Monologue Title: N****s on Venus

1 Sentence Character Description: 24 year old Amira is one of the astronauts scheduled to join the inaugural visit to Venus; she is cynical and anxious about what the trip will mean for her future as a Black astronaut and the future of Black people.
1 Sentence Setting: The year is 2065 and Amira is sunk into a couch, smoking a blunt, talking with her friend the night before the trip and reflecting about what Blackness will mean in space.

MONOLOGUE: Amira: *deep inhale of the blunt* I don’t know man, sometimes it feels like this is my last smoke. Like tomorrow is my last mission—Why? Because bitch I think Ima die out there for real. No, I don’t think the ship is going to explode or anything(said while rolling eyes). I probably won’t physically die, but my spirit will. And bitch I’m not being dramatic because I’m high! I’m serious! Period! *laughs*. But for real... think about it. They be trying to kill us here. Imagine having a whole solar system of oppression. Imagine having a galaxy of alternatives and ending up at the bottom of the totem pole in all of them. And you know they’re like “Oh, Let’s send the black girl so it can look like we’ll support diversity and equality in space” but you know as well as I do that they’re still gonna fuck with us regardless of what they say. They’ve shown us who they are for all of history and like my grandma always said baby we have to believe them. All I can think about is having to explain to some alien why they shouldn’t say nigga at all, even though some of the nonBlack diplomats coming with me will tell them its ok to when I’m not around. Or, why they can’t put their slimy alien fingers in my puff. You know what? That’s not fair. I don’t know if aliens have slimy fingers. Sorry to the alien community if you ever hear this. *hits the blunt*. But you know what else? There is a small part of me that is excited. *closes eyes*. I see... possibility. I see uncharted territory. *slight giggle* Charted sounds like sharted. *opens eyes* Wait what was I saying? Oh right, my bad girl this some good shit. I feel like this is a whole new world where our Earth rules don’t have to exist. I imagine little Black girls rocking colorful space buns... in space. That’s some “because NIGGAS was in Paris” Kanye shit. I see Black people learning ways to make good Black food under different atmospheres. I see me, finally being able to take the missions and forge the intergalactic relationships that are most beneficial to Black people and being able to say that that’s what I want to do without getting my dreams All Lives Mattered. It’s hella open space and even more opportunity. We can really be...free. Like, we can really be lightyears away from everything that ever stopped us without it stopping any bags or ruffling any feathers. We can start our shit, our way, and to be honest everyone else would be so concerned with how to make money off the galaxy and colonize every planet they get to that they probably wouldn’t even be worried about us making plans. This trip could mean that...Damn. (She sits up) And here I was thinking ima die immediately. Bitch, I need to live to see that. No. I need to live to make sure that happens. You know, I’ve been to space hundreds of times and I always stare at the stars thinking about what living there would be like once we developed everything. Would I still have to use my white voice or does it not matter? Do I wear wigs or braids? Who all gon be out there? But thinking about this trip tomorrow, I’m seeing space differently for the first time in a long time. I see a space where we get the chance to answer those questions for ourselves. I see us only answering to ourselves and the only rules we have to follow are the ones we create and agree on. Hmm. Why have I never thought about this that way before? (Almost under her breath, to herself). Aye, let me hit

one more time, I got a Black Space future to think about before I take off. And where the munchies at!

Amira gets off the couch and walks to the kitchen as the lights fade to black.

Monologue Title: 0420 Monologue

1 Sentence Character Description: A black woman in her 20s who gets really high off of a couple hits and is very imaginative and has strict parents!! Very sneaky when it comes to smoking but really enjoys the thrill and high, intellectual conversations
1 Sentence Setting: The day of 0420 driving to the smoke sess//high function with a group of her friends who love to smoke and smoke more often than she does. Then she arrives and smokes GOOD gas!

MONOLOGUE: I have been waiting for this day alll.year
and Lord knows there ain’t enough patience to have when dealing with the bullshit I experience on a DAILY. And my break has finally come to pass 420 I wanna feel so high even when I’m coming down! 6 backwoods in my mouth at one timeeeee and I want that Backwood to smack me so hard that I’m not stuck laying on the couch but the couch is stuck laying on me!

