Saturday, February 5, 2011

Five kinds of stagefright.

One night I dreamt I was a dog.

The moon was out, I could smell it.
Ice white metal smell.
I could smell the paving stones,
wet, sharp.

The tarmac road made my dog teeth tingle,
it was aniseed,

and then the lampposts,
glittering with smells, they were,
studded with jewels of sharp sweet spice,
And the stars pierced my dog nose like silver wires.

A woman came out of her house,
sickly the smell of her,
she smelt ofarmpitsandbabies

and a hundred other things screaming at me like a brass band.

I knew what she'd had for her tea.
I knew she was pregnant.
I could smell it.

She didn't look at me, walked straight on by,
thought I was just a dog.

I laughed a quiet dog laugh,
you think I'm a dog but I'm Billy,
I'm me.

I'm at my own door now.
I don't need to see it, it comes to meet me,
a cacophony,
the smells are dancing towards me,
the smells of home.

I'm inside the house now.

Hot citrus smell of electric light.
My wife, my daughters, stand up as I come in the room.

Oh home,
the smells I love,
all the tiny, shimmering background smells,
and the two I love the most,

the two smells
that fill the room like a siren.
One of them is
burning tyres,

And the other one is the
smell of blood,
matted in Mary's hair.

I gave her a good kicking before I went out.

There is quite a lot of things one can possibly do that might turn around and 'bite one in the ass' and writing criticism (for any creative medium that you are working in yourself) is fraught, yes fraught I say with "180 degree-turning and full ass-biting capability", as standard. Thas right boys, there's an ass-bitin' comin' down the line. Oh yes, by Jiminy; we'll see how smart he is now, the tables have turned the shoe into the horse of a different colour, by golly yes!

So, erm yes. I might as well get to it: Ladies and Gentlemen of the on-line commuinitah, I respect your authoritah, and it is with great pleasure that I inform you that I am to appear once again upon the stage myself, this April in fact, with Orchard Theatre Companah.

'In Five Kinds of Silence'.

The lines above are the opening monologue.

Not so feckin' smart now is he?

Whaddya think? : sounds like fun , no?

No comments:

Post a Comment