9 Ounces: Meet Alice.

Photography by Natasha Marin

Photography by Natasha Marin

I cannot believe we have arrived at a little over 4 months left until show time. In the small frames of life, this seems relatively long but in the one-woman show realm, this is short! I hope you can feel my excitement as you read these words because what I’m about to share with you now has me an oh-my-goodness, as Luna would be. 

As a writer and performer, ALICE has been haunting my world/words for a long time. She has surfaced in poems and in the last two years she has been the subject of a plethora of my prose. One night while trying to coax Marie out, ALICE told me she wanted to take Marie’s place. After much thought I decided ALICE needed permission to presto herself into real life. Marie graciously decided she can make a debut in another project and ALICE is here to stay. Below, an excerpt about her which was published in Duende literary magazine, and recent ALICE work. Below it, a very short interview. 

today alice is marshmallow between what her grandmother thinks and what she knows herself to be true. alice’s grandmother slow sings happiness is just an illusion and sadness too. alice's grandmother says emotions are man made things kinda like fake grass and genetically engineered miniature pigs. alice doesn’t want a pig for a pet or to believe happiness isn’t real. she doesn’t want to believe that a smile is genetically engineered or that love can be concocted in a petri dish. if love can be made in a dish, make it lasagna or smothered chicken. make full of something so it’ll hold together.

alice has decided she doesn’t want to be a mother. she doesn’t want to be responsible for anyone else's crooked teeth or failures—there's no way i can take that shit. alice says she’d rather be a creepy lady living on the second floor of a swank condo. the kind that offers up books and condoms for halloween. the kind that plays beethoven after humping an antique couch all covered in wool.

alice is addicted to needles. if you ask her she will say she is not addicted to them. exactly. what she means is that she simply needs needles in lots of places. alice is also addicted to row sizers and stitch markers. of all the knitting addictions she is most fond of stitch markers. these fuckers tell you where you are and when it’s time to take action because knitting is a serious thing. alice paid 600 dollars for 6 classes to leave as an expert. what’s up my knittas???? this is who alice is. the kind of woman who doesn't mind touching her crotch with knitting needles. the kind of woman who will knit herself inside herself over and over again. the kind of woman who will knit a door for all her exposed parts and dare you to unravel them. alice didn’t make friends with anyone from the knitting group because well, she didn't have to make friends with anyone from the knitting group. truth is, alice enjoyed them all. how they seemed so devoted to the yarn. how the yarn passed through all of their slick fingers. how sometimes the cast on’s became cast offs. how some of the knitters knit for charity. i’m gonna give these socks to the homeless people at church.and this is when alice's personal bullshit alarm sounded because who in the fuck wants socks when they are homeless. give me some ham or something. damn.


alice feels all veggie pork about football & winning teams & screaming audiences & crying men on their knees thanking god for the victory…for the blessing to move on to the super super big giant oh-my-god bowl. she is happy in this way that is not an aromatherapy happy, it is a different kind of happy. many of the christian crying football men are men of color. she is happy that the men of color are being celebrated that white people are make it rain & praise the black mans big bulging arms. that the black men are heroes for three hours…or longer heroes in overtime. that for whatever reason the white people love the black men for running on a field in helmets & in this space they don’t care about their hair, or skin color or lineage…just get that fucking ball & score (we knew you could do it). yay. alice wants to be happy for the hardworking crying christian black men, for the chips & dip & white women shouting super bowl bitches but…there are black men in wars or doing surgery or tending to sick children or protesting or at funerals for shot loved ones...or shot & she knows there will be no standing ovations. alice wants to paint the smile on her face, wants to greet all the strangers saying go ____________ but she is not easily moved by pig skin.

alice is tongue smack tongue smack lick lips clear throat clear throat but not for water or milk for bones. when alice is hungry for bones she cracks her knuckles one by one. alice likes the sound of her third finger on her right hand because it cracks the loudest. she calls this finger brave. she also likes this finger because it is crooked & since she was not a little girl she has had a gruesome crush on crooked things not because they are crooked but because they aren't straight. once on a boring over easy kind of day alice decided she wanted crooked teeth to go with her crooked part to go with her crooked dead father. disappointed because her teeth are fairly straight she decided to imagine herself with a crooked front tooth how it would protrude a small, small amount through her top lip & this would tell her who her true love would be because, from alices point of crooked view, if you loved her despite her crooked ways, you must be the one. & this is why alice is not thirsty. all this tooth protruding makes her throat dry. all this do you see me now, what about now, how about now, oh what about now is arizona on steroids. because of this obsession with thirst & blind people alice has decided to create a graphic novel. alice does not draw. pictures. alice has decided she will create a graphic novel but with words. it'll be twenty pages & it'll be about a girl who has some kind of adventure only alice doesn't know what the adventure will be. alice begins this graphic journey in her spare journal, the one she keeps letters she never sends, list & character descriptions of alive & dead people she knows & sometimes receipts. because alice is good at not remembering what she paid for until she has paid the price. 



Anastacia- Should I call you A. or Alice

Alice- Alice. I hate nicknames. I hate the way they usually make big people small and small people big. Big John and Big Mike and Lil Mama and Tiny. Alice. Don’t ever call me Al., or Ice. 

Anastacia- What do you like to do for fun?

Alice- Whatever no one else wants to do for fun. Also, I like to eat marshmallows while they are on fire. I like fire. Flames mainly. Not the burn. I hate ashes. I love fire. I think I don’t like ashes because they take the mystery away from the flame. All the things that burn where there are no ashes after, I love. Can you think of any right now? Me. (either).

Photography by Natasha Marin

Photography by Natasha Marin

Anastacia- Biggest Regret(s)?

Alice- Hmmmmmmmm there are so many. But I think of regrets like typos. Some can be easily fixed some you are just fucked up for life with. For instance if you typed pubic instead of public and you were a journalist writing an important story you are fucked. Life time career regret but if you were typing an email to someone you had feelings for but you were still trying to figure out and you typed “hey meet me in a pubic space” instead of a “public place.” you might regret it but you may also find out if they have a sense of humor. Wait, what was the question? I am craving tofu right now.

Anastacia- Oh are you a vegetarian?

Alice- No! What gave you that impression? You know what I love? A tofu scramble with extra bacon. Yum-yum bitches. I think one thing I regret is fear. 

Anastacia- Fear of?

Alice- Fear in general. I will dive out of a plane in a heartbeat or sit in a tank full of sharks. I would totally do that. But I will never fall in love. Fuck that. Love is icky. 

Anastacia- Never? You will never fall in love? That sounds so pessimistic. 

Alice- Pessimistic is one of those words I hate. A few words I do like are: Languish, Instructions, Soiled, Larva, Confection, Confession, Concession, Grim, Cryptic, eclipse, mount, decompose and robitussin. 

Anastacia- Robitussin?

Alice- Yes, it’s all about the way the words feel in my mouth before they escape. If a word feels like a rat in a nest in my mouth, I’m not interested.