Woah- I’m high affff did you see I just tried to stand up?! look I’m about- Nope can’t do it **laughs*

I am so high,, and I don’t ever wanna come down it’s like being above the world high in the clouds where you can look down and still float as you see the destruction of people the corruption of the world into people if you will ahhh and then you just sit back on the cloud and relax close your eyes even to feel what it feels to be in your own little world

Bring the blunt to my lips, cuff them, inhale and let the smoke build in, my lungs inhale, the burning scent the burning hit the burning throat a place for the smoke to sit, I hold it until I cough and then I exhaleeeee I exhale my inner thoughts, I exhale the shame and guilt I exhale it all until I open my eyes for a bit
SHIT I got smoke my in my eye haha aye that French inhale was kinda fye. I love being high and I sit back in the chair or on the couch or in the grass I watch how my vision euphorically turns into a distant blur a dream it’s like I’m in a dream yea it feels real? but it can’t be! It feels to good! Oh shit, I can’t go home smelling high! It’s only over my clothes my hair and in my eyes... anybody got some blunt effects spray? It’s cool I got in in my ride seeeee? I got it all figured it out and I do try! I don’t just blatantly disregard the fact that my parents would DIE if they knew I was smoking weed with you guys.
I can’t wait to get my own place *inhale*
I can’t wait to get my own spaceeeee because now that I’m in outer space in my mind... telepathically... I have to match that energy on the outside. I need a spaceship and a space hide-out
damn the blunt just went out... hold up *he sparks the blunt for me*
hhhmm thank youuuu see I knew you was good for something like I was saying... and I have a whole blunt to myself??? yea I’m NOT LEAVING!

 Monologue Title: The Black Planet

1 Sentence Character Description: A 30-something New York City woman has a phone conversation with her friend.
1 Sentence Setting: A small New York City apartment with a window and kitchen, where the main character bakes brownies.

MONOLOGUE: Remember that song from back in the day? We played it over and over the summer it came out. It goes “Imagine smoking weed in the streets without cops harassing..” Do you know I used to turn up the volume on my stereo, close my eyes and really picture it? Picture what it would be like if I ruled the world and everything in it. I’d do whatever I wanted and nobody could tell me nothing.

Well now that we’re grown, they say we can stand on any corner in New York City smoking a joint and no one will pull out handcuffs or call for backup on their walkie talkie. No ride in the back of a police car, no fines or bail to pay. The governor just legalized it for real. Can you believe it?

No more locking Black people up for petty bullshit when they know good and well they’d look the other way if anyone else did the same thing anywhere else.

But you know what? I still don’t trust it. I heard what the news said today, last week and yesterday, but I know how cops are. So you know what, today I’m baking some extra special brownies and letting my imagination take me out of this world like I used to when the stress was just too much.

Have I ever told you about Black Planet? No, not that website nobody uses anymore. It’s a place in outer space I imagined on some Marcus Garvey, Tyler Perry, Ava Duvernay don’t beg for a seat at the table, just make your own old table ish. It’s Blacker than Atlanta, Blacker than D.C., Blacker than Baltimore. Imagine Wakanda meets Zamunda in outer space without the Hollywood CGI that makes you say, “Wait a minute this isn’t real. I’m stuck in the Matrix, take me home.”

Black Planet has a purple lagoon all the artists drink from so they can stay young forever. The purple haze that hovers over the water protects them from danger, so there could never be another Biggie drive-by or Prince overdose. Melanin gives the Black Planet its essence and makes it a place you’d never want to leave. As Auntie Mary would say, there’s no hateration, holleration in the dancery.

Everyone does work that feeds their soul. No working to live or is it living to work. I forget which one is good and which is bad, but you know what I mean.

Oh and no pollution because there’s no driving, just teleportation. The grass is the greenest, most lush grass you’ve ever seen. And the water is always alkaline. It’s a place I can go and feel

at peace. No one following me in the store, no code switching, no micro aggressions. It’s a world for us, by us.