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lo bil - writer-performer
just thoughts, on how it would be...

to simplify, my composition of the city and myself as city.  what i would do if i went... a Professional Occupation:  to sit in one place writing for a day and imagining the action i would like to perform - ending the day by performing that action.  

Posted by lo bil on 4/3/13




death of my heart in a paris café (sample, 2008)

“Death of My Heart in a Paris Café”

Please read these aesthetic directives aloud as my heart collapses inward like an accordion:

 

  1. Collectivize

 

  1. Read something once and use it as a foundational guideline

 

  1. Reuse, abandon, reintegrate

 

  1. Have sex once and know it is forever repeatable at any given moment

 

  1. Pile fragments into architecture

 

  1. Find a physical practice

 

  1. Insert myself into the New World Order, asserting internally: I will never allow myself to be a part of it

 

  1. Imagine directives

 

  1. Be seriously ridiculous

 

  1. Know that truth is a performable option

 

  1. Perforate performances

 

  1. Know that every style is infinitely present

 

  1. Blast my way out of structures

 

  1. Redesign the form

 

  1. Pretend truth, believe fiction

 

  1. Devise axioms that represent possibility

 

  1. Love yourself and your robot, even if you don’t have one

 

  1. Make money in order to join wage-earner communities

 

  1. Embrace chaos as the ultimate change

 

  1. Find your way home

 

  1. Use maps to levitate

 

  1. Branch out until you have no time left

 

  1. Devolve

 

  1. Shy away from peculiarities that are genuinely yours

 

  1. Pirate recipes for disaster

 

  1. Buy into success for a moment

 

  1. Shine your light on the unethical, only to recognize it in a court of law

 

  1. Ram it into place and then cry

 

  1. Foist your opinions on those who don’t care or who came knowing nothing

 

  1. Breeze

 

  1. Collapse

 

  1. Turn out better

 

  1. Rasterize

 

  1. Pocket hucksterism

 

  1. visibly reorient yourself

 

  1. Numenate

 

  1. Wear make-up that makes us question what you really look like

 

  1. Implicate the audience, and then devolve the performance

 

  1. Make the audience into a performance for the performers plaisir and then admit you did it and then cry

 

  1. Shoot video that will never be edited

 

  1. Commit crimes of passion and claim your guilt though even you feel you have nothing to feel guilty about

 

  1. Be dirty and not notice

 

  1. Harbour grief and envelop it with sounding vibrations

 

  1. Collect disingenuous souls

 

  1. Shudder when manipulating objects

 

  1. Fascinate yourself

 

  1. Believe in miracles and do nothing to give rise to them, just let them emerge

 

  1. Know that all is perfect until the play ends

 

  1. Move through space as if it were alternate substances

 

  1. Choose loosely

 

  1. Find a way in, in order to get out

 

  1. Hold two competing theories to be equally true

 

  1. Follow your heart but know that it is an organ

 

  1. Wipe your brow after reading chapter one

 

  1. Use a methodology to invite us in

 

  1. Favour predjudice and then change your mind

 

  1. Climb the emotional ladder to find out who will be falling out of favour tomorrow

 

  1. Transmit energy knowing you are only particle waves in the midst of material consumerism

 

  1. Know we are all one and yet be unique

 

  1. Find out how to distinguish yourself from other beings and then hide those qualities

 

  1. Be un-directable

 

  1. Cause confusion so you will be paid to unwind others

 

  1. Ridicule yourself as a metaphor for human achievement

 

  1. Brush lint as if it were gold

 

  1. Ripen avocados from Chile in a Canadian winter sun

 

  1. Eat only avocado for lunch

 

  1. Believe in good fats

 

  1. Sharpen your teeth on your elective read-outs

 

  1. Fashion a new way of inhabiting space

 

  1. Never ask for more but always feel guilt about wanting

 

  1. Know that those who are dead still speak to you through serendipitous symbology

 

  1. Confuse the words serendipity and probability

 

  1. Call yourself a provocateur and act like you have always been one

 

