Annie is the descendant of a nurse who doesn’t believe in reincarnation but “was definitely a horse,” a puzzle-loving psychologist who eats salad with chopsticks, a social butterfly who outlawed Hanukkah because she thought it was a fire hazard, a sculptor and entrepreneur who may or may not have torched the sailboat of a man who double-crossed him,
a radio-announcer-at-heart who ate crunchy green bananas and would go to the store for a lightbulb and disappear for seven hours,
a refugee who once nursed a shrimp cocktail for over two hours at a busy restaurant because “I will not be rushed,” a kind butcher who let everyone pay on credit, a photographer for the Belgian royal family, a stenographer who held weekly seances, a germophobic salesman, a fecund rabbi,
a liquor runner, a gargoyle-maker, a ship’s doctor, a tailor, and many more, known and unknown.
If you come to the show, you’ll probably meet some of them.
Anooj wandered around taking long pauses //
In this space is everything you know as home, strains pulled from that feeling you get that makes your shoulders go down and funneled into your body. Your skin becomes thicker and lovelier and lovelier and lovelier and it starts to hug you and you see that all you need is already permeating between your body and the space between you and I. I want to ask you for a dance, I want to tell you to eat the rest of that, I want to sit by you as we whisper secrets, and I want you to imagine us getting to lay down under a warm blanket after a day that was so cold. I also want to punch things, gnaw at them, bleed a little, and tell them that we refuse to forget. And when we are done, I want us to breathe, to become even lovelier than the loveliest, and tell the tale while leaving out all the words.
// until he found himself here, showing up to places claiming to be things and people believed him so he then became those things.
Ashley is proud to say that she is susceptible to cults and that she learned to read watching Sesame Street because her parents were busy. She knows where the Fountain of Youth is and bathes nude in its waters every full moon. She will never tell you where it is. It’s in New Jersey. Not sure where she was born, Ash remembers crisscrossing the country with her older sibling and thinking that airline stewardesses (in the 70’s, that’s what they were) were the most beautiful people on earth. She knows now that the most beautiful people on earth are the Neo-Futurists.
Hilary is a Ghanaian-American actress and writer. Her friends wrote the following about her for their wedding website. It’s fairly accurate.
“Hilary is an enigma. She frequently discusses the intricacies of modern theater, just as frequently as she weeps over the most recent Grey’s Anatomy episode. She’ll champion the superiority of Tempranillo wine, but she’s also a fan of my signature swill, “Tequila Mockingbird.” She once walked into a party and arbitrarily declared herself The Mayor, and not a single person questioned it. Hilary is the ideal bridesmaid because she can be relied upon to simultaneously make sure everything is perfect and in order, while also getting down harder than anyone else around.”
A few clarifications:
I’m more likely to weep over This Is Us now, but I will watch Grey’s Anatomy until they take it off the air. If I die first, I will be haunting somebody’s TV Thursday nights at 8pm.
I’ve never had a Tequila Mockingbird but I like tequila. Want to be my friend? Buy me tequila.
- The jurisdiction, duration, and requirements of my mayoral term remain unknown.
To experience Julia’s bio for yourself, complete the following instructions:
-Push yourself through a dog-door. Don’t cry– look around instead.
-Go into the woods and make a paste by grinding flower petals and leaves with a fist-sized rock. Smell the poultice.
-Whisper a secret into an empty milk carton. Fold that top lip thing back into its closed position. Recycle the carton without folding it flat because you’re a *monster*.
-Pick up the nearest thing on the ground and give it a name. Keep it on a shelf/in your pocket/someone else’s pocket/in a drawer/on a chain around your neck.
-Go to your local public library and underline (in *pencil*! I’m not a *monster*!) words to make a secret code in the nearest book.
-Get some nuts (roasted almonds, preferably). Put the nuts in a jar. Shake this jar in the ear of the person next to you. Don’t stop until asked.
-Open the nearest window. Lean out and scream out that milk-carton-secret from before.
In 11th grade Economics class, Katharine’s teacher gave the students a super serious assignment to prepare them for the Real World™. They were to write a thesis paper which required them to conduct in-depth research, three expert interviews, and compose 10 pages of critical analysis. One of Katharine’s interviewees refused to talk beyond 5 questions, but she made it work and submitted the full assignment.
The teacher gave her a C+ because she only had 2 and 1/2 interviews. Katharine was frustrated but the teacher said, “REAL. WORLD.”
The next semester he gave them an even more Real-Wordier© of The Real Worldiest® assignments. This thesis paper also required extensive research and interviews, but this time, 20 pages of analysis.
17 year old Katharine, now running very low on f#$ks, fabricated the entire thing. She made up research numbers and statistics, a 20 page analysis of said untruths, and wrote three contrasting “interviews” full of dialogue rich with conflict, intrigue and dynamic suspense. One of the “interviewees” even stormed out of the “interview” after a two hour existential crisis when Katharine pressed him on his relationship with his father.
The teacher gave her an A+ and praised her for days.
That’s when Katharine learned this very important Real World life lesson: maybe she should write more fiction.
She has never told this story until now.
