Sunday, 30 January 2011
Chorus at the ready, script marked 'absentees' of the scene. How they play the part, so 'exquisitly absent' indeed. The actors all concerned to play their parts perfectly, to have the director's echos was simply not worth it, this time. Go go go. It is time for motion, give devotion and no. Choose instead to be swallowed by the ocean. The simplicity of the back stage hands was laid bare. The whisper's rose. It blossomed by sound. Soon raucous mavericks were to disobey cooperation and the chorus left silently out the back door, the director standing aghast. The Fairy King was unable to see the truth behind the lies and punished harshly. How he should take your wings and leave you flightless! Burn them in front of you, much as poetry has been churlishly accustomed as a form of fuel. It will keep cold hearts warm, now by the means of 'modern method'. Communication was only possible by the plea of a rhythm, sinister in its announcement. Ratta-Tat-Tap. They are all in need of a good education. Juliet knows the part but burning effigy may lead her to act out of character. Her death. They say it was "temporary" - you know what they are implying. The flowers wilt in their frustration. There will be no beauty in the garden today. Petals fall one by one, not with the traditional question. The Queen's House of Cards will fall and I may make my way to that tea party uninterrupted, by my clumsy steps. How we should laugh in the beauty of the garden today, with Molly! Birds are everywhere. Won't the cat be happy. You arrive.
The plastic torn off. Hands scrapping for, what? Scrawls were the only means to tame the wolves. They fought with instant precision because they were you. The Gypsy's magic ball smashed and all were left unaware. Trust was lost. Hope to, what? To write with oration was taught half hearted. Ghosts are everywhere. They were once memories but now are forgotten or may not be placed. Distortion of shape, not in the least disconcerting. They were screaming. They were howling. They were, me?
"The show must go on!"
No! I simply won't abide by the rule book you slam down before me. You cannot expect me to simply obey and have no uprising returned? Who is this 'I'? What does she think she is anyway? Oh, Molly I do emplore you so to stay at a standstill. I've had full recollections, why snap that away from me with the shutters? The windows can stay dark I swear but let me recall.
The stage hands are getting to be too much. Make them quiet, quiet. The main event is about to start. Less you rucus mavericks. Can't you see silence is trying to become your friend? It is too much and the Fairy King has come to lay down HIS rule book. Heavens, what are we to do now. Cast your eyes down! We become rhetorical in his presense. Whatever should happen now is hardly a mystery. They can wait and see. The scawl of fire makes the writing seem bareable - burn me to the audience. The chorus are still doing a wonderful job! Make us fly by means of pen and paper, Fairy King. Black and white of logic better than the cheerless green. Then so we arrive at sombre and we ask ourselves; what does colour have to do with anything?
"From life there should be the invention of the Lord Fire but so to it should be born. What came first the destroyer or the life? For they are circular to each birth."
Your rule book decrees my attendence there - how shall you make that happen? Words fail me.
Let us not meet by the pond - it too obvious. Fear of the King will drive us elsewhere as we long for chaste childhood in his presence. It's nickname taken as 'home'. Nothing moved there. The little girl in the pink pinstripes lost on her way to the Hatter's tea party. There is too much, too much. Especially without the sound of nature. Apologies.