  1. Listen to Dadaist music and call it normal to see who laughs falsely

 

  1. Harm only ideas

 

  1. Bring happiness into circles of fate that ask for nothing

 

  1. Bring home the bacon even if you are vegetarian, because the bacon sustains us

 

  1. Watch Laverne & Shirley and reference Nietzsche, Artaud and Baudrillard

 

  1. Watch One Day at a Time and source Kierkegaard, Thoreau and Vargas

 

  1. Watch The Mary Tyler Moore show and say you know nothing of anything

 

  1. Be pop-guarded

 

  1. Go to a meeting and ask for clarification

 

  1. Put things into boxes to read later

 

  1. Define your life by saying it’s easier than you first thought

 

  1. Say “I am what I am until I am not” every day in front of the mirror

 

  1. Leave them wanting more, and wonder why you are doing that

 

  1. Forgive yourself endlessly for unforgivable faux-pas

 

  1. Imagine the plot points of your personal history

 

  1. Click through into future

 

  1. Answer all questions with the answer Gene Hackman

 

  1. Be disturbing to your teachers and yet vacillate with friends

 

  1. Know nothing, but feign wisdom

 

  1. Enumerate your Other identities

 

  1. Replenish ancestral cavities left by generational carelessness

 

  1. Regift your textbooks

 

  1. Listen well and then disregard logic in response

 

  1. Placate any doubts about apocalyptic revolution

 

  1. Forgive yourself for being anti-, but only so you can make a living

 

  1. Protest forbearance as if there were no tomorrow    (an abstaining from the enforcement of a right.)

 

  1. Become ennobled by reading 4 newspapers daily, then forget everything.

 

  1. Say you love Brooklyn even if you haven’t been there or if when you got there you got lost on a bus and never saw a damn thing

 

  1. Lable the Eiffel Tower as cliché and then say something unexpected in French.

 

  1. Become your own asshole

 

  1. Shake off the hands of the devil in exchange for a proliferation of desires from the Divine

 

  1. Wade into darkness

 

  1. Find a message in the colours of the laundry pile

 

  1. Become indignant when someone expounds on their process

 

  1. Feed animals at the wrong time of day, but only once in awhile
  1. Begrudge your parents lovingly

  2. Know that life is joy, no matter how many times you doubt it.

TRANSCRIPT:

- the Paris is in imagining the beautifulness of being with so many strangers in a café, surrounded by conversations.  not fully catching the meaning of any one conversation, but feeling that, by osmosis, i would get a sense of how to BE there, aligned with the minds and bodies of that cultural milieu

- the political is in the infinite distraction.  i try to focus on what is important in society, but the media and our conversations take me in all directions.  so i finish reading the news, not really knowing anything more.  having some misplaced images in mind.   feeling overwhelmed and incapable of action.  the "death" here, is that of an active politcal agent - i am here to listen, to catch some meaning, to glean how to act, but my heart explodes with all the words bandied about.  a potentially active agent is immobilized.   there is a small accordion playing in every café... there to hear and engage, but lost in the whirlwind.

- this is one action that keeps coming back to me.  i like the way the people have come to see the performance but cannot watch because they've been told to read.  their thoughts may divide them - deciding to not read at times, in order to watch the dance, is an act of rebellion because they've been told their job is to read the paper.  hmmm... to not read the (news)paper, instead to look at the life around them, is an act of rebellion.  to know this simple gesture has agency, is profound.  

Posted by lo bil on 4/2/13




Procedure

 

Within the context of montage, I initiate this procedure on each document I encounter in the Archive, towards a performative end:

  1. Find fragments that I feel belong in My Paris (the Paris I am building for myself here at home in Toronto), using intuitive grazing of media and personal journals, and trusting my intuition about what belongs in the Collection.

