A Slice Of The Empire by Zia Ahmed, Nick Cassenbaum, E.V. Crowe, Iman Qureshi, Dalia Taha and Joel Tan written and composed by D.J. Walde GEORGE: Stiff Upper Lip Keep Calm & Carry On Shut Your Cake Hole Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk It’s a piece of cake, and put the kettle on Sugar & Spice and all things nice Shopping for cake and cross the waves Things that got lost along the way… OLATUNJI: In exchange for rubies, rubber, tin, we got English, borders, Original Sin. Thanks, I guess, but here’s a hole, and from it generations of wasted souls bleed like a river as wide as the Thames… Bright with death like Elizabeth’s diadem. The Nile, the Ganges, the river Niger... Free based loot, enough to oblige her. Queen of the Realm, high out of her mind... Can’t see the track marks left behind EVERYONE: (Space for retort/quote… currently hello… what what….) NADIA: You wanna toss it out like rusty keys, Marie Kondo your history. Pick it up... hold it close... That sparks not joy, it’s a city of ghosts plucked from ancestral mausoleums, put next to the gift-shop in the British Museum. What’s that crunching under your feet? Brittle bones paving Regent street. That wailing in the wind you hear? Language dying, death by Shakespeare. EVERYONE: (Space for retort/quote…) OLATUNJI: “We gave you roads, wealth is health… Not every Queen calls it the Commonwealth”. But the only thing common about it, Sis? A deep motherfucking identity crisis. Can’t open my mouth without hearing it... tongues and souls twisted into Brit. Mum and Dad, Gran before them, Dust of the empire out in their phlegm.
So tell me again it was “long ago”… It’s as fresh as the spice in your local Tesco. EVERYONE: (Space for retort/quote….) GEORGE: Stiff Upper Lip Keep Calm & Carry On Shut Your Cake Hole Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk It’s a piece of cake, and put the kettle on Sugar & Spice and all things nice Shopping for cake and cross the waves Things that got lost along the way… SIMRAN: the stiff upper lip is shaking give it some botox the chinny chin chin is waning give it some botox british history is changing give it some botox they said we need to rename things give it some botox we’ll meet again scratch that we’ll thieve again don’t know where don’t know when emergency covid conga line emergency covid conga line we’re listening + we’re learning yah yah yah welcome to our new diversity tsar carpe diem seize the day we cut through countries like a piece of cake you must leave but he can stay thanks for dinner now clean the plates some sunny day what a myth being born here it don’t mean shit
EVERYONE: you’re british til they say you’re not you’re british til they say you’re not SIMRAN: mano billi mano billi kahan gayi thi dekhne maharani ko mein london gayi thi GEORGE: Stiff Upper Lip Keep Calm & Carry On Shut Your Cake Hole Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk It’s a piece of cake, and put the kettle on Sugar & Spice and all things nice Shopping for cake and cross the waves Things that got lost along the way… NADIA & LAURA: We are going to have our cake and eat it (Wooo Hooooo) We will easily have our cake and be eating it. (Eat that cake boy…) We might not have our cake and eat it. (No Noooo) But we are going to be in the Great British Bakery (Brexit bakery….) We are going to be near to cake. Unless it’s closed. ALEX: There are people we will never know. They may walk ahead of us in the street for some minutes. That will also be brief. Trivial things, like the weight of a school bag on the back of an adolescent girl suddenly become a mystery, trying to understand what it means to be alive, and walk on two feet, to forgive others, and be forgiven by them, to be you and not me. Maybe at this moment, while we are without future, I can point my question at you like a pistol:
What if your life was mine? GEORGE & THE PLAYERS: Stiff upper lip keep calm and carry on (x2) Cake (x16) Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa (x4)
STUART: Men drop the stiff upper lip. Engage with who you are. Engage with the world in a different way. You’re inability to take responsibility is literally killing women. You are not special, so relax Take responsibility for yourself and those around you and let people take responsibility for you LAURA: Antidepressants work Therapy works. You are a tool of neoliberalism. Neoliberalism has to end now Let go, let go of power The structures are shit Meritocracy is false Protecting wealth doesn't work. Stop protecting wealth. STUART: The world will continue once you’re gone, so make your impact small The world will continue once you are gone, so don’t make a mess. The world will continue once you are gone and will forget your name. Stop trying to get it remembered. LAURA: They try to divide us. Don’t let them divide us. Connect. Connect. It’s the only way we can win.
