Aysha El-Shamayleh Fan Page
Posted by Lauren Yates | Filed under Announcements
The Excelano Project’s own alumna Aysha El-Shamayleh (C’10) has a new Facebook fan page. Be sure to “like” it by clicking here.
Excelano Project Spring 2012 Auditions
Posted by Lauren Yates | Filed under Announcements
Hey everyone,
The spring semester auditions for The Excelano Project will be Sunday, January 22 from 8-10pm at the Kelly Writers House. Please bring 3-4 minutes of original material to read for us. It doesn’t have to be memorized.
Please bring copies of your poetry to leave with us (even if it’s memorized).
The Excelano Project Presents: An Opiate Utopia
Posted by Lauren Yates | Filed under Announcements
Friday, December 2nd and Saturday, December 3rd
9:00-11:00 pm
Harrison Auditorium (Penn Museum)
3260 South Street
Philadelphia, PA
Tickets are $8 on the walk, $9 online, and $10 at the door.
Online tickets are available at http://www.excelanoproject.ticketleap.com/opiate-utopia
A group rate of $7 per person will be available for groups of 6 or more. Please e-mail group rate requests to excelano.project@gmail.com.
Ticket sales on Locust Walk will begin on Monday, November 28.
Ode on Manic Pixie Dream Girls
Posted by Lauren Yates | Filed under '11 Spring: We Real Cool, Poetry, Print
I.
I’ve always had a thing for filmmakers.
From the time I was little, even my dreams had credits as long as I fell asleep “properly.”
I’d cover my eyes with one hand, and slowly turn the knob of the dimmer with the other.
My mom never understood why.
Sometimes, she’d flip the switch on the wall to “help me out.”
And I’d scream, “No, Mom! The colors!”
Orbs of glowing colors appeared on the insides of my eyelids.
I formed them into shapes. Most often, Jesus.
Like that optical illusion where you stare at the four dots, then close your eyes and stare at something bright, then Jesus’ face appears.
Also, ghosts.
I knew they were evil because they spelled out ‘Booooo’ in Comic Sans.
With Helvetica, they might’ve stood a chance.
But with this as my nightly routine, I certainly never did.
So, I’m a little strange.
I don’t like drawing attention to myself,
but don’t mind telling secrets to 600 of my closest friends.
Like how I often woke up home alone when I was little.
I feared everyone went to heaven without me.
I still fear being left behind, but I’d rather be right than happy.
II.
It is always brooding males who understand this.
Introspective loners who view life through a lens and write how things could be.
I’ve always admired the minds of men brave enough to create stories.
The type of men who only know conversation as character development.
The type of men who fall in love with Manic Pixie Dream Girls.
Manic—the A-side of self-loathing.
Pixie—delicate, yet supernatural.
Dream—Altered consciousness has never felt so real.
Girl—The only explicit thing about her.
She’ll ease your pain, tell you to be spontaneous,
to frolic through Ikea, to change your life with mediocre indie pop.
Through her quirks, you’ll become well-adjusted.
You’ll filter your troubles through her like she’s a pair of rose-colored glasses,
which makes sense because she’s always been a spectacle.
You’ll claim you can see through her, unaware that reflection is her pastime.
And past times love shifting shapes.
She’s as long as everything and as widespread as goodness,
but still there’s little depth.
She is a fantasy, who assigns herself your peace of mind,
but no one cares about her story.
She is easy to miss.
III.
I am easy to miss.
Even on Broad Street in a gold “Shakespeare is my homeboy” T-shirt
and a neon coral sweater.
I never said I was nondescript,
Just that you’ll aim for me, but never quite get me.
I am easy to miss.
Because somewhere in your mind, the idea of me will complete you.
You’ve scripted me as your foil, written me as what you’re not
instead of what I am.
I am not your Manic Pixie Dream Girl.
I have struggles of my own, and it’s not my job to charm away your fears.
It’s funny that you think of me as a character, but refuse to acknowledge my flaws.
Right now, you’re too wrapped up in your own
to see I’m queuing up the credits from the director’s chair,
and I intend to fall asleep properly.
