back, baby!
MG's taken us over to wordpress this semester, and it's only viewable by those with ACU passwords. It's at http://studentblogs.acu.edu.au/s00067739/
I'm still around, though. And writing more than ever.
So I'm writing for a new performance work. It's not quite Silver Cord but more experimental. It's a 10 minute work based around one character who is a young child, but would be played by a woman. She has had a tragic accident that has rendered her stuck between two worlds, with a magical sort of quality to bring emotions to the audience, forcing them out of their lives and into her childish world of the suburban summer.
This is just prose that will somehow, somewhere relate. Maybe. The work is going to be called February.
We were sitting on the front porch- not really a verandah but just the steps leading to the front door, painted red, with the gorgeous spiky crimson bouganvillea vine. The grass on the front lawn was still alive then. Were we talking? Did we talk? Did we even like each other? It was a warm Sunday afternoon unbroken by any need to work, or do chores, or anything. Pure childhood, it was pure rest. The regular 'chhchh' of the cicadas sang us into sleepiness, along with the high clouds in the blue sky, floating like us, and the smells of summer.
We heard the Mr Whippy van a few blocks away and suddenly had the urge, as all children do, to run around screaming until somebody's mum gave us a dollar for an ice cream. We had no concept of money then. The minor-keyed sad Greensleeves tune echoed around the sleepy suburb, waking everyone from their stupor, probably sending elderly people into waves of reminiscence. The ice cream really wasn't that good- grainy and sickly sweet- but we were kids. We had no idea. And it was as simple as that.
For a long time I thought your accident had been caused by that ice cream from the Greensleeves van. But it wasn't, I realise now. It was fate.
Keeping you posted-
GeebusD
I'm still around, though. And writing more than ever.
So I'm writing for a new performance work. It's not quite Silver Cord but more experimental. It's a 10 minute work based around one character who is a young child, but would be played by a woman. She has had a tragic accident that has rendered her stuck between two worlds, with a magical sort of quality to bring emotions to the audience, forcing them out of their lives and into her childish world of the suburban summer.
This is just prose that will somehow, somewhere relate. Maybe. The work is going to be called February.
We were sitting on the front porch- not really a verandah but just the steps leading to the front door, painted red, with the gorgeous spiky crimson bouganvillea vine. The grass on the front lawn was still alive then. Were we talking? Did we talk? Did we even like each other? It was a warm Sunday afternoon unbroken by any need to work, or do chores, or anything. Pure childhood, it was pure rest. The regular 'chhchh' of the cicadas sang us into sleepiness, along with the high clouds in the blue sky, floating like us, and the smells of summer.
We heard the Mr Whippy van a few blocks away and suddenly had the urge, as all children do, to run around screaming until somebody's mum gave us a dollar for an ice cream. We had no concept of money then. The minor-keyed sad Greensleeves tune echoed around the sleepy suburb, waking everyone from their stupor, probably sending elderly people into waves of reminiscence. The ice cream really wasn't that good- grainy and sickly sweet- but we were kids. We had no idea. And it was as simple as that.
For a long time I thought your accident had been caused by that ice cream from the Greensleeves van. But it wasn't, I realise now. It was fate.
Keeping you posted-
GeebusD