut low, the waves were wine-dark, the food was fantastic. Of course, everything tastes better when the most famous musician in the world is your ambient noise- even the Sirens get quiet listening to his sad, sweet song and Jason knew that and that’s why Jason booked him for the gig, because someone had to keep Telamon, the helmsman, on course, and Admetus, king of Thessaly, from taking over. A good guy, Admetus, a funny guy, smile like the sunshine and a handshake that turned olives into oil but you had to be careful he didn’t upstage you at your own shin-dig and Jason knew he’d keep his place so long as Admetus and everyone else knew who was paying the harp jockey’s room and board. The celebrity guest list only went up from there, pair by pair, because the gods love doubles and when you double up on twins you get twice the luck-everybody knows this and Jason, the world’s first trust-fund baby with a plan, knew this better than everybody else, his father was one half of a set of twins, not so lucky twins those two, but some twins, some twins had all the luck and brought it with them so Jason had not one but two sets of twins on board- Castor and Pollux, those sons of Zeus and Leda, brothers of Helen and Clytemnestra, one mortal, one immortal, a rising star hitched to a falling one, and Calais and Zetes, the sons of the wind, wings on their backs and their backs to the Sun, a pair so fierce they could face down the Harpies if they needed to- and they needed to. Not that the Argo was short on muscle, it had muscle in spades, because the strongest man in the world, Heracles, was on board, fresh from his tour of the known planet, killing and trapping monsters like it was going out of style, but Jason knew he was unpredictable and you needed back-up or at least a real good lure and so there was Hylas, so handsome mermaids and mermen alike were tossing off their tales to get a piece, but Hylas only had eyes for Heracles and Heracles loved him back like Zeus loved Ganymede. Even the B-list was really an A-list, Jason made sure of that, and when he picked his oarsmen he picked the ones whose blood was so blue they practically sweat pedigree: Peleus was king of Aegina but he’d married up with the goddess Thetis and everyone was talking about their kid Achilles like he was the second coming of someone who hadn’t shown up yet, while Laertes, king of Ithaca, had only one small island to his name but another hot-shot kid, some snot-nosed ginger named Odysseus the Fates were telling all kinds of stories about. And then, of course, there was the girl: Atalanta, whose feet were so fast the soles twinkled brighter than the stars and that’s usually all you ever got to see of her unless she liked you and she almost never liked you. There’d been a man once, some rich-kid game hunter named Meleager, but he was as dead as that nymph who’d married Orpheus and broke his heart and now Atalanta was also on the run from the pain, hopping on board like the rest of them, seeking an escape, a fortune, a future, an answer- what difference did it make? The Argo was headed East, and that’s where Jason said the treasure lay and Jason was the man with a plan so everyone was there and it was the party of the century. It was the party of the millennium. It was the party to end all parties and everyone was there, even if only one of them knew where he was going.

VI: JASON (GIRL IN A CROWN)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 12, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Dear Jason. Greetings from sunny Lemnos! I hope this letter finds you well. By my estimation you should be back from Colchis and in Thessaly by now, Golden Fleece in hand. I hope that’s what’s happening. I hope you’re not dead. I’m sorry, I know that’s a weird thing to write in a letter, but I think about it all the time and I… I mean, you and I have been so honest with one another. I figure… I hope… we still can be. Even if we’re not face to face. And yes, I know you told me not to worry, that I can’t worry, I have to be where I am and you have to be where you are, I know this, I understand this, but… I mean, how can you expect that of me? How could anyone expect that of anybody they’ve told their whole life to? Especially when the life was one like yours, always in peril, from the moment of your birth to the moment we first met? I think about you, as a baby, being smuggled to the mountains by a servant even as your parents where forced from their throne by your uncle, and I wish so hard that I could have been there to comfort you. I think about your childhood, raised by centaurs, learning the arts of war and the truth about your destiny, and I wish I could have shared it with you, run barefoot in those hills, eaten those wild berries, and maybe, who knows, convinced you to move forward, to something else, something more peaceful, rather than go back to where no one loved or wanted you. Of course, I understand you have a destiny, that the gods themselves wrote you would go home when you came of age, and walk into the city of your birth, one foot bare because you’d lost a sandal in a stream while carrying an old woman to the shore. Of course, I understand your desire to reclaim your kingdom, and why you agreed to fetch the Golden Fleece to prove your worthiness, even if the quest is obviously your uncle trying to have you killed, even if the voyage is long and full of monsters and danger, even if the Golden Fleece itself is guarded by a dragon in a field where armed warriors grow like grain and fire breathing bulls graze on the weeds, on an island so far to the East the Sun Himself keeps a palace there. Of course, I understand why you could not stay here, stay with me, but… It’s been three months since you and your crew came to Lemnos on your way to the Black Sea and… well, things have happened. Let’s just say, a lot of us seem to be pregnant now. A whole lot of us. Including me. Of course, you know, that wasn’t exactly not the plan. I mean, we’re not idiots, we’re not school girls, we knew what we were doing but… Allright, remember when I said I wanted to mother a new generation of better men? That I wanted to repopulate my little kingdom with sons and daughters who would rule wiser, better, more gently than their ancestors? Well, I didn’t mean alone. I had always thought, always assumed, I’d be doing it with someone. And I know what we said to each other and I know what has to be, but… if you ever get this, and if you’re still alive, and you decide it wasn’t worth it- the Golden Fleece, the kingdom, your destiny… well… you know where to find me and I hope you will. I truly do. I’d so very much like to see you with our child in your arms. All my love, Hypsipyle.