  2.  Enunciate the Paris-ishness of each fragment. 
     
  3. Brainstorm any potential political signifiers in each fragment.
     
  4. Find connections between the fragments and the fragments they generate.

  5. Imagine an action that links the fragments in the space-time dimensions of theatre.
     
  6. Write a transcript of actions, thoughts, and discoveries, accepting that each transcript can lead to a potential improvisation or an action that will be performed in each performance.  
Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13 | tags: development document writing




Google Chat Collective Monologue (a collectively written document)

We were talking about anxieties in our writing practice.  Perhaps in this state, we can create something about anxiety, go right into it rather than letting it make us freeze.  There's so much anxiety in the socio-political world that generates poetic ideas.

And why is there so much anxiety around the audience getting things?  “Reaching an audience” doesn't mean they get a specific meaning.  It could just be a different rhythm from what was imagined, or a spontaneous engagement with the space.

I deal with the anxiety by believing “My Paris of Nothing” is about process, about finding a process, via a series of actions.  “I wanted to write actions."  Actions are more active, less with over-determining ideologies of narrative.  Actions cultivate a space where questions are out there and the audience is engaged in determining what is going on.  That is a place that's interesting to be in - a “Paris” perhaps?  Example:

(1) The character puts her documents into categories.  Instead of telling a narrative, the categories she chooses open up the possibilities of a story.  Montage ala Benjamin-?

(2) "The self is lost in impossible tasks" - how to turn this into an action.  What does it mean to live Paris in Toronto?  How impossible.

(3) Streamlining – it nice for audience to receive something more clearly.  Can we place anxiety on the table?  Let’s have a conversation in the performance, on a physical table.  Paris a cohesion perhaps, but once someone lets a communication go, it is not theirs any longer.  We pause, before entering another comment into the conversation.  We table our disagreements and connections.  We acknowledge, register, document, and continue.

(4) The proximity between playwriting and performance art is that with performance art there is the POSSIBILITY that the audience or an audience member WILL share in the creation.  Possibility versus Will: enter the scene somehow.  Possibility and Will: find themselves in Paris via the text. 

(5) The gun must go off in the third act.  Unless it is a cup.  The cup needs to go off in the second act.  Meaning – in a play, what is introduced must be incorporated or it is too much for the audience to synthesize.  In performance art, it is an accumulation of images, to show it once is fine, the image is registered as part of the composition.  Perhaps if it doesn’t recur, it is a minor part of the composition, but that image is still “allowed” to exist there, on the canvas, it is not deleted for security’s sake.  The action is about seeing what can exist in the theatre text, without confusing the audience member to distraction.

(6) No anxiety here, not much anyway, merely thinking it over.  I’ll type a smile after the "anxiety" is over, officially.  When the monologue has finished.  Double action, post-finish.

(7) She said that, “In Iceland, I felt compelled to tell a friend that I like Iceland way more than Paris.”  I love the background here – it means to me there is a competition inherent between Paris and every other place.  It’s a marker of greatness somehow, that is so sad actually.  What a strange measuring stick a city makes.

(8) Try to exist when love story structure is imposed.  “Not all people are in love or have been loved.” Love the stream of thought.  "The reduction of every story to a love story."

(9) “But all people are in politics” and so we can talk of politics.

  • "I'm afraid to talk about politics because I don't know anything"
  • The uncertainty of 'not talking' because we don't know enough, is alleviated beautifully by beginning from 'where we are' - from the everyday - the position of the subject, the person, in the monologue
  • The topic is something I share, and so I can speak of it no matter how much I know or do not know.

(10) A narrative with a character who feels she doesn't have a history so needs to create stories.  How can someone who has no history, tell a story?  What it means to be storied yet history-less, and for the production of story to be that of her history?  Out of absence... presence.  Where does the impulse to tell story come from when story isn't 'permitted' in childhood?  Uncovering secrecy around that impulse.

(11) Maintain the impression of a stream of consciousness.  Changing pacing, changing gears, changing momentums, speech rhythms, the place of silence in a monologue or on the page - "Moving from spontaneous conversation into written text."  Embarrassment from reading too much.  Acceleration is the thing, not speed.  Noticing that the shift has happened after the shift has happened.  The roller coaster: a doubling voice, familiarity with the space of a person after a while, looping hooks around story.

