Playwrit...Ish...Tar...

Dancing with Ishtar – Dust Mote Protagonist dances with Ishtar

The scene is a fantastical landscape, something straight out of an artist’s vision of ancient Sumer or Babylonia.  Massive pillars line the back of the stage, interspersed with panels of gauze which float gently in the breeze.  A man in armor, MAX, stands downstage right, looking upstage towards the central panel of gauze at center stage.  Slow, seductive, compelling music is heard, and from the curtains center stage enters ISHTAR, in the dress of a temple prostitute as seen through the lens of imagination.  MAX is stunned, and merely stands, watching her dance.  She glides about the floor, gracefully, swaying to the music.  She dances towards him, and unconsciously he is pulled up into the dance with her, the music intensifies, and they dance together.

I:  “So, a new one has come.  What is your name, pretty man?”

M:  (stammering) “Uh…Max.  Max Caldwell.”

I:  “Well…Max, what brings you to the temple of Ishtar girded about in accoutrements of war?” 

M:  “Uh, I was directed here for answers.”

I:  (laughs) “Ah yes.  Answers.”  (she looks at him seductively) “Are you sure that is…all, you…want?” 

M:  (going red) “Uh, yes, thanks.  Answers’ll do me.”

I:  (springing back and pulling a sword from somewhere) “Then you must best me in combat, mortal, for in no other wise shall I part lips to thee.”

M:  (stares, dumbfounded)  “Uh…what?” 

I:  “Draw your sword mortal, or meet death at my hands!” (she springs at him).

Herein a grand dance of swordplay and seduction Terpsykores across the World of the Stage (Or Stage of the World, you decide...)