VII: MEDEA (WOMAN AT A LOOM)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 13, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre, in San Francisco, California.

Everyone always wants to talk about my sister. It’s like I don’t even exist and I suppose, for most people, I don’t. When you say to someone, “Medea had a sister,” they usually say, “Oh? Oh! Well, I didn’t know.” And then you wonder what else they don’t know. Like that we had a brother. And that Medea killed him too. No mother. At least, not since we were small children. Absyrtus, our brother, was the youngest and the last- she died in childbirth and he died before he was married and had children of his own, so as you might imagine our father did not die peacefully. I’ve a son of my own, and he’s now wearing our father’s crown, so it wasn’t a complete extermination of our family line, but it was close, and a step down, handing the crown to a bastard, especially for a family descended from the sun god, Helios, himself. It’s where we get our golden eyes. And our knack for magic. And our bad luck with lovers. Not to excuse what Medea did to the children because there really is no justification for that, but Jason was a pig, I know, I met him. “Ah, but they are all pigs- or become them!” my aunt Circe would say, and she’d be right. She’d know. She’s been turning them into pigs for almost a century now. She’s the one that taught Medea how to cast spells. We all can do it, it runs in the family, my father’s been charming dragons and fire-breathing bulls since he was a toddler, but Medea wanted more than a few household charms under her girdle: she wanted the big magics, and the dark ones, and Circe never could resist an earnest student. I genuinely think Medea was a good person, and I genuinely think she thought she could learn those arts without compromising her soul but… well, I ask you: can you learn to kill a man and not have that knowledge slowly eat away at you until you do? She was never the same after she went to live with Circe, never the same after she returned to Colchis. Suddenly it was too small for her, too far away from the rest of the world, and she was restless, always restless, a fitful sleeper and an avid dreamer, given to moonlit walks by the seashore and sunrise rambles in the hill, often coming back with her feet bloodied and her nails torn, as if she was clawing her way over something, out of something, towards something the rest of us couldn’t see or understand. And so when Jason arrived with his golden tongue and his golden looks and golden ship that would carry her away… well, of course she made sure he had a golden fleece to match it all, and she a golden ticket out and away as far as she could go. And when Father and Absyrtus tried to stop her, she murdered him, our brother, and scattered his body parts in the bay, forcing my father to stop and collect them, and thus letting her slip away to freedom. Or so she thought. Like I said, we’ve always been good with magic, not so much with love. Not that I can quite blame Jason. He’s a pig, as I said, but can you blame a pig for wanting to run after it sees one of its own get it’s throat slit and it’s legs and arms hacked off? And I can’t imagine death wasn’t always on his mind from the moment he watched her scatter our brother to the waves. And if the rumors are true- about how Medea killed his uncle after they returned to Iolchus- then I’m sure that only hardened his heart towards her further. How could it not? Of course the man was his enemy, his rival for the throne, he would have had to be dealt with somehow, some way, but did Medea have to trick his own daughters into boiling him alive? Of course she didn’t. And yet who knows? Maybe she couldn’t have done it any other way. You see, it was in her nature. It was who she was. And you can despise her for that, you can fear her, certainly I did, I still do, but… I don’t know. She is my sister, for all that. And I pity her and I worry about her. And I hate that man she married, I hate that man who took her away and then left her for another woman, and I hate that she killed the children but… I know I’ll see her again. I know, someday, somehow. I heard she’s in Athens now, married again, but she won’t stay with him forever and she won’t stay there long. She’s too restless. And even if she wasn’t, she’ll find a way to ruin it, whether she means to or not. She’s always had a talent for making terrible things happen.

