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Msg # Go
From: kcidd2001
Date: Thu Feb 6, 2003 12:10 am
Subject: Re: SOMEONE POST SOMETHING!!!
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--- In luxuriamusickc@yahoogroups.com, the_discotrash_unit
<no_reply@y...> wrote:
> I'm looking at an excellent Tolkien site, but I get off in ten
> minutes! Whoo hoo!
>
> --- In luxuriamusickc@yahoogroups.com, opraguy
<no_reply@y...> wrote:
> > Habbit, schmabbit.
> >
> > I'm bored, too.
> >
> > =}X>D=
> BOREDOM HITS HARD IN THE GROINLAND!!!
:
Dramatis Personae.
He, a faceless figure sitting quietly in a deep armchair.
She, the remains of a woman, slowly crumbling.
Synopsis. The play is one act and to be performed without
intermission. At centre stage there is an armchair, turned slightly
askew, presiding over the audience. `He' sits in the chair,
legs
crossed, faceless head resting on the knuckles of an elbow
which in turn rests on the arm of the chair. Next to this chair is
another one exactly like the first only vacant and turned so that
the angle intersects the vantage of the first, bringing them to a
slight point. Both sit on top of a wide rug. Between them there is
a narrow table upon which sits a plain black ashtray, a cigarette
half extinguished on its lip. On the far end of the stage there
stands a cabinet, doors ajar, single drawer open until it tilts
downward. At the other end there is a gramophone on the floor.
`She' enters, nude, crawling on the floor, modesty kept by
the
shadows. A ribbon around her throat is the only reminder of a
dress she has since discarded. She appears at the left end of
the stage, progressing toward the right. The effort is trying, but
she moves leisurely, dragging her torso behind her. She is yet
mostly intact, but lacking legs. On the rug, she sits up on her hip
and rests, breathing heavily. When she speaks she addresses
only herself.
She: As the record ended I continued to sing along with the
chorus. By the time I caught myself it was too late. Oh, well. He
didn't even raise an eyebrow, nor did he make any effort to
acknowledge my presence. But he…
She continues on in a backstroke on her palms to the cabinet.
She opens it, and her legs come falling out, about three pairs, all
nearly identical. She sings.
She: With reveries of days gone by... In my solitude... You taunt
me...
Fastening her legs. She leaves those that clutter the floor to be.
She pushes them to the side a bit, just enough to lay in languid
repose, her ankles crossed.
She: The record still turned beneath the needle. All that was left
of the music was a static that sounded like rain beating against
the windows. Nothing else, nothing to…
On her knees she approaches the vacant armchair, standing
once she can brace herself. Again, she sings.
She: With memories that never die...
The dimpled cushion is fluffed, softly punched once or twice in
the centre. She sits and crosses her legs in the fashion of the
faceless man. She begins to fumble with the ribbon around her
throat.
She: He had taken my leg from me and hid it away somewhere
so that I couldn't abandon him in his private darkness. I must
admit…
Once the bow of the ribbon is undone her head falls loose into
her lap. She goes limp, but not in a deceased manner. Her eyes
persist in blinking and her tongue flashes briefly to wet her lips.
The faceless man carefully retrieves her skull from her bare legs
and places it also with great care on the table sitting between the
chairs. He balances the cigarette upon her lips and she draws
life into its grey end. She blinks once or twice from the smoke
and finally closes her eyes.
The light falls. Curtain.
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