Monologues

Flames Within, The

A “Self” written poem. This one had a bit of an odd story behind it. One day, sitting in Vocal class (I’m beginning to see a trend here…), my hand started randomly getting shaky and “excited”, as it were. At first, I did what I could to stop the shaking, but it didn’t help. Eventually, I threw my hand to my note pad and random large, almost illegible scribbles were jotted down in an instant. It took up a lot of pages, and for the duration of my next class, Instrumental (Same seat too), I translated what I had hastily written down. It’s probably the best poem I’ve ever written. And no, I’m not going to say the poet-know-it line…

 

The Flames Within

By: Andrew “Self” Kipp

 

It burns and turns and churns,

The fires of war within me.

Despite how my enemy learns

What I know; what I’ve won

And what I keep are my earns.

 

The trophies I have collected

Through my battles against his hoard;

I’ve resisted the thousands of infected

believers of the Law of Cupid.

Of his followers I have intercepted.

 

I wandered the earth in search of my foe,

Using the flames of war within

To destroy everything as I go.

I was uncontrollable and violent,

Destroying all the love you thought you’d know.

 

I stood alone and I stood strong

Against everything he threw against me.

Everyone told me that I was wrong

And should embrace what they saw

Before I was slain at the sound of the gong.

 

Disheartend they were when they saw what I did

To the love they held on to.

Had they only known what had happened to me as a kid,

Perhaps they would have joined.

Weakened, Cupid hid.

 

I felt indestructible, immune to all!

With my strength and power

did I encounter my greatest fall.

Never before have I been quelled by such

An invincible force: like a wall.

 

She stopped my flight at sight

And I felt weakened in her stare.

I felt the recoil of my blight

Sear into me and destroy the flames

Which I had used, used in my own right!

 

 

I was empty and broken,

As if it was not enough

She lingered as if I were a token.

A scrap piece of garbage, like

A shell or vault that should be open.

 

Now I lie here deathly awake;

Unable to breathe nor die.

Her eyes drive into me like a stake

That pierces my blackened soul.

And only now can I feel the ache.

 

With full power, Cupid has returned,

And with full intensity and revenge

From me he has learned.

I am doomed in this state;

Nay, far from it. I have been burned!

 

My Unholy Creation

What you are about to read is a monologue I wrote in the middle of Vocal class while I was supposed to be practicing my solo. However, I got into a practice room, flicked on my laptop, started ‘plunking’ notes and realized something…

I AM A SLAVE TO MY COMPUTER!

So, in honour of my discovery, I wrote this monologue about my struggles (and probably other people’s) with technology.

My Unholy Creation

By: Andrew “Self” Kipp

Character is seated on a box in the middle of the stage, staring off beyond the crowd. He reaches out as if to grab something, but his hands fall limp before him.

She spreads her wings to fly. Fly-fly-fly! FLY above the clouds upon golden wings, her silken fingers gently stroking the billowed cream-like clouds that idly blow by on a clear day, the golden sun gleaming glory upon her back ad the green grass swaying to and fro in the light breeze that creates a chiming sound tempting me to close my eyes.

Closes his eyes.

And yet, when I close my eyes, I can see nothing. No promise, no hope; only my unholy thoughts. I desire yet despise these things that creep into my tainted soul. But I can hear her… Yes, I can! She whispers to me the promise that I so deperately cling to. Her voice is the tinkling of tiny water droplets upon a glass window on a soft rainy day. Neither gloom nor misery, but tranquility and peace, the comfort of a grey sky that priomises “All will be well soon”. I can smell soft flowers that seem to spiral around me, in the hopes that though they dance, I should too. And the scent of warmth and comfort. I can feel…

Eyes still closed, he reaches out with his hand again.

… her hands within mine. The smooth delicate fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, not to control, but in an attempt to pull herself closer to me. And I try too, but I feel weakened, sore and battered. But she takes my hand and strokes it upon the grass below me, and I can feel the comfort in knowing that I am closer to the Earth than all dangers.

But I can taste the all too familiar taste of reality upon my tongue. Everything around me speaks of peace, yet I can taste the battlefield upon my tongue. It’s bitter; almost as if I had drank a foul poison of my own design. This taste forces me awake!

Opens eyes and reels hand back defensivly.