VIII: THE ARGO (WOMAN IN A BUSINESS SUIT)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 14, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Okay, so I know what you’re thinking- she looks a little used, but let me tell you something, buddy, you cannot- I repeat- CANNOT- find a better deal than the one I’m about to make you. I mean sure, sure, you can go downtown, probably find yourself some kind of crook, some kind of con artist who is happy to sell you a second hand boat for less than I’m willing to part with the Argo here but one, you won’t be getting the Argo and two, I can almost promise you there will be holes in the hull and termites in the tiller, and that’ll be just the beginning of your problems. You see, you can’t do much better than the Argo, it’s not just that it’s the best boat of its kind, it’s the only boat of it’s kind. The designer, Argus, died, no for reals, right after it was finished- it was his masterpiece, his fucking blood is in the paint! The largest boat ever built, it took him a whole year, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch a board of it but himself. Worked on it night and day, never slept, barely ate, I don’t know how he kept going, probably crank, but somehow he built this thing from the sand up and believe me when I say they just do not make ‘em like that any more! And sure, it’s seen a little action, it’s been some places, it’s made it through the Stymphian Glades and Scylla and Charybdis, it’s gone to the Black Sea and back, it’s done some time in the brine, but that just means it’s been tested and that’s what you want on a long sea voyage- something old salt and reliable, none of this fancy new shit they’re selling kids with trustfunds who don’t know any better. And have you seen the mast? That’s not just any mast, my friend, that is genuine, honest-to-goddess, Divine Masthead handed over by the goddess Hera herself, perfect for hoisting up sails, or strapping yourself to when you’re passing by the Sirens, and great at giving directions and advice. Eat your heart out, GPS, am I right? Move the fuck over- Hera, Queen of the Gods, is in town. Am I right? Huh? And look at these benches- you got room for 24 rowers, easy, and if they’re skinny guys- boom- 48. That’s a lot of horsepower. Stick Heracles in back there and you’re looking at five, ten, fifteen days, tops to Troy. Angled prow, cuts right through the waves, and a little minstrel nook in the rear where you can stick Orpheus or whoever. Doesn’t have to be classical. That’s what’s so great about the Argo- it’s old school and new school at the same time. Ah, let’s see what else- plenty of storage. Tons of storage. Previous owner? Oh, well, I’m sure you know who the previous owner was, we all know don’t we? Ah, no, he’s fine with the sale. I mean, he’s dead so… How? Uh, you know, that’s not important. No, it really isn’t no. No, look, okay, yes, so, the stern fell on him but hey- you know what? It’s how he wanted to go. And that doesn’t have to happen to you. And hey- bright side- new stern. New state of the art… stern. No it’s not cursed, that’s ridiculous. It’s the Argo! The Argo’s not cursed. That’s ridiculous. You’re thinking of like… the Lusitania or the Flying Dutchman or some crap like that. Not the Argo. So what do you think, huh? I mean, you’re not gonna see another killer deal like this any time soon. I mean, you’re not gonna see another deal this good. I mean- Hey where are you going? Hey, come back here! Hey, don’t you walk away from the Argo! Don’t you dare fucking walk away! Asshole. Creep. Shit. Hey. Hey you! Wanna buy a boat? Super cheap.

IX: DELPHIN (GIRL BEING EATEN BY A SHARK)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 18, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

