Tuesday, 12 March 2013


Skript  120313: while sitting in the foyer, Nottingham Playhouse (UK)

we are dancing… we are listening ….opus 49 awaits.

waiting. locating myself here. sitting with you. sounds of the fan, cool air… location locating self …

here hhhhhaaaa…aaaahhhh…whirring fan sound…stepping. . deep inhale.  I feel the cold air on my back, work on finding an inside, a sense of place and self, my self in this place, sitting bones, foot slightly raised, other foot placed on the floor. it is the senes of containment given by layer upon layer of outside, one and after another, layering  finding the sense of bubbliness… me in a pool of light. warming … the container holding a space with me trying to float with in … deep rumbling voice… muttering drift around..

you write and i sit, it gives me space, i find my inside, your fingers move across the keys, the words appear in front pulling me in, the light pulling me in, in, in… our fingers tapping quickly smoothly the light catching your nails… the fingers, fingers figs… forming patterns across the white and silver keyboard -- in their own dancing place. forming..foaming…see, sea white and silver wave of sound and thought, finger waves, waves of breath the sea foam of my breath spills onto the silver white screen. deep breathe… dropping. take the time it takes, drop.. to where do i drop … through the seat sitting bones bones. through into your silver white sea heeeee. sea. see. i see, i still see, feel into my seeing, a man or it is woman, under a floor, i feel i see or do i know or hear…a man or is it a woman, how long was it 5 or 30, i dont remember, but i know this i know this … there will be a call.. a safe line a test a checking in … while waiting. not in the silver white sea,,, in he dark.. pulsing under the sea floor. the weight on my back, as the floor pulls me down and in, pressure of it, pressing, weighting, waiting, wait

a nightmare….

trapped - i feel it rise in me -- a tight chest gripping .. not me,  don’t make me…her fingers wait…

two… one… grey… stay.

wait in the grip of the dark
will you wait with me, will you write with me while we wait, will you wait with me while we write… waiting for opus. the sounds… thinking of it pulls me to the sounds that fan the voices the shoes on the stairs…. the body becomes the ear…. one large shell like ear that holds the sounds of the world.. like the conch shell the magic waves curl around the body/ear that i am …

cutting through the fan… step step step… heels… finding their way down down down…

No comments:

Post a comment

You are invited to offer examples of your writing-dancing, comments and feedback.