And here I am, stranded within a prison of my own creation. She walks away beyond the walls of smog, and I can only sit here and try to recall what it was that I dreamt. But the memories do not return to me.

I can see toxication and pollution; a brown sky filled with the corruption that I am all too familiar with. I can hear the clang and clatter of metal against steel and the battering of a thousand metal parts. I can smell the dank, heart-wrenching smell of a thousand dreams thrown away into a cesspit of rancidness. And I can feel the slick of an unreal slime membrane trying to protect me from myself.

But as I look up, I can see tiny holes in the clouds. The green grass, the blue skies, the golden sun and my angel lie beyond.

If only I had the courage to move. If only I had the courage to undo my Unholy Creation. My Unholy Creation, that I am…

 

Shadows on the Wall

Time for another monologue! This one I wrote two years ago, oddly enough, shortly after spring formal. I was watching a commercial on TV (for what it was for, I’ll never recall) when there was a kid lying on the ground while the rest of the school walked over him. Beyond me what it was about, but half an hour later, I was reading my chicken-scratched monologue on the back of a recipt. Enjoy anyway!

Shadows on the Wall

By: Andrew “Self” Kipp

      Character is sitting with his/her back against a box, and their head hanging in sorrow between their knees.

            Leave me alone. Just go away. Remember me? Yeah, me, the shadow on the wall. The person who doesn’t exist? Still not ringing a bell? (Lifts head up and stands up slowly) I’m the non-existent being who you always used to make fun of. You know what? I don’t care anymore, okay? All my life I’ve spent as a loner, and to be perfectly honest, I’m happy. Well, not quite happy, but content. You see, when you’re a loner, you don’t have to worry about hurting someone’s feelings when you talk to them. You don’t have to argue about things, you can do whatever you want without anyone wanting to do something different. The list goes on!

            All my life, I’ve been little more than a shadow on the wall, yet, I’m satisfied. You can laugh and point your fingers at me all you want, but in the end, I always win. I’m the unsung hero who never shows up to receive my academic award. Why, I don’t need to embarrass all the lesser humans out there who sneer and laugh at me. If I did, what would you do? You’d probably get physical. So, I’ll save you the time and embarrassment again and leave you alone.

            I’m the shadow on the wall at school dances. I go there only for the entertainment of watching all of you frolic and create meaningless relationships over a simple song. I’ll admit, the music is good, and there have been times where I have wanted to get up and dance. But it’s just plain weird to dance alone, so, I don’t bother. Besides, if I advertised my masculine superiority, all the girls would come and want to dance with me. I don’t need a girlfriend yet in my life, so, I don’t bother.

            Being a shadow on the wall isn’t bad, miserable or unfortunate. So please, do yourself a favor and stop giving me your pity. I really don’t need you people to pity me and try to ‘be friends’, even though you do this because you think I’m a psycho and I’ll go on a school shooting if I’m left alone. I don’t need your empathy, though I could point out a few people who do. Go bother them, not me.

            Shadows and me, we are one. I like them; I can sit under the shadows on a hot sweaty day and read a book while you all go running around to chase an inanimate ball around in circles. The shadows can protect me from the harmful UV rays the sun casts in the summer, and the blistering winds during the winter. So, why are shadows always associated with evil? Don’t answer the question, I only ask out of morbid curiosity.

            Shadows, you. These are two different things, so do me a favor and go pester some other unfortunate person who needs a little love. (sits down again and resumes sitting position) And no, I wasn’t crying, if you’re wondering. I was only sleeping. Good day.

 

What is Love?

Time for another “Self” written monologue. This was, in fact, the very first monologue I wrote before I discovered my interest in the topic of mono-log-el-ling (my word, back off!). Written back in grade 10, I penned it out in my head while being in a snit about something stupid. While washing dishes, no less, so I had a few hours to fume. This is the final product of three or four rewrites and my favourite monologue to date.

What is Love?

By: Andrew “Self” Kipp

Character is sad, like they just broke up with someone a few minutes ago. Is sitting on a box centre stage.