OH MY GOD THIS HURTS. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY… God, I wish this was a dolphin. I mean, I’d give just about anything for this to be a dolphin. I’m being attacked by a shark right now, by the way. Just in case you’re wondering what the scenario is. I know I should probably be a little bit more panicked but… I don’t know. I just kind of… stopped. I’m probably dying. No, I’m fairly certain I’m dead. Well. That was surprising. And quick. Really quick. Huh. Debating right now. Debating if I’m upset about this. Not that it matters. Not that I can really do anything about it. Still, wasn’t the way I wanted to go. And yet… I mean, this beats cancer. Or like… starvation. And hey, up until a moment ago, this was a damn good vacation. And I really didn’t want to have to go back to work on Monday. And now I don’t have to. Ha! Fuck you, Mr. Miller, guess who is NEVER going to get that presentation now, you wanker. Huh. I wonder if he’ll use my death as a reason to take the day off? I know he won’t close the whole office, he’s too much of a douche to do that, but I can so see him knocking off early to play a round of mourning golf. That fucking wanker. You know, I don’t know if this is death or whatever, but I feel kind of… sticky. I wonder if I’m inside the shark right now? That’s sort of… fun. You know they have found all sorts of crazy shit inside of sharks. License plates, tin cans, suits of armor. Anyone who goes swimming in their armor deserves to be eaten by a shark. I don’t suppose that was a very nice thing to say. I mean, whatever, I’ve been eaten by a shark, get over it Sir Swims-a-lot. I wonder if they ever find weird stuff inside of dolphins? Probably not. They kind of have little beaky kind of mouths, don’t they? And they’re not dumb the way sharks are. Like they know what they’re looking at before they eat it. Sharks don’t. Sharks often bite people by mistake because they think they’re seals or whales or whatever. This shark have better thought I was a seal. I mean, I know I don’t look like Cindy Crawford in a bathing suit but I don’t think I look that bad. Eww. Definitely feeling sticky right now. And gassy. Like I’m causing gas. That’s… different. You know, I seem to recall that dolphins don’t accidentally eat humans but they do sometimes rape them. God, I hope that’s not my last thought. Quick, think of something else. I can’t. All I can think about is dolphin sex. Question: would I prefer to be raped by a dolphin, or eaten by a shark. Like if I could do it all over again. Hmmmmmmm. You know, I think I’m going to go with the shark. I mean, yes, it was painful and yes, I’m not elated about being dead- though I’m also not exactly hating it- which is a surprise- but… you know, at least it’s natural. We all come from the ocean, we all return to it… or something. I mean, I’m originally from Kansas but… well, we’re not in Kansas any more, are we Dorothy? Anyway, I don’t think I’d feel so blasé about being raped by a dolphin. I’m pretty sure I’d feel pretty… pretty darn violated. This is sort of horrible and sort of not but it’s not weird. It’s not super weird at least. Like it’s not what I imagined, but it’s not super weird. Just sort of sticky. And gassy. Huh. I wonder if this shark is going to fart me out. I mean, I guess I’m going to have to come out at some point, in some way, aren’t I? Oh that’s gonna suck. Or blow, right? Yeah, that’s totally going to blow. Especially if my brain is still all conscious like this. God, why is it conscious like this? Am I a ghost? Am I like… haunting this shark? Shit. That would just be… shit. Shit. God, I wish this was a dolphin. God, I really, really wish this was a dolphin.

X: AEOLUS, CIRCE (WOMAN ON TELEVISION)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 19, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Thanks, Bob. So, as you can see on the map right behind me there’s a heavy fall of rain happening over here in the north-east while over here in the southwest we’ve got scattered showers but the wind’s going to keep pushing those clouds so we could be seeing some better weather by tomorrow, definitely by the weekend. Not so lucky in the northwest, however, sorry folks, but that is definitely, definitely, definitely some snow coming your way, break out the booties and blankets, it’s going to be a cold one. Down here in the southeast everything is just fine, little bit of a light breeze and maybe some scattered clouds but temperature should stay steady right on through the weekend and we should even get some sun provided Aeolus, master of the winds, stays in a good mood. Shouldn’t be too hard to stay happy- he’s on a floating island surrounded by his fifty daughters, after all. How bad could life be? Still, keep your eyes on the horizon if you plan to do any deep sea diving or late-night fishing: Aeolus’s mood has been known to change like the wind. Get it? Little bit of blowhard humor there, folks, remember, the weather is the fun part of the news. Speaking of fun, word out to all of our friends who are returning home from Troy, the winds might be on your side but we’ve been losing some ships around the island of Aeaea lately so if you’re passing that way you may want to be on your guard and remember gentlemen, we don’t give a place a name that doesn’t have any consonants unless it’s either magical, cursed, or both. Reports of strange music and mysterious fogs around Aeaea have been circulating the last few years, as well as stories of lots of weird acting animals from people who have been brave enough to venture ashore and lucky enough leave again. They say Circe, daughter of the sun god Helios, who may or may not be a witch depending on when you feel that term was actually first coined, has been shacking up in a palace with various mortal men she’s turning into pigs and lions whenever she gets bored of having sex with them. Of course, they also say the world is a round globe spinning on an axis but since the map behind me clearly shows it’s still and flat I’m not exactly going to invest meclizine stock, if you know what I’m saying. Still- venture there at your own risk and use caution if you do: nobody wants you to miss that fine, fine weather we’ve got coming at you this weekend. Back to you, Bob.

