This is progress on a short story that is as a play to be read in 3 voices
Dub House
are the lights on? – So / Pere
what is this that is happening? The stage is set … and struck?
The young man sets off on the back of a push pedal penguin – I’m late, I’m late for a very important …
trails off into the distance as a policeman with an ace up his sleeve says “isn’t that just a little too grand Alice?”
Set scene now as the theatre has been emptied of all the players.
So… do you always dream of theatre scenes? -
Temple Bar -
A large black cat mumbles as it walks across the cap stone – What’s all this about, seems a little distressing that all these dreams are scenes.
Falling back to default blocking –
push pedal –
your in my light, a grumbling large black cat trance … it’s the eyes … don’t watch.
Distant – Characters dissolve into – a great line of the disposable – some random act of desperation –
A performance at its most oblique they are heard to say.
Spoken / random ginger haired trundle – Can you point me in the direction of catering?
There is no catering here -
Trundling little ginger haired bundle –
Today we wash your mind -
A clean mind -
A clean little suspect – mind your own
-a happy little bundle of non-stop – you could get up and walk away – it does make for an interesting … Interruptions even during the read through.
Blocking!
Oh but such wonderful colours .
In any event – monumental -
A mental event – traction – gain – control – loss of ..
this borders on Pornography – yelling critic in the background silenced by the crowd of progressives disguised –
So off I go said the ginger haired Jeremy whom everyone thought had already wandered off to the Gloria Mundi a few doors down -
Just off the A10 -
where the modulators are –
This is the art of listening to the illusion – or perhaps not –
So far off they seem – the notes have a life of their own / fluttering off into the ether
Line!
Oh wont you come dance with me under the moonlight we shall dance beside the quay – These are the illusions of fallen angels -
Your kiss’ taste like cancer
come dance with me little urchin of the streets and come watch the self -indulgent excess.
The mass strangulation -
the always in a hurry to create paperwork that justifies their existance –
A portable ,Masterwork -
I am – We are – Wait… We are not those who wait…
So tell me Pere what is behind those eyes?
A storm?
A controversy?
Nothing?
A blank –
the deep dead past holds no surprise/ Just a fraked out hole in the zone clearly marked
“Here lies the death of conversation” – Come, step up across the border/it is as beautiful as an amputation -
Stage direction – This is the final run through Sister Sunshine –
Source:
http://ift.tt/1fGsU3i