(12) The summative moments lending a concluding frame that allows us to comprehend our experience together, like narrative or stories or plays end - or not at all?  Think about the last day of classes, it's often up to the instructor to lend that moment but the last class becomes the summation of many things for each person, spoken or unspoken, acknowledged or witnessed by others or not.  If the class has overflow work, it tends to lend an air of hurriedness in the last class.  In this way the last class can be an indicator of the entire thing whether or not it is inclusive of the details that stand out in each person’s mind. 

(   ) So what is this last moment?  I'd like what last time we have to be a bit of a conversation.   I think of books as attempts to be summative, to frame our experiences in a way that has particular cultural weight, and the way that we treat books as special objects shorn of context to lend our lives weight.  Like those websites where people post their deepest wishes and writing a book is at the top of the most lists.  Meanwhile most people collect books for their titles, never reading them.  I think of this last moment as a book, an open book, tethered by the technological dramas of trying to determine actions.  Or something.

:) 

 

 

 

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13




blind contour of email to R: EVERY 5TH WORD/80% EDIT

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for touch.   Valentine

with french... (teacher feel in relationship of to with can your that sound??) 

google want appear and that

 

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13




This Red Suit

I saw the colour red in the window.  A bright red suit right next to the 50% off sign and I thought: I have always wanted a red suit.  I went in, it didn’t fit, but they did have this (touches the suit she is wearing). As soon as I had it on, the owner who designs all the clothes began measuring me, complementing me and telling me:  it fits, it looks good on you - she would just need to make a few alterations. 

So I had already decided I was going to buy this suit when she pulls out a ribbon.  It was a strategy for measuring an ex-employee of hers had worked out on the fly, to know how much to take in and how much to give in the alterations.  She pins this ribbon across my chest, from here to there, to here, to there, all the way down (shows this with her fingers, a snaking pattern).  I didn’t get it, how.  I still don’t exactly.  How it works, this, measuring.  But it was so nice, to feel her fingers lightly working across, me (tracing the line again).  It made the sale final.  This is it.  This is what I’ve always wanted.  This red suit.

She asked me to look over the total cost on one of those old fashioned invoice boxes with the lever that moves the paper along and spits out a carbon copy of the handwritten bill for the record.  “All sales final,” she says, $1800.  I put it on my new credit card.  I hadn’t had one for 20 years.  I work as a cashier, 16 hours a week.  This was ridiculous. 

Before I left the store I laid my hands on the counter and I said to the designer – “this suit is going to make me lots of money.”  The words just came out, like an andrenaline rush reassuring me that I would not regret the purchase and that was it – final sale. 

I bought it because I’d like to go to Paris one day and I thought people would like me if I were wearing something smart.  They would forgive me for being not so proficient in French, they would say, “well at least she has some taste.”  And even if this suit goes out of fashion – I mean, it could be out of fashion already for all I know – at least it fits well.  A tailored garment shows a certain amount of care and attention to looking good.  

So – I’m here, knowing that in Paris, I might be dressing at an acceptable level. Interesting, no?  Interesting to me.  And it is more odd I know because for the price of the suit, I could’ve bought a ticket to Paris and stayed for a week, drinking wine and taking photographs that I might keep in a drawer for a long, long time.  But no, that’s not what I hope for.  I want to go to Paris forever.

But I have to go through these papers.  I have to have a project to bring with me. 

I can’t just go with nothing.  And that’s where I caught myself:  I won’t ever have nothing, I will always have myself. 

 

 

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13




revision

 

 ZEN KOAN REVISION

be still

have faith

do nothing

it’s Paris

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13




Ghost Hole - documentation/story/scene

 

MIREILLE

I walked around the circle.  Malik played piano.  I must’ve circled 50 times before anyone came in.  It was hard taking the corners in these shoes.  I realized I was walking back in time.  I didn’t like where I was going but the action was simple enough. 

 A girl came in the room, “oohh spooky!” she said and ran away.  We were in this haunted school, people with their art projects.  I was supposed to give a tour but I wanted to do something more arty.  This was it.  Simple means.  I’d never heard Malik play piano.  He was absolutely terrific.  I had no idea my best friend could play the piano in such an experimental way… I think he grew up rich, perhaps he had lessons as a kid.