GEORGE & EVERYONE: Stiff upper lip keep calm and carry on (x2) Cake (x16) Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa Yaa (x4) Are we lost is it over? (x3), Are we lost now we’re older? (x2)
OLATUNJI & STUART: (HARMONIES – ALEX, LAURA, SIMRAN, NADIA)
We can’t have community Without unity So what do we do with our history Of empire and inequity Knowing we were never households alike in dignity? How can we just sit down and talk it out Over a cup of tea When even that tea Has been pillaged from another country? And at a time when we’re connected through laptop screens Pulling up bridges and questioning what it means To be one nation under the sun I have never felt more alone. I don’t have the answers. But what I do know is: Yes, We might be an island But even islands are connected underneath.
Cosmic Collective By Nick Cassenbaum
Begins with a classic looking fortune teller. there is static and then our teller infiltrates the scene. They are holding a little red book in which they read out the horoscopes. Comrades I am interrupting to tell you that the stars have aligned and we are on the verge of a revolution. Don’t fight it. It’s happening. I am here to tell you how your sign will aid and position you in the collective. The first thing I have to tell you is that you are not special. Cosmically there have been many versions of you that have walked this planet and there will be many after you are dead, buried and rotting. You are not special. Ok. I implore you not to take this as an insult but rather as a kind of liberation of the self so you can exist in the collective and take your role within it. Now comrade you need to skip to your sign. There is no need for you to hear other people's words. Quite frankly there isn’t the time. Just take responsibility for yourself. You are vital for the collective. Aries. Headstrong, you act before thinking. You get irritated by the minute detail. With your joyous disposition and passion you make a good leader. Your drive can be infectious, you will empower your comrades and be the fire they need behind them. Comrade practise listening, really listening and slow down. This may be tricky but it is important for other members of the collective so they feel heard. Use that natural leading to take a step back and allow others to blossom. I promise you, this will make you much happier and feel less alone. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Taurus. I know as a taurus you like nothing more than relaxing, being surrounded by beautiful things and taking it all in. A hard worker you are not afraid to roll up your sleeves but I promise you that all your work will be rewarded with exactly what you desire, relaxing and enjoying your surroundings. You may have to relinquish some material pleasures. This will come naturally as it was never meant to be the material that you enjoyed but the natural world. Capitalism is to blame for that. You will take to it not like a bull to a red rag but rather a fish to water. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Gemini, Some people will take you to be two faced. This is not true. You are what you are. You wear your heart on your sleeve and process your emotions externally. A social butterfly who can talk to anyone. The collective cannot exist without you. Living in a collective is tough. You make it so much easier for people. But check yourself. Make sure you see people as people and not just fun experiences for you. Some members of the collective process internally so think about their feelings even if they are expressed differently to yours. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Cancer Beneath that hard shell is a loyal, compassionate and intuitive person who is instinctively maternal. You create safe environments and spaces for yourself and others. Your role in the collective is clear. You hold it together, offer people comfort and a great meal every now and
again. There is another side to you cancer. A side that if you are wronged you will close off to people. Look after yourself. Don’t always put others' needs first. People might end up taking you for granted. and if they do that….well let’s just say no one wants to get on the bad side of you. But you can give them a helping hand by prioritising self care. Just cos you know what others need, doesn’t mean they know what you need. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Leo Being in the collective is not easy for everyone. And Leo. I am afraid you find it hardest of them all. Channeled right you are a most essential member. Let go some of your ego. Your loyalty, determination and charisma will stand you in great stead in the collective. People are drawn to you for your dedication. Use this power in the collective. Raise morale, be there for people . Being in the collective should be joyful. You are ruled by the sun. You'll brighten up people’s days and hold them in times of need. You need to work on letting go of your individualism as this could be at odds with the collective. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Virgo A natural perfectionist and processor you are a key component in the collective. You are very likely to be central to the creation of it. Kind, gentle and supportive. Along with your analysing and organisational mind you can not only create the environments for the collective, but also find yourself explaining them. There will become a point where you will need to stop chasing the ideal in yourself, others and the environment. Once you are part of the collective. Try to enjoy it, try to relax and enjoy it. It will never be perfect, accept that and be present Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Libra You probably think of we as opposed to me already. A mindset that all in the collective should enjoy. With your help they might get there. Your nesting skills will help facilitate others to live in aesthetic quarters. Beauty should be valued. Your inbuilt desire for things to be fair and balanced will help keep the collective an equal place. Famed for your indecision, with capitalism eradicated this may not be an issue. However it may arise. Have faith with your intuition and you'll be able to navigate this new way of living. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now. Scorpio The most mysterious of the signs with a sting in your tail. For you being in the collective could be hard if you allow yourself to be ruled by your ego, you could sit and wait for your chance to grab power. This shouldn't be the case in the collective. If you can harness this intent on the cause you are an essential comrade. You will make things happen. If you can get yourself in a position where you trust those around you have unparalleled depth, empathy and commitment. So once in the collective work on prioritising that over control and you will be just fine. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Sagitarius The explorers and the comedians of the zodiac. You are always looking for the next adventure. This outlook will be ideal as you get your footing in this new way of life, new way of
relating to people and new way of existing. And funny, you will have others around you engrossed with stories. You’ll be vital in keeping up morale and helping others in the collective who find it difficult. Sag, please keep your witty tongue in check. You speak your mind and don’t often hold back. You could end up upsetting people and disrupt the harmony, so be careful. I do think there will be enough things to deal with to indulge your need for change. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Capricorn The mythical sea goat. Known for doing the hard work early in your life and then relaxing and enjoying later life Your drive and enthusiasm will be important in getting the collective going. you will be a powerful force in the initiation of the collective, rallying and pushing others. This hard work will pay dividends as the collective takes shape and eventually you will get to relax. It’s important that when you can, you relax. The point of the collective isn't to work the whole time. With your workaholic tendencies you could sink into trying to perfect the things around you. But instead take a breath, have fun. The people closest to you know there is a fun and carefree side to you. Allow that side to come through. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Aquarius A big thinker who hates authority. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the main instigators of the revolution. You are known for being a humanitarian and want to change the world and bring social change. This rebellious streak will no doubt put you as a driving force in the formation of the collective and a rejection of the current norm. You can get so caught up in the change that you may forget your loved ones. The collective can’t exist without familial love to prop it up. Don’t be afraid to take alone time. I know that is very important to you. Just cos you’ll be in a collective doesn't mean you have to lose sight of you as a person. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Pisces You are torn between fantasy and reality. The most compassionate, empathetic and actually psychic sign in the zodiac with immense sensitivity. There is a danger that with any society that decisions can be made which may seem like the best thing but will adversely affect people. You will make sure things are decided in an empathetic and compassionate way. You sometimes may get lost in emotions. Try not to. Pisces you can often be found swimming away from your problems. Try not to do this in the collective, try and face them head on you have all the ability and power to do this. Join in comrade. I assure you, it will be better. Will be better than it is now.
Take heed comrade. Get in line. Or you won’t have a place at all. There are four elements, fire, air, earth and water. There is one more. One more element which if you don’t take part you will become. Dust.
GARDENING TALES FOR GIRLBOSSES By Nessah Muthy
CAST Three white women. Three women of colour.
SETTING An English garden.
