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'cause i can...

 
 
autopilot disengaged
23:08 / 15.04.02
no reason, really. more than anything, just 'cause i maybe, might, possibly be edging toward my first full-length staging (NO guarantees in a BIG way) - and felt like parading my ego round the forum.

so: the following extract from my noo noo play, 'evil is fake'. don't feel obliged to pass judgement (though i'm always interested)... i'm just *proud* of it.

please note that it in NO WAY reflects my current mood.

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Lights up – single spotlight on bed. SELF on hir back, the head of the bed raised slightly. Hir condition has deteriorated still further since last we saw hir, and hir bedside is clustered with various life support machines that appear to be plugged into hir. S/he lapses in and out of consciousness, speaking only in hir lucid moments.

SELF:
Wish I was impotent. Turned off. Unplugged from the mains.
Something in me is sick of this. This we’ll meet. Repeat.
We’ll meet again. This.

Stopped clock. ETA. Even queue for a hospital bed.
Don’t want to be alone. With this. Is sick.
Want to be alone. With you. Only you. Only you.

Falls back onto pillows, exhausted. Long pause. Then, up again, just as suddenly.

SELF:
Impotent fists. Clean yourself. Clean yourself. Regardless.
Failure and success. Wish I was. Bed bath. Bed time.
Hospitalized.

Want. Need. Three little words. Wish I was. Sweet nothing.
Wish I was fucking. Someone. Lonely too. All of us. As above.
So below. All of us. Crashed body, refugee.

Visitors give me. Sympathy. All smiles. All words.
I pretend to be asleep.
Wish I was dreaming.

Again, a lapse. When s/he returns this time, s/he seems barely willing – or able to lift hir head off the pillow.

SELF:
Wish I was young. Know then what I know now.
Grow a tumour. Between my legs.

No. Don’t.

Know then. Know now. Grow a tumour.
Go over. Defect, refuse. Save as. What’s left of me.
Heart disease.

Yes. Please.

Apparent unconsciousness, punctuated by half-murmured -

SELF:
Repeat after me.
Repeat after me.

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