 A guy came in and said, “wow, an extension cord.”  I’d put an orange extension cord in the middle of the circle.  I stopped.  “Do you need one?

MALEK disguised as GUY

What?

MIREILLE

An extension cord? 

MALEK disguised as GUY

No, why? 

MIREILLE

Well, I was doing a performance and you came in the room and said...

MALEK disguised as GUY

Oh!  I see, no, it’s just, right there, so obvious.  Nothing else in the room, kinda nice like that, in the middle.  Like a sculpture. 

MIREILLE

“Like a fire I was thinking.”  So we pretended to warm our hands.  Soon enough, he found a reason to leave.  And I went back to walking the circle.  Two young guys came in.  “Hi” I said, they seemed curious.  They stood pretty close to my path.  One of them asked, “what’s in your scrapbook?”  Great.  Here was a GREAT offer.  I now had reason to open my folder and begin reading the stories I was going to read on the tour.  I started with “Rules for Teachers” a list of rules from 1872 – “Any teacher who smokes, uses liquor in any form, frequents pool halls, or gets shaved in a barber shop will give good reason to suspect his worth, intentions, integrity and honesty.”  They were intrigued.  But when the rules were over, they left. 

(Malek enters, plays for a bit.  Mireille stops on the circle facing the audience.) 

It went on for a while.  Malik never turned around to see what I was doing.  He doesn’t like to see me perform.  Perhaps he gets nervous for me.  Like some people can’t look, they’re just too nervous, fearing their friend will screw up.  But I didn’t care, this was the first collaboration we’d ever done.  

It happened because he was high, surely, and there were too many people in the halls, so we snuck in this studio and closed the door.  We rearranged the furniture.  He found some disco lights in the closet and I plugged them in.  I stared out the window, I could see the Ghost Boat through the trees, all lit up.

Malik played continuously for 20 minutes before I got the idea of the extension cord.  And once the extension cord was there, it was obvious.  I needed to walk around the circle endlessly.  Surely this was the best way to summon the ghosts. 

I’d tried sitting on a chair in the dark hallway with a sign saying Ghost Watch on it.  That was all right but somewhat limited.  I needed something a bit more spectacular if I was to do this all night.  So the circle was it.

By the end of the night I think the middle dropped out.  Malik never came back after that first hour when we established the game.  We left together and lost each other.  But I kept coming back.  I’d skulk in the halls for awhile and then come back, try again.  See what came.

I met Aaron and Paul this way.  A gay couple who wanted a séance.  I suggested we read some Gwendolyn MacEwan poems.  Two women dressed as Frida Khalo came in and asked if they could sit on the couch at the far end of the room.  Sure.  The taller Frida said she’d done a residency here in January, so it felt like home.  Aaron banged out a few notes on the piano for punctuation.  Paul stood in the circle as I walked the perimeter.  We spoke in alternation, sometimes reading together.  I tapped him on the shoulder and we swopped places.  I noticed he wasn’t very precise around the curves, he’d cut through the edges.  We found an ending.  They thanked me, said they had no idea they’d meet a ghost teacher tonight.  They hugged me, took my photo. 

They found me on Facebook and posted the photo.  My cheeks looked less pale than I imagined.

MALIK

(begins to play piano, stopping when he speaks, he resumes playing after each line)

I was in the hall.  Looking for you.

MIREILLE

You were looking for Amanda. 

MALIK

Believe what you want.  I was looking for a little boy with a grenade.  He’d taken my hat.

 

MIREILLE

The children’s revolution.  They’ll tell you everything you need to see that you can never see.  They see the injustice in everything, the know what’s wrong, they don’t know how to change it.

MALIK

 Don’t be paranoid… You can’t guess what people are thinking.

