Day 2: Paned Reflection

Today's stimulus, as the title implies, was outside the window. As yesterday's was purely fantastic today were asked to be inspired by the world around us. I got the email late last night and due to lighting and the way my flat is situated when I looked outside I just saw myself, reflected over and over in "a heap of broken images". Visually it was amazing and that's what gave me the initial starting point. Writing wise I'm basically shamelessly and poorly ripping off T. S. Eliot and Beckett. Go me. I am interested in more abstract forms of theatre, and poetry, but have little experience in those styles. So this is me dipping my toes in I guess. It's a little/a lot angsty depending on your tolerance for these things (but then have you freaking read Beckett!). In my mind it's performed endlessly on a loop, sort of like an art installation piece.

                                                            Paned Reflection

                                                            By Jeremy Linnell

               

Darkness. On stage a line of windows, staggered in a tilted line, lit in such a way that the only way to view Voice is by their reflection in each one. They are seated but the lighting gives their reflection a broken, shimmering quality that seems to move in the darkness. They speak but it is echoing, pre-recorded and lip synced in such a way that the words are just out of step with the mouth movements.

Voice:  Do you love?

Not love of convenience.

Or duty.

But hot and untampered

Raw

The burning in your chest

So great you want to get as far away as possible.

Handled with care.

Viewed behind glass.

Preserved.

Pickled.

Curdled.

Grand words describing

The urge to fuck.

To feel close

Bridging us for brief moments.

Prisoners brushing fingertips through bars.

Then pushed back, lifelessly bobbing out to sea.

She ran through fields of snow,

They say.

Ran until she fell.

Made an angel on the ground.

Then it all slowly went to hell.

They say a lot of things.

Or so I’ve thought.

They whisper in the streets.

They whisper in your ears, mon frère,

When you’re huddled beneath your sheets.

Je t’aime.

Je t’adore.

Things always sound sexy when you can’t understand them.

Bleusu. Impre? Willfong.

Seduction through nonsense.

Project your own meaning.

Do we fall in love with others?

Or only our projected selves?

Reflected.

Do you love?