XI: OCEANUS, TETHYS (WOMAN AT A PARTY)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 20, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Hey everyone! Everyone! If I could have your attention please! Hello! Thank you! Peter, please stop talking, mommy’s talking now, okay? Thank you. Everyone, I just wanted to take a moment to say Thank You. Thank you for coming out today, for coming all this way, to celebrate our family, and especially the incredible marriage of Grandma and Grandpa Ocean. I mean, can you believe it: seventy-five years! Seventy-five years of being together, of watching the world change, of watching us all grow up. I can’t imagine it’s been easy. One, because this is New Jersey, and two, because we’re a scary bunch of kids, aren’t we? Scary kids and scary grandkids, and truly scary great-grandkids. I mean, I know we’re the reason you both have white hair but what I can’t explain is how you both still look so damn good! Right everybody? Don’t they look amazing? I mean, sure, Grandpa you’re sort of rocking the Santa beard right now but underneath it: let’s just say, Paul Newman was always lucky Joanne Woodword didn’t hold a candle to Grandma or he’d have been in trouble. And Grandma… let’s just say, I was stopping by the bakery to pick up your cake today and Mr. Stone still asks about you. And I don’t mean the old guy, I mean his son. Seriously, though, what is your secret? We all want to know it. We’re all guessing. We all sit around at the reunion every year and guess, it’s really all we do. “How do they manage to stay so young?” Nobody knows, but everybody wants to know. My personal guess, if I had to guess? It’s basically the love, isn’t it? I mean, what else could it be? I mean, sure, we all know Grandma is super deep and Grandpa is always there when you need him no matter what, like he’s got the whole world in his arms, but either you’ve both somehow learned to stop time or you’re both hiding some seriously intense wrinkle cream somewhere. Or it’s the love. I’m pretty sure it’s the love. What else could have kept you together through the War, and the birth of your kids, and another war, and the birth of their kids, and all the changes, the technology, the economy, Disco and Hip-Hop, and then the birth of more kids and another war and now Jimmy’s got his first on its way and… God, you’re old, aren’t you? But you don’t seem to be tired. And I love that. I just look at that and it just… I mean, I’m exhausted, thinking about your lives, thinking about our lives, all of our lives, but I love it. I love you. We all do. So much. We just want to know… can you two bottle that stuff? Whatever it is? Because I think we’d all like a chance at what you two have. And boy we could make this family a fortune. To you. To seventy-five years. Never stop loving one another. For our sakes, if not your own. We need you Grandma and Grandpa Ocean. The world needs you.

XII: PONTOS (GIRL ON A BEACH)
Performed by Allison Page, directed by Ariel Craft
Produced by the San Francisco Olympians Festival, November 21, 2015, at the EXIT Theatre in San Francisco, California.

Here’s what I hope happens when we die. I know, I know, it’s morbid… but go with me on this… I hope we become part of the Sea. Not just one part, either, but rather like… like… many parts of the whole. The foam and the waves, the undertow and the murky depths, the surface and the place where the light of the sun suddenly vanishes and the fish have to make their own light with some kind of crazy chlorophorm or blood or whatever it is. Water. I hope we become water. Fresh and salt. Clear and opaque. Sweat, tears, spit- all of it. All the water in the world- in the universe. Rain. Snow. Sleet. Hail. Ice. Steam. Pontos. Water. The kind that heals and the kind that destroys. That’s what I hope we become. Both. Everything at once. Our souls liquid and that liquid everywhere and everywhere essential, vital. Filling the mouths of turkeys staring up into the rain and every nook and cranny of the Marianna trench. I want lovers to cry me. I want children to drink me. I want drunk dudes on the beach to piss parts of me into the rest of me, and then I want that to evaporate up into the clouds that billow white until they hit the land, turn grey over some city I never get to see in my walking on the Earth with two feet lifetime, and then open up and weep down onto sidewalks so hot they were cracking ten minutes prior. I want to puddle between the roots of trees and I want you to be there with me, mingling with me, the two of us getting along, together, and with everyone else who is and was and will be, everyone happier than they’d ever been before because finally, finally, finally we’re all in it together. Literally. We’re all in that puddle together. Just water. Or rather- finally, ultimately, blessedly Water. There’s no way it isn’t a trade up, even when it flows down. Even when it pools stagnant. Even when it dries. Anyway, don’t you think that would be nice? Don’t you think that would be Heaven as the poets truly meant it? You and me and everyone we know, soaking between the rocks on some beach somewhere, in Scotland or Madagascar or Greece, temporary and yet inevitable, with little hermit crabs and starfish counting down time in their own entirely unique ways, their voices, such as they are, echoing through depths where no lines, no borders can be drawn that won’t be swept away with the next tide, which always comes, always, our only constant, in and out like breath, like our breath, millions and millions of years after you and I cease to breathe?