MIREILLE

 I was thinking:  I’ve fallen in.  I’d wanted to collaborate and here it was happening.  I wanted to leave at 7pm.  He said I should stay.  Then he wandered off.  What’s the point of staying to hang out by myself?  I was surrounded by people but I didn’t really want to talk to anyone.  I’m an introvert, unspoken.

(Malik’s playing becomes softer)

I’m only saying this now because you don’t really exist… do you?  In my world anyway… I -

Last night – the circle became a square.  I was playing hopscotch in the playground.  Malik was smoking in the rosebushes - there’s a clear patch in the middle with a bench for smokers, you’d never know if you arrived at the school that there was a smoking section in the foliage. 

This anxiety came over me, that I needed to catch the ferry, I was supposed to be at work.  I raced into the bush calling his name, but he’d left when I wasn’t looking.  My skin was bleeding from the thorny boughs.  I started crying and decided to quit my job, forever. 

MALIK

You’d never quit your job, you love worrying about paying the bills so much you would never get a decent job.  That one is just perfect.  You’ve got lots to complain about. 

MIREILLE

Mock me if you like, Malik.  I know it’s just a means to an end, another year at the most.

MALIK

(stops playing)

It’s your salvation. 

MIREILLE

(opens her folder and reads, closes folder after this quote)

I keep referring back to my notes, knowing they can transport me.

“Use your memory as a resource – mental recall, body story, but to tell a wider narrative which reveals the extent to which your body already contains a wider narrative… Not analyzing material to find its meaning, but accumulating material, finding unexpected connections.”  Those words written by theatre collective Goat Island in“Letter to a Young Practitioner,” I didn’t change a word.  How relevant they are though, those words, to me.  

(reads)  “It was an act, people I did not know, doing things I did not understand.  Yet I felt I knew them, and I felt I understood.” 

It’s a mystery.  How to get anywhere.  That’s why I identified with the circle.  Conscious attention to the circle allowed something to shift between Malik and I.  And then he disappeared.  (He turns to confirm he heard what he heard)  He disappeared. 

 

(Exit Malik).

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13




Taste - "Travel is Easy" excerpt

(I have left this unruly chart around the lines not out of neglect, but out of a desire to see the words encaged.) (?!) 

Abe:

You’re late.

 

Shiree:

It’s not my style you know that, I got caught in traffic.

Abe:

You were coming from the other side of town in rush hour, what did you expect?

 

Shiree:

Not an hour and half drive.

Abe:

Think harder next time.  Dinner is cold.

Shiree:

So are you.

Abe:

What’s that?

 

Shiree:

So are you – cold, Cold Fish Eyes I call you to the people at work.

 

Abe:

Nice of you to tell me.

Shiree:

Cruelmagnon Man is another one.

Abe:

Enough already.  I’m doing my best to be in the world.  Is that all right with you?

 

Shiree:

Why don’t you try Buddhism?  Breathe in suffering, breathe out compassion.  It might help you cut down on your wrinkle count.

 

Abe:

I earned every single line. 

 

Shiree:

I’m sure that’s true.

Abe:

It’s the grey hairs I’m worried about.  I blame you for each and every one.

Shiree:

I’m sure that’s true too.

Abe:

(pause)  So does this mean you don’t want to eat?

Shiree:

Eat what?

 

Abe:

Quail in a light broth, green salad.  Simple fare prepared according to your taste.

 

Shiree:

I hate food.  You forgot that part.

 

Abe:

It’s me who has the eating disorder, okay?  Let’s try to get along for once. 

 

Shiree:

What?  You started arguing with me the moment I stepped in the door!  Look, I asked you to come to therapy with me, that’s all.  You don’t have to make me suffer for it every day for the rest of my life. 

 

Abe:

What right does a therapist have to judge our relationship?  Because they have a degree in something or other?

 

Shiree:

It’s an outside point of view from someone who has seen a lot of relationships come and go.

 

Abe:

Exactly.  So who cares about them.  You can answer questions right now without having to pay a therapist.  You just have to answer the questions.  For example: Why do you hold on to this relationship when you seem to suffer my presence every second-?  Nowhere else to go?

 

Shiree:

I like it here.

