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This is progress. A short story that is 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 in 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, 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 says 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 aether
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 the paperwork that justifies their existence –

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 exclusion 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 –

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