GARDENING TALES FOR GIRLBOSSES
Chapter One: Flowerpremacy
Chapter Two: Flowersimilation
Chapter Three: Flowergility
Flowerpremacy
A group of white women tend to their beautiful English garden.
Roses Lilies Tulips burst through the soil.
A few women of colour appear.
The white women let them join in the gardening.
They are given seeds.
Handed tools.
The women of colour tend to their flowers.
More and more flowers grow. Different flowers. In very different ways, but no less beautiful.
Daffodils Pansies Peonies Daffodils crossed with Pansies crossed with Peonies burst through the soil.
The white women watch. A whisker of a smile. Slowly, secretly the white women chop down the flowers belonging to the women of colour.
Flowersimilation
A group of white women tend to their beautiful English garden.
Roses Lilies Tulips burst through the soil.
A few women of colour appear.
The white women let them join in the gardening.
They are given seeds.
Handed tools.
The women of colour tend to their flowers.
More and more flowers grow. Different flowers. In very different ways, but no less beautiful.
Daffodils Pansies Peonies Daffodils crossed with Pansies crossed with Peonies burst through the soil.
The white women watch. A whisker of a smile. Slowly, secretly the white women chop down the flowers belonging to the women of colour. One woman of colour (with sensational flowers for eyebrows) stands in front of her flower patch. Smiles. She wears the exact same clothes as the white women. The white women smile back at her. The white women hand the woman of colour some shears and she takes them and she helps them cut down the flowers belonging to the other women of colour.
Flowergility
A group of white women tend to their beautiful English garden.
Roses Lilies Tulips burst through the soil.
Only one woman of colour appears this time. The one with the sensational flowers for eyebrows.
Though, the dead/chopped flowers, previously belonging to the women of colour, litter the ground. They envelop the ground so heavily that no greenery can be seen, no soft scented flowers can be smelt. Instead, just dead, rotting, mushy compost.
The lone woman of colour (The one with the sensational flowers for eyebrows) and is dressed as a ‘Chelsea Lady’ She tends to her flower patch. Buries her head deep within the soil. Becomes a complete white flower head.
The white women stand awkwardly and tend nervously to their patches.
The white women uncomfortably gather their watering cans.
They water woman of colour/Chelsea Lady/white flower head and her roots.
It grows bigger than ever before.
One white woman approaches woman of colour/Chelsea Lady/white flower head.
She snips her shears.
She cuts off the woman of colours’/Chelsea Lady/white flower head off.
The English garden and its soil soon becomes bone dry.
There is no light, no air, no water.
OBITUARY by Leo Butler (Gentle music) HELEN PEACOCK: Hello and welcome to this evening’s edition of In Memorium with me, Helen Peacock. Well, it’s a packed programme today, as we look back on some of the major casualties of the past twelve months. We take a hard sniff at Prince Andrew’s sweat glands, kick around Laurence Fox’s acting career and finally a good look under the sofa for Keir Starmer’s ten pledges. But first let’s turn to the two sudden and unprecedented deaths which have dominated the headlines this week. Debate and Nuance. After years of trolling and accusations of fakery, Debate was discovered bound and gagged at his home in Ladbroke Grove in the early hours of Monday morning. Forensics at the scene removed a copy of the Daily Express and a cluster of outraged Twitter Feeds from deep inside the victim’s windpipe. Debate – which shot to fame in the Athenian Democracy of Ancient Greece had been living under house-arrest since the EU Referendum of 2016. Though the attack is believed to be politically motivated, neither the Left or the Right can decide which of one of them takes the rap. The Left blame the Right who blame the Left for blaming the Right who blame the Left who stormed upstairs to his bedroom while Right pissed off to the pub. Culpability aside, both sides agree to agree that the murder is a triumph of common sense, and - determined to lift the public mood – Boris Johnson announced that Debate’s corpse will be glued to the side of a double-decker bus as part of the Festival of Brexit. Alas, no such honour for Nuance, who last night unfortunately took her own life while being held at Brook House Detention Centre. A child-star of the Renaissance, Nuance had been swinging in and out of the cultural zeitgeist for the past four centuries. Tripping off her nut, she found shades of grey in everything, including grey. As a result, Grey sued Nuance for defamation of character with the court ruling that while Grey could choose to identify as Grey - the jury was still split on the physics.