(Tonight’s performance is dedicated to Dr. Maskin)
I was born near the Salvador Dali museum with both legs dislocated and a full mop of black hair, called Katie Kay Chelena, and slapped on the ass.
After that, I became began begat
the oil slick in the pothole, an open
mouthed kiss, a shattered disco ball,
the wild animal just outside your tent,
a sharpened No. 2 pencil, your luckiest
pair of underwear, an ecstatic collection
of particles born of starlight ripping
itself to shreds, a rogue wave, ice cream,
a pack of wolves, reclamation,
that feeling you get when you tell someone
you love them for the first time + they say it back,
the moment you tell your grandma “it’s okay to go” + so she does,
the golden hour, the bird shit on the sidewalk,
the persimmon tree + the olive branch,
the broken bone, the alchemy book,
and many more things I’ve yet to become,
and you became began begat all these things too,
so all these things exist both in me + in you.
tldr: I’m a theater artist.
West of Somewhere
You are standing in a room. Or sitting. Or outside. There is a website here. Exits are: OUT
The website is for the New York Neo-Futurists. It is gray and smooth and informative. There are words here. There are pictures here.
You see many pictures. Pictures of beautiful faces. Each picture is unique. Each picture has its own story. Each picture waits with bated breath to tell you its own, special, beautiful story.
Words fill the length of the page. There is a recipe here. There is a list of Best Actress Nominees here. You wonder about the people who wrote them. They wonder about you.
One time I did a dance about longing in a kiddie pool. One time I ate a slice of pizza that had been pre-licked by Connor Sampson. This one time I made a play that happened in your bathroom and then in the park and then underground, and another time I auditioned for the Neo-Futurists and my life changed. One time I wrote music by a lake. One time I played Laura Wingfield in the goddam Glass Menagerie, if you can believe it. This one time I waited for-EVER outside a single-stall bathroom like WHO is taking this long, and the door opened and it was Harry fucking Potter. One time I got a master’s degree in acting; it was really hard and I’m very proud of it. One time I wrote a play about where I was the evening of September 11, 2001, which was in the world’s weirdest modern dance class, and the events were very dark but the play was very funny. It was a good play, actually. You had to be there.
Mike Puckett –
Mikhail Puckettovich “Mike Puckett” was mistakenly unfrozen by the KGB in 1978 as part of a short-lived program exploring the weaponization of woolly mammoths. Luckily, being over 5,000 years old had been decriminalized 3 years prior as an April Fool’s Day prank (they celebrate April Fool’s in Russia, right?), and Mike was made a member of the intelligence agency. During this time he participated in numerous experiments and operations, and can be unofficially credited with pioneering over half a dozen new sandwich recipes, revolutionizing the art of kicking open doors, and inventing the tooth camera. He is most famous for his formation and 3-year leadership of the world’s first houseplant assassination squad. Ironically, this would lead to his downfall. In 1985, a botched attempt on the life of Ronald Reagan’s favorite ficus caused Mike to be disavowed from the KGB.
Now that Mike was stuck in America with no friends or family, a 23-year-long* montage ensued. Some excerpts include (in no particular order):
-Mike goes to his first nightclub! (“The Bad Touch” by Bloodhound Gang)
-Mike rides a bike on the West Side Highway! (“Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen)
-Mike wrestles a wolf, inspires Liam Neeson to do the same! (“Ace of Spades” by Motörhead)
-Mike goes to his first American grocery store! (hilarity ensues) (“Lost in the Supermarket” by The Clash)
-Mike hitchhikes his way out of DC, gets stranded in Pennsylvania. (“Dueling Banjos” by Arthur Smith)
-Mike gets ready for a first date! (“Paint it Black” by Rolling Stones)
Finally, in 2009, Mike got tired of hijinks and shenanigans and decided to do something serious with his life: acting school. So he went to New York University, where he trained with the Atlantic Theater Company for 3 years. There he was taught by the wonderful Jacquelyn Landgraf, who inspired him to see Too Much Light for the first time. Mike left the theater absolutely astonished; he had found his artistic calling! This was the reason he had traveled through time! He spent the next 2 years hanging around the Kraine Theater until the New York Neos let him join the ensemble. And that brings us to the present. **
*Fortunately for Mike, some science stuff happened to him when he was frozen, causing his body to stop aging. Some scientists believe this is why he still appears to be in his 20s.
**That last paragraph is true. Mostly.
Nessa is a Brooklyn-based theater artist devoted to the creation of innovative and challenging new works and forms of performance. Her work spans styles and mediums, including site-specific Shakespeare, political satire, documentary theater, immersive events and live concerts. Whichever form she chooses to explore, her primary interest is in the transcendental and ritualistic function of the theatre.
Nessa has collaborated on over a ten original works of theater internationally, at such notable venues as, the British Film Institute, the Battersea Arts Center & the Southbank Center in London, The Louvre in Paris and Joe’s Pub, Ars Nova, 59E59 and Dixon Place in New York City. She has been teaching and coaching acting and movement since graduating Lecoq 5 years ago.
She is also co-founder of Pantheon Presents – an event production company that designs inclusive and healing spaces to dance. Their latest project, Shine On in Schools, brings these spaces to public elementary schools in the Bronx. She is thrilled to be a New York Neo-Futurist!!