Oh, hello. What’s your name? My name is depressed. Sorry, that came out wrong. I’m unwanted. Well, that’s pretty close to it, though not quite perfect. Ha! Perfect? Let me tell you the “perfect” story about my life. I had a really good friend once. He came over to me and in one fell swoop, he made my life better than ever. He made me meet someone I who I could love, someone special. Weeks passed, i could never stop thinking about her. Until one day, that same friend hooked my girlfriend up with some other guy! I couldn’t believe how easily she got over me! And what wasn’t to love? After all, he’s the football quarter-back. What was I? Just the ‘nice kid’? Thank-youCupid. Old friend of mine. I rue the day I met you. And after all this time, I wonder: was this fate, or just another job? I aks you: What is Live?

Starting to get frusturted

You! points to couple in the audience. Enjoying it now, are you? Well, what happens when she or he leaves you? What then? I know what, because I’ve been there. She will cry, wail and moan her eyeballs out, eating two gallons, at least, of ice cream and spend roughly 72 hours watching TV with her friends and making excuses! And the guy? He’ll get all mad and frusturated at everything, going into violent tangents. He’ll banish any sort of happy emotion he had, and in a day or so, he’ll be out looking for another girlfriend. What is Love?

Where does love start? Ha, if it was love to begin with; on the dance floor. You see her, her fine body, the way she sways her hips and torso every so seductivly. ‘What is that?’ you may ask yourself. You ask her to dance, neither of you care, and she agrees. You dance with each other for a fast dance, then they get slower and slower, and you get closer and closer. Before you know it, she has you dangling off her line, and she think’s she can’t take her eyes off you. You say you’ll call her, and you do the next day. Before you know it, your ear is attached to the phone every moment you are alone, talking to her, convincing her that you’d do anything to be with her. (getting mad) And in the end, you do! You give here everything and anything! She wants a puppy; whoops, there goes three hundred of your dollars to buy her something she calls ‘Shmookems’. Is that love? What is Love?

Getting Furious

You see her more and more. She brags about you to all her friends. What does she say, “Oh yeah. He’s so strong, hot and funny!” Fine, credit earned, she can’t stop thinking about you and you about her! What does this mean? You’re addicted to her! She’s like your drug! You’ll pay an arm and a leg just to sell your soul! Slowly, she eats away at your dignity, you soon can’t take your arm off her for a second. You talk like a three-year-old around her to please and entertain her. If she doesn’t like something, you stop. After all, you must if you don’t want to lose her. If she left, what would you do? You’d tear your heart out and shred it to pieces, claiming that you’d never love another. In a week, you’re put to the test. She ‘breaks-up’ with you, doing this only to see if you’ll keep your promises to her. You’re tempted to go back on them, but you know she’s wired to the walls, she has eyes on the back of everyone’s head. What is Love?

Getting enraged

If you somehow manage to survive, she comes back to you, expecting a full apology. What did you do wrong? Nothing! This is another test she puts you through! You must come up with some sort of apology on the spot, or else! You fumble with the words, you can’t think straight. Those eyes pierce into your heart. Funally, she wins, breaking you down enough to make you drop to your knees, begging. You beg, plead, cry just to be able to hold her in your arms again! You never even stop to question why. Do you really love her, or is it just another thing you do to continue being the cool kid on the block? She smiles, she accepts you appology with one of her own. You boast to yourself for managing to get her back, to ‘win’ her heart. In truth, you’ve just lost yours. You’ve now given up your humanity for the popularity show-boat! What is Love?

Then, somedy, you realize that you’ve been played a fool the entire time. You try to break free, but by that time, Cupids already locked the chains in place. You can’t move, let alone breath until he loosens the bonds. You’re trapped helpless at his feet, and you wonder “How did it come to this?” You ask yourself “Is this love? What is Love?”

Starting sombre, but getting angry with every title

What is Love. What is Love. What is Love? What is Love! WHAT IS LOVE!

Throws box across stage

What is Love? Love is the evil of this world! Love is humanities’ greatest weakness! Love is the poison of the human race! Love is…

Depressed again

Love is my curse. I speak of it’s evil, but still I want. I am alone in this world. And there is nothing I can do about it. Alone, I carry on. Alone, I ask myself…

What is Love?

 

Yeah, pleasant, right. Just to clarify, this was written while I was going through depression, in a bad mood and encountering difficulties with my SAD symptoms. I’m more optimistic about the whole thing now, rest assured.

Also, the topic was written about the superficial relationships you see in the halls and just know are never going to last. Refer to my recent post on High School Drama for more thoughts.