Governments and religious leaders the world over have condemned Nuance as an effing BEEP and a BEEP and would like to see her BEEP on the ground with a BEEP in the BEEP BEEP entrails.
Most recently, the Home Office - under pressure from QAnon – decided to challenge Nuance’s legal status, threatening to send her back to the age of enlightenment along with Voltaire and the rest of the elitist paedophiles. But in the end, Nuance was found hanging from her cell leaving only a cd of Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet and a well-thumbed copy of Nabokov’s Lolita. In the wake of these two cases, Facts & Evidence are now receiving treatment at the Royal Nightingale Hospital. Contention and Rebuttal have called for police protection, and Sitting-On-The-Fence was last seen jumping from a vehicle on the M25. Compromise and Middle-Ground appealed for calm as they were led away to the internment camps, and Calm itself is wetting the bed at a care home in … Oh – oh what’s that? Oh, I’m sorry I’ve just been informed that this edition of In Memorium has been cancelled. All editions in fact. Something about a, um - (checks notes) hashtag – (checks notes) cut-backs, um Well, I don’t know to say. I guess it’s back to freelancing for me. Strictly Come Dancing in a year or two, Pointless Celebrities – get me out of this shed. Christ, it’s so dark in here. Hello? Could someone let me out of here please? (She knocks/rattles on the shed door) I’m out in the garden, the shed! Hello? Is anyone there? (She knocks/rattles the shed door – white noise/interference on the airwaves drowning her out) Let me out here, you snowflakes! You knuckle-dragging gammons! I’m Helen Peacock for Christ’sake, you can’t silence me! (Snazzy news music/theme drowns out Helen Peacock, and a new Presenter, Diane Spencer, (with an American or Australian accent) – takes over the airwaves) DIANE SPENCER: This is the all-new Great Britain First News with me, Diane Spencer. Later this hour we’ll be asking “Can minority peoples ever truly be British, have they evolved enough? By refusing to fly the Union flag, can they be blamed for the latest spike in the china-virus?”. To discuss and more we’ll be getting the lowdown with your favourites and mine Toby Young and Julia Hartley Brewer. But first, a word from our sponsor.
Red. I guess I’m never going back to London. Never again.
It’s heartbreaking, but true. The reason? Well. We are not supposed to take flights any more. The warming. Yeah. The thing is I live far, far away. South America. Far. The last station. And in order to get to London I need to fly thirteen — fifteen hours. It’s too much. This place is becoming a desert. Yeah. A desert. Well. Now. Tourists take planes all the time. And, let’s face it, most people are still going do it. Not me, though. I have a conscience. And my conscience tells me I can’t fly back to London ever again. It’s heartbreaking because I really like London.
I’ve been there a few times. I loved those buses, the parks, the red, the usual stuff. But I loved a lot more. Of London. Now. This is what I’m going to really miss from London. I’m going to miss my own story. Yeah. For example. And this is true. When I was 29 I got divorced in London. True story. One morning my wife sat me at the kitchen table. And told me she was in love with someone else. Not with me. Not any more. Fair enough. Love is love and love ends in surprising ways. Now. This didn’t happen in London.
