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1. |
A Storm Approaches.
05:00
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Two characters (A & C) upon a balcony. A storm approaches.
A. Rapture, my rapture, my delight, its shallow bounds
As limitless as imagination’s dull end,
It is this hard spur that invigorates my life.
But here, this raging cold, tempestuous in its might,
To you it is that I open my perfect arms
And beg for the urge of meaning.
C. Everyday I
Find my way to flaccid worth and back again,
Over countries peeled free of natures binding chords
And left morose to sit content in their freedom,
Over palaces watched by hordes shrouded in hush,
And ever is unkind in a jar of trapped flies.
Each muted liberty is hidden in sick light,
Each hour comes lightly and leaves naught but tangled mess
Strewn over and again with the breath of stolen lies
Inherited cheaply, with mere pennies to show
For every gleeful sorrow that has passed these lips.
Still, in unrest lurks coarse desire, unwilling to
Bond my arms, knowing that these chains – they are not chains.
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2. |
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The storm hits.
A. Here name himself an animal, so now strike me
With the rain; beat my flesh to tendered meat. Always
Higher, always stronger than you clouds. The cold, it
Chills, bones freeze, and matted hair collects your fine buds,
And in every defiance know I am alive!
I am the scars that march, in all better than the
Beast. A worshipful piety borne through the marks
That past trials gave. Make no plans on my dignity
For dignity is mine and here I show it well.
I have dove from cliff’s edge to be pulled back with ease,
I have thrown myself down mountainside, yet I stand
Here before you. I know that for these things and more
Beyond recall I am realized.
C. It feels me, this storm,
It wrecks my thoughts. And yet my skin denies me dead.
Reckless seems the youthful plague I covet when soaked
In older things. Soak my remiss, soak my meekness.
Were I of subtle mind still I would find reproach
In such a shower. There are stains on these hands that
The rain cannot remove, hard as it will, and so
I, small and pallid, must remain to weather all.
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3. |
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Enter secondary character.
2. Bastardize the art form that you call yourself, a raped and conscious martyrdom
of perfect health. Subtle is the winding that falls back to lust. Liquid whoring matron
fed in starched mistrust.
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4. |
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Exit secondary character.
C. Should I have been forever worthless, should I be
So still, but the lack would be my own. Forever
Is a staled bitch if the worn tracks yet prove untrue.
Flesh give me solace, flesh where is your appetite
To starve me with affected boons and scribbled hearts.
There are no words to push the crutch on. There are no
Words left that could breach the words that have since been said.
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5. |
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Curtain Lowers. Curtain Rises.
(instrumental)
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6. |
The Storm Recedes.
05:05
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The storm recedes.
C. There is truth in words like there is truth in hate
For every sick child that finds their sickness gently
Caressing the sickly core of them. It can’t be
Truth, but every searing word burned harder than
The weak misery that flamed before. Every
Auxiliary temple has left us in ruins,
Rigid and lifeless and left to sleep. Mannequins
And Marquis with emotion, no less than fear, with
Pity and silence, and love is emblazoned on
Each and every chest, though there is none here.
A. And here
Is the stench of wretched flesh and ordinary
Thoughts. Where is my dignity? Where is this mankind?
There is the scant scent of femininity in
The air, which I would call dissention. And here I
Shall allow none of it, no callous disregard,
There will be no more immorality, no bad dreams.
With these hands, with these often over-laden hands…
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7. |
Enter Crowd.
06:14
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Enter crowd. A strikes C to the ground and kicks at him.
C. Here is the ashpit of wounds, this bruising shell sings
A lone morning beast surreptitiously burnt out
And left to cracking modes. It is here, this infant
Hour, that each child is brought to bear, charged with self-doubt
And I doubt, I doubt every wave and every drop.
The staggered tigers in grand carved forests still stop
And look and say, “we are speechless, we are speechless.”
And there is horror and there is murder, caress
The glands that shake the black cat’s bones. These pretty things
Have lost their façade, though beauty does still remain,
A shining face divinity crutched, its glow scant
Upon the scarred earth that I clearly eat in vain.
Though slaughter is horrid upon this birth I feign,
Blood and ecstasy move withal, oh, I am slain.
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8. |
(Dies)
04:04
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(Dies)
A. Victory is sweet in its sweetness, majesty
Asks no recompense for justice and blank scripture.
I will have the death of it. Where is the sexed green
Garter, I ask for nothing more. These searing gold
Origins pass the maid in her bed. Where is it?
Let us pass from here to victory, though his priests
May cry pretense, it is the bloodied man left who
Will write the books he shall burn. Where is the garter?
Lecherous beetles all, I am cleaned of all sins.
These temples all shall be built again, these temples.
And as we march through other forums… Where is it?
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9. |
Exeunt.
04:14
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Exeunt.
(instrumental)
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The Ludvico Treatment Toronto, Ontario
Melody & noise from the unbridled Canadian wilderness.
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