I think Bios are weird. So attached you will find the only diary entry I have written as an adult that is just a way for me to find a cool format for facts and stuff – and to avoid the task.
Today was normal. I woke up later than planned, typical. I brushed my teeth as I tend to do at least twice a day. I walked to the coffee shop I frequent to see the cute boy that works there. He decided not to come to work today and I don’t even drink coffee so here I sit typing this bio and freezing outside of the comfort of my own room for no reason. I called my mom and she talked to me for 30 minutes and I know that will be the first of at least five calls between us today. She is back home in Mississippi but we talk an extremely unhealthy number of times to feel close. My whole family and I are like that… whatevs… there are worse things (like that fact that I used whatevs in a sentence).
I like talking more than I like writing. I like singing more than I like talking. I like sleeping more than all of the above. I like lists – especially when I check things off of them. Like writing this bio, it was on my to do list, so was therapy. After this I can check them both off.
That seems like enough for now,
Rob Neill – has been a Neo-Futurist for over 20 years and lives and works in Manhattan, mostly. In 1995, Rob embarked on the “Roanoke Expedition” of Neo-Futurism to do “Too Much Light” in New York. He did the show then, in Manhattan, for basically 2 years before he went on to do a bit of Broadway, followed by some short bits on the TV. Then he mainly traveled about the country on a “writing grant” from Heineken—those days are well behind him now.
Grand times Rob has had include:
- training in London and catching a lot of shows there
- competing on the Chicago Green Mill team at the National Poetry Slam in Ann Arbor
- T.M.L.ing in NYC, Chicago, Texas, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Edinburgh
- living next to Marilyn Manson
- tooling about a variety of the cities of the world attempting to find beers and foods that he thinks taste nice
- learning about philosophy, russia, blues, and rebels in Grinnell
- touring as a singing pirate
- snacking on Okonomiyaki with his cousins off an alley in Kyoto
- and dancing on the top of world as the big band made it swing
And now he is probably back doing Neo things, like “The Infinite Wrench”, somewhere, perhaps in NYC, and this site should, most likely, give you some clues.
What Robin imagines her cat, Prins, would jot down if he could write her bio:
Robin is a human who lives with me. She is a pretty decent roommate.
We both like to nap, so that works out well.
What I really wish to discuss, however, are the birds that meet on the fire escape in front of my east-facing window. Are these birds my prey or are they my friends?
Currently, they are solely my tormentors.
They gather on the fire escape early mornings as well as late afternoons, their chirping distracting me from whatever I am working on in that moment. I am of the belief that these birds are fully aware of the effect they have on my daily schedule.
Now, I am not asking you for your help in this matter, I merely want to make myself heard.
A shared sorrow is half a sorrow, after all.
Thank you for your time.
Oh by the way, Robin has a website, if you are interested: www.robinvirginie.info
I grew up down the street from a morgue in a cul-de-sac situated in a forest that was more like a Swamp. It was my kingdom, I was its prince, some times princess and always potion making witch. Little has changed since then. I’m ok with that.
Right now as I’m typing this, its raining. Its march, its washing away the snow. Is it raining while you are reading this? Is the earth covered in snow? Are pandas and polar bears still a thing? How much has the world changed since I wrote this and you began reading this…. Who knows. How many thoughts have we had, how different are we both from this day in 2015. Maybe we are going to meet soon. Maybe we are both single, maybe we will fall in love, or become best friends, share a hug, hold hands, kiss once drunk in a club. THERE IS SO MUCH POSSIBILITY FOR US. I love you, you are beautiful, let’s walk the streets and sing together.
T smokes cigarettes mornings with their coffee on a Brooklyn stoop.
T prefers the stoop to the coffee shop up the street because you can’t smoke in the coffee shop.
T prefers a pool table in a dive bar over a billiard hall. T sharked in Portland a few times, like a black version of Paul Newman, but different.
T appreciates a good side street to wander down and get lost, but has never gotten lost, it’s all about the landmarks.
T can only remember major life events in relation to Beyonce song debuts.
T has seen Beyonce two times and is getting closer to Bey flinging her sweat on them each time.
T’s favorite thing lately, is not knowing what’s coming next.
If T could shoot their bow and arrow anywhere, it would be on a horse, shooting hidden targets in the woods.
T has shot a bow and arrow in the woods, but definitely not from a horse, safety first.
T has a male cat named Flip, if you ask T about him, it would be a long story that you probably would lose interest in after a while because you probably don’t care about cats as much as T (i.e. refer to cat shirt or hoodie T is more than likely wearing).
T loves animals. T also loves a good steak, and would prefer that it were farm raised. Although T realizes that the chicken cutlet from the bodega was not from a free range farm.
T believes every creature should have a good life, but understands that life is shitty and at any moment you could be called to an untimely end.
T has resting don’t fuck with me face, and a brisk walk. T would prefer a resting smile and a saunter but Manhattan is not conducive to either.
T sometimes misses the heat of a whiskey neat down their throat, but accepts that a fresh fruit smoothie is better for longevity.