It happened in some town in Italy. It was snowing outside. Yeah. So I said, listen. We don’t need to break up right now. Why don’t we meet in London? We have a trip planned anyway. We have our plane tickets. Let’s give each otter a break, let’s take a breath. Let’s meet in London in thirty days. Sure. Yes. And thirty days later we did meet in London. I had hopes. I hoped London would provide some needed romanticism. Well. We met at the Gloucester Road tube. Lots of hostels around there. Not very good but good enough. She showed up unhappy. Her face red from crying. In a couple of minutes she explained it was over. The end. Okay. Fine. I had been preparing for this so I said, fine, let’s go for a walk. And it was a great idea. After a few minutes we were smiling and talking. I mean, we were still sad, but it was a friendly separation after all. And suddenly we found ourselves lost in a maze of narrow streets. Small buildings everywhere. A white village, really. A fairy tale in the middle of the city. We loved it. Seeing something so beautiful was — soothing. We even started laughing. For no good reason. Probably in order to compensate for all the sadness. The heartbreak wasn’t stopping us. We laughed, anyway. Who cares. And then we fell silent. Until we saw a short woman walk across the street. She was short. A very short woman. In a very red coat. With a hood on. A red hood. And she, my now ex, said. Look. There. The little red riding hood, she said. Perfect timing. And we laughed really hard. Loud screams. Of laughter. Now, of course this was laughter combined with sorrow, but laughter, nevertheless. And then we kept walking.
In silence again. Both glad to see that our shared sense of humor was still there. Still here. The same sense of humor that had kept us together for years. Yeah. But after a few streets we parted ways and it was over. So London disappointed me. I got no help from London. None. No romantic energy pouring from those white buildings. None from those red bricks. But maybe London knew better. Maybe. Because a few years later I met someone new, my current partner. And one day we flew to London. And we walked those same streets. We went out looking for the little red riding hood. Around the Gloucester Road Tube. We walked and walked holding hands. And I told her about the break up, the sad laughter, and all that. She thought it was sad and funny. Then she asked me a couple of questions, but that was it. Yeah. And we didn’t find the red. Yeah. Did not. Up until then I thought that London was just indifferent. Not romantic. But indifferent, like nature. But now I think that London’s indifference may be a special way of being wise. A wise city. A wise city that quietly spoke to me saying: love is dead now, but you’ll come back to me holding the hand of a new love. I like to think that. Because it’s nice. And also, I like giving agency and will to inanimate objects. A city, in this case. A most beautiful city. A city, animated. What’s wrong with giving cities a soul? Nothing. Well. So back to the beginning. I’m not going back to London. No more red riding hoods. No. Not going back. And it’s heartbreaking. Because I’ve been in love in London. Yeah. And there are a couple of street corners in London that still choke me up. You know. Every week I check Youtube to watch one of those virtual tours of London. Beautiful stuff. Holland Park in the rain is nice. But there are a lot more videos to watch. Yeah.
It’s nice to see the rain. It’s nice to see that over there it’s still raining. Because this place where I live is becoming a desert. Fast. Yeah. It’s heartbreaking. Yeah. No more London for me. No. Never again. End.
Written by guillermo calderón. Santiago, Chile — 2021
Museum of Agony
By Maud Dromgoole
Each Agony is laid out with a museum card. A crushing archive of hope. This is my Filofax. I’ve had it (Jealousy) since I was about sixteen. I‘ve always been very bad at Filofax –leather and paper. ordering my life and Purchased Paperchase Tottenham Court unreasonably jealous of any Road 2007 one who isn’t. Anyone who says ‘in my diary’ and has actually written something in their diary. Should be shot I think. The first few weeks of any year document the brief delusion that this year might be different but by February it’s blank. The notes section commemorates other idiot fantasies. That I’d learn Russian. That I’d find a flu buddie that I’d look up the words anagogical, bhadralok, vulgate, that I’d watch Brigada, read Matusuo Taseko, ring my bank, ‘do’ anything I had ‘to do’. This I copied off an 11th century monk when I was 18. Hebban olla vogala nestas hinase hic anda thu, wat unbidan we nu? At the time I think I thought it was very romantic, something I might say to a partner I was ready to commit to at the ancient age of like 24 or something. They would look and me confused by the sexy enigma I was. Then smile and take me into their arms when I told them what it meant: Have all the birds begun their nests except for me and you, what are we waiting for? It carries weight differently for me now. Archive of Hope
