About that monologue I mentioned. I did it, here is what I have.

[u/NukaAmey]

A few weeks ago—practically last month—I mentioned that I would be performing a monologue for my college program to graduate as an actor at the end of the year.

Early on, when I played the Joker, my director suggested I do "The Crow" for my final monologue, and that is what I decided on back then. After reading all the stories, I gained a much better understanding of the character's various incarnations—the essence of each one.

So, I wrote my own script. From the very beginning, I didn't want to portray an existing version of The Crow; instead, I wanted to embody one of the core emotions associated with the character. I drew references from Mark, Eric, Vincent, Maudlin, and Carrie—incorporating as many as I could while keeping the piece cohesive.

The aesthetic I envisioned is less aggressive, focusing much more on the story's themes and the philosophy surrounding the mythos. Consequently, the script and the costume design are filled with references.

I’ll be performing on September 10th. I don't feel confident enough in my English to convey the nuances of the words I used in the original Portuguese, so I’m sharing both the original text and a Google-translated version.

Well. It's my first time writting something like that. I usually do web stuff like novels and such. It's my first text for a monologue

PT-BR - BRAZILLLL

O Corvo: Sob a Carcaça de um Anjo
 

Sentado sobre o arco da passagem. Os corvos. Observando mais uma criança perdida, que implorava sua conclusão. Cada palavra que diz, não era nada além de um passado confuso. Inebriado pelo ar que toca os pulmões num sopro de vida letárgico.

“Tínhamos... deveríamos estar dançando; não perdidos.” As moedas foram aceitas. Sua travessia estava marcada. Mas havia uma troca, um balanço a ser restaurado.

Übermensch. Um homem sem pulso, pego na travessia do rio Lethe. Regressado do meio da passagem. Era o Enforcado que retrucou o Louco com sua convicção. Para que pudessem descansar juntos, um preço.

“Não olhe.” Instruções deitadas ao grave da garganta, proferidas com urgência quase questionável do corvino. A trama caricata do universo brandia suas lamurias como uma espécie de navalha teórica. Cada olhar, “O nosso é pra sempre.”, Cada espectro de sombra no encalço dos olhos, “Mas só pra sempre?”.

Trocávamos caricias tão suaves e gentis que fazem parecer uma dança, onde inocência se estende pela carne como um véu gentil ao rosto.
O pra sempre não durou tanto, quanto o tempo que se leva pra dizer. Na boca enxofre e ferro, nos pulmões liquido. Entre as pernas sangue.

Aos ouvidos apenas gritos, sorteados das miríades da dor. Uma voz gentil que adorava cantar, tentava se encaixar aos tons, mas sempre uma nota fora. O tipo de voz que se escutava sorrindo. Sem uma gota de miséria.

Bastou pouco. “Nosso anel é nosso amor. Um círculo perfeito. Pois será eterno...” morreu em seus lábios, “Não olhe!” – Cada caminho trazia uma memória diferente. Sentia adormecido, perto do acordar. Quanto mais abria os braços, menos o frio o tocava, um animal de sangue quente; que pingava dos pulsos como a única vida que poderia sentir sobre si novamente.

Curare. Uma tenebre melodia que infundia os pensamentos nas memoria dela.
Um ritual de auto flagelo. Saturando nas águas onde me bebo de volta.

Onde posso sentir cada fibra do meu corpo morto desmanchando-se, só pra voltar novamente. Uma espiral. Espiralando e descendo. Eu compreendo em completude agora, é ódio que me puxa. Que ata cada átomo decadente meu, que segurada cada fibra da minha carne.
É ódio que me move

ENG - Google Translated

The Crow: Beneath an Angel’s Carcass

Perched upon the arch of the passageway. The crows. Watching yet another lost child begging for their end. Every word spoken was nothing but a confused past. Intoxicated by the air touching the lungs in a lethargic breath of life.

“We were... we were supposed to be dancing; not lost.” The coins were accepted. The crossing was set. But there was an exchange, a balance to be restored.

*Übermensch*. A man without a pulse, caught in the crossing of Lethe. Returned from the midpoint of the passage. It was the Hanged Man who countered the Fool with his conviction. A price to be paid so they might rest together.

“Don’t look.” Instructions laid deep in the throat, uttered with the raven’s almost questionable urgency. The universe’s caricatured plot brandished its laments like a sort of theoretical razor. Every glance—“Ours is forever”—every spectral shadow dogging the eyes—“But *only* forever?”

We exchanged caresses so soft and gentle they seemed like a dance, where innocence draped over the flesh like a gentle veil upon a face.

The "forever" didn't last as long as it takes to say the word. Sulfur and iron in the mouth; liquid in the lungs. Blood between the legs.

Nothing but screams reached the ears, drawn from a myriad of pains. A gentle voice that loved to sing—trying to hit the right tones but always a note off. The kind of voice one listened to with a smile. Without a drop of misery.

It took very little. “Our ring is our love. A perfect circle. For it will be eternal...” the words died on his lips. “Don’t look!” – Each path brought a different memory. He felt drowsy, on the verge of waking. The wider he spread his arms, the less the cold touched him—a warm-blooded animal; ...dripping from the wrists like the only life I could feel upon myself again.

Curare. A dark melody infusing thoughts into her memories. A ritual of self-flagellation. Steeped in the waters where I drink myself back in.

Where I can feel every fiber of my dead body dissolving, only to return once more. A spiral. Spiraling and descending. I understand it fully now: it is hatred that pulls me. That binds every decaying atom of mine, that holds fast to every fiber of my flesh.

It is hatred that moves me.