Abe:

The view includes me unfortunately?

Shiree:

I like something about you.  I just can’t remember what it is some days.

Abe:

I think you said it was my sense of humour.

Shiree:

I think you said that.  I said your humour was so dry that it was all dried up.

Abe:

Go to hell you, liar.

Shiree:

And you go to heaven –!  That’s worse for you because it means you’ll have to behave.  Haha.  Won’t that be agony for you?

 

Abe:

You are relentless.  And, by the way, it’s you who is out of control here.

Shiree:

You love it, come on.  Just because you just know how to push my buttons in a seemingly “rational” way, doesn’t mean you are behaving.  Conflict is all you dream about. 

 

Abe:

I dream about rainstorms I’ll have you know.

Shiree:

Getting soaked to the bone and nobody will let you in?

Abe:

Being immersed in a creative flow.

Shiree:

Oh yes, your creative is now flowing.  The signs are so subtle I mistook them for a leaky faucet.  You told me yesterday you’d camped out in the destruction phase of the creativity building.

 

Abe:

It’s a choice – to create by leveling what’s been there before.  This week it’s blue.  Last week it was red.  I don’t mind playing one note until it’s a note I understand.

 

 

Shiree:

Ah.  Is that what you’re doing?  I thought you were trying to drive me crazy.

 

 

Abe:

With the colour blue?

 

 

Shiree:

No.  By changing your mind every time I’ve listen closely to what you say. And with the conversations that go on in endless argument.  I didn’t think that first date on the Ferris wheel was foreshadowing.

 

 

Abe:

Neither did I.  (pause)  There was also the road that took us there and home again.  Notice - we never went back.

 

 

Shiree:

Do you think that would help us remedy the situation?

 

Abe:

We certainly have nothing to loose.

 

 

(Scene shifts to the ferris wheel, could be done with light change.

Abe eats cotton candy.  Shiree sips on a pink fizz.)

 

 

Shiree:

I like it here.

 

Abe:

So turn of the century.

 

Shiree:

When things were nicer.

 

Abe:

That’s an illusion, the nostalgic past.

 

Shiree:

That’s your point of view.  Your judgment.  Your choice.

 

Abe:

Oh well, I guess that’s what I’ll go with.

 

 

 

(Scene shifts back to the present.)

 

Shiree:

Never very romantic.  We haven’t changed that much.

 

Abe:

Shorter sentences back then.

 

Shiree:

Less of a hurry.  Why do you argue so much?

 

Abe:

I think I’m a lawyer at heart.  Do you want salmon for dinner?

 

Shiree:

No.  I hate salmon.  Too oily.  Let’s just, go further next time, okay?

 

 

 

(Scene shifts to a Cuban beach.  Both hold cocktails.)

 

Abe:

I don’t like the poverty here.

 

 

Shiree:

Sunshine all the time comes with a high cost.

 

Abe:

Not for us.

 

Shiree:

No but… for people, in the world.

 

Abe:

Our relationship is over isn’t it?

 

Shiree:

You’re asking me?  I thought it was up to you actually.

 

Abe:

God I wish I had answers.  I used to believe that effects had causes.

 

 

Shiree:

We share a sense of stability, someone to bounce ideas off and we both like ideas…

 

 

Abe:

I could be with anyone then, why are you special?

 

 

Shiree:

Because I have good ideas.

 

 

Abe:

I don’t necessarily agree.

 

 

Shiree:

I think we’re together in order to figure our why we are together.

 

 

Abe:

Fair enough.  But – now I realise we’ll never know, is it still worthwhile?

 

 

Shiree:

It’s me!  It’s a sign.  It’s me.  I’m disappearing in your eyes, disappearing in your dreams, in your perception.  I’m becoming invisible.  I’m getting old.

 

 

Abe:

We’re all getting old.  And no, you are becoming anything but invisible.  You are oppressive.  How could you not know that?

 

 

Shiree:

Let’s just pretend we never met and fall in love again.   That might be fun.

 

 

Posted by lo bil on 4/1/13





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