Death by a Thousand Pricks
My cat, Nora, smashed this. (Wrath) The other day. Which is a shame. I don’t really get Cactus & Pot – Flesh and Terracotta Cactus free Paris 2019 angry anymore, I don’t Pot – Dalit Candles 2020 know how useful it is. I think it’s probably very useful I think I’m just tired. I got it for free actually. The cactus. I was in Paris and hungover and actually a bit more than hungover. And feeling a bit weird because cos this guy in the club the night before had pushed me into the toilets kinda mouth first, jammed my hip against the toilet roll holder and tried to, any way he didn’t I PUSHED him and it was fine, but, it was not great but it was fine. And I was a bit shaky so I told this guy I was there with about it and he wasn’t really listening and just also tried to -. Which was also not great but fine. He gave me some coke after though so is that> well that’s not fine either is it. That’s just co-opting me into the oppression of Bolivia. He worked Unesco or Unicef or, U no, one of those ones. Next day I’m feeling a bit floaty and I notice everyone coming at me is carrying a tree. Like some avant guard school production of the cherry orchard. CHANGE IS COMING. Actually a plant warehouse was closing down. Everything was free. Puis-je prendre le cactus? Je prends the cactus. Sixty of them actually. Still have most of them. Nora’s working her way through. They’re quite difficult to clean up is the thing, without getting thousands of tiny shards in your hands. They don’t come out for weeks, and just make me feel a bit spikey all the time. Which is fine. I mean. It’s not great but it’s fine.
A Rainbow in Limited Colours (Pride) Vase and Bowl – Glazed Crank Stoneware. Handmade Ceramics Cooperative Bermondsey 2020
These I just think are really good. They are exactly my taste. I actually don’t care if you don’t like them. I actually think if you don’t like them that is because of a deficiency in you. There are few things in
my life that I, Actually I’m a very good cook. I cook food, to taste, exactly, precisely how I would like it to. I’m very good at that. And these pots. They are perfect to me. I gave them to my mum for Christmas and I make her tell me how nice they are often. I’m actually quite annoyed she lent them to me for this. If I had pots as fine as these I wouldn’t let them out my sight. I thought about writing something about sexuality for pride. But there’s a knot there. It’s a complicated one. These are simple. And perfect. I understand them. And am very proud of them.
Growing up I was also very aware of what was mine and (Greed) what was not and was mainly 1. Dove interested in increasing the 1.1. Colour Care Shampoo 1.2. Daily moisture conditioner number of things that were mine Fareshare surplus stock on the planet. Shampoo bottles 2020 2. Faith in Nature were one of the things I was 2.1. Avocado Shampoo very sure, were ours. And I was 2.2. Avocado Conditioner Presents from Emma Smith Christmas very sensitive about them. I 2019 2.3. Lavender and Geranium Shampoo bar used to top up old shampoo Present Jessica Dromgoole bottles from new ones so that July 2020 3. Neal’s Yard maybe nine or so bottles would 3.1. Orange Flower Shampoo have just enough you couldn’t 3.2. Orange Flower Conditioner Present Sophie Byatt throw them away. I used to play April 2019 4. Romney Marsh Wool Fat Shampoo schools with them. Line them up Purchase Macknades Food Shop and tell Pantene she couldn’t sit 2018 5. Organic Argan Oil Liquid Gold Morocco with matey bubble bath Uncancelled amazon subscription because they would chat. As 2017 6. Zero Waste Path Normal Hair 2in1 I’ve got older I’ve tried be a bit Present Cat Horn Christmas 2020 less consumerist. A bit less 7. Organic Botanical Vinegar Hair Rinse plastic, a bit less impactful. This Present Cat Horn Christmas 2020 is my current collection. Mainly 8. Dr. Bronner’s All-One Rose Pure Castille gifts actually. They range from Soap Bar – Unwrapped Present Beth Pitts big palm oil dove to zero waste April 2020 eco bar. Now I am grown I own 9. Dr. Bronner’s All-One Rose Pure Castille Soap Bar – Wrapped very many things. Most of my Premature reorder Amazon 2021 new things are carefully considered low impact long life eco products. Which makes me Purchased paperchase 2007But most of the time saving the planet is feel very worthy. just something else to buy. How to Clean the Planet
