Sister Chapman, Casting, 2019, video, 2 min. 35 sec.
[Video description: Two people sit facing each other in front of a red curtain, which hangs in front of a white wall. The man, who sits on the left, has sandy hair and light skin, and wears a backwards black baseball cap, glasses, and a blue t-shirt with white writing on it. The woman, who sits on the right, has light skin and long blonde hair, and is wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and black pants. They both hold white pieces of paper, from which they alternately read lines.]
Woman: Alright, let’s go.
Woman: I wish I were an orange that you could bisect and eat the flesh out of. Isn’t that romantic?
Man: Yeah, I guess so.
Woman: Your teeth tearing into me, my juices running down your chin while you scrape the walls of my interior in your attempt to extract every bit of sweet meat that I contain. Isn’t that romantic?
Man: It truly is.
Woman: I hope you pull out my seeds first so that my flesh isn’t pristine when you run your tongue across my exposed surfaces, sink your teeth into my breast, and then eat my pancreas. I love tasting my flesh on your tongue when you kiss me. Will you eat my tongue next because you like the taste of metal? Silver?
Man: I promise.
Woman: Isn’t this romantic?
Man: No.
Woman: Really? You don’t think so?
Man: Not particularly.
Woman: Will you whisper secrets into my mouth you know I cannot hear?
Man: I could.
Woman: Isn’t that romantic?
Man: Incredibly.
Woman: There are oranges that have been fermenting in my belly. You can drink the mulled wine from my stomach.
Man: Sounds like true love.
Woman: Don’t you think I’m romantic?
Man: I promise.
Woman: Will you let me sit in your lap while you tenderly lick my eyeball, taste the well from which my tears spring forth?
Man: No.
Woman: Can you see the blood running down my thighs?
Man: I can’t.
Woman: It’s not my menstrual cycle. I dilated too forcefully, trying make room for you. Stop.
Woman: Want to try it again?
Man: Uh, yeah. Sure.
Woman: I’m all sweaty now, sorry.
Man: You’re good.