I want you to drink my Dragon’s Heartstring body like my toes are dipped in the ocean. I (Lust) want to feel teeth on my Wand – poplar wood, dragon heartstringneck and nails in my red crayon thighs and I want burn. I Whittled with new penknife Theale want to see colours and Somerset 1998 light and nothing at all. I want to feel all the world and none of it to matter. I want to rumble and rut and feel cherished and adored. I want to feel violated and safe. and safe to be violated. I want you. I want you. I want you to eat me whole. I want I want i want i want i want i want i want you. Yes you. I want you. No actually you, listen to me, I want you, I want you to ravish me, I want you, I want you to want me I want to be wonton, I want you I want you i want you to pull yourself together and take the whole of me. take me whole have me all. I want you. I want you to satisfy every unrealistic corner of love i was mis-fed. I want you to make me see stars. And light and the whole of the universe. I want you to make me believe in magic again. i want to be magic again. This by the way is a wand i whittled myself age 7 when i was waiting for my Hogwarts letter. I’ve never done anything dirty with it. Don’t be disgusting.
(Sloth)
Onions-385g-95p-absolutelynot, Onions-organic-750-1.25. (Gluttony) onionsonions, Celeriac –Flesh in plastic, with paper Redmere farmers! 50p A kilo. Purchased Tesco Lewisham 2021 4 baking potatoes 50, no, clubcard price, 41p. Celeriac. £1.40 A kilo. £1.40 a kilo. That is. Ridiculous. Find a small one. Don’t use your hands, there’s a pandemic on. Use your elbows. Use your lovely elbows. Versatile elbows. Sneezin: elbows, greeting: elbows. Never wash them. The text is, very small. Pick one, just pick. This one. £1.40 a kilo might not sound like a huge amount, until you consider - celeriac is very heavy vegetable. This one. The smallest one. Is 1.290kg. That’s £1.81. That’s an avocado. Hass. That’s a turnip grade vegetable at oyster king price. Who decides these things. Who goes, I’m going to pull a root that looks like hairy brain, out of the earth, and make it an elite vegetable. Waitrose, has got 138 recipes for celeriac, celeriac steaks with winter pesto, celeriac and kale conchiglie with pecan crunch, celeriac bhaji burger, the happy pear’s vegan lasagne with basil cashew cream and, celeriac. whole roast celeriac joint with peppercorn sauce. I mean. And they’re not selling. I work at a food bank and we get literal tonnes of them through the door. It’s just a funny little ugly thing refusing to hold itself cheaply and i kinda admire that. I’m on universal credit at the moment, which i am grateful for but does mean i know a lot more than i used to about the price of vegetables. Just imagine though if we were in the royal court bar right now. I’d buy an £8.25 large glass of Gavi di Gavi and one for you too or whatever you want. Maybe we’ll get gin and tonics, double go on then, actually can I have a gin and soda, with a slice of grapefruit, if you have it. Amazing. Can we get some chips? I haven’t had dinner. Yeah French fries. Shall we get a bottle. Maybe the albarino it’s only two pounds more. Oh you want red, that’s fine, i’ll have a bottle of albarino to myself to be honest. Oh one more go on then. This is the last one though. No I’ve got a bit left actually, was Celeriac
that last orders! fuck it can i have a disaronno. Do I like disaronno? Double. I do like disaronno. Put the cherry on my little finger, what colour would you call that? I’ve missed my last train. Shall we go out? There’s literally nowhere. I’m gonna walk home. No I am actually gonna walk. I’ve done it before. 7.8 Miles. I’ll be completely fine. I promise. I want to. I’m gonna go. Goodnight.
Subverts By Marcelo Dos Santos
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The tree the leg and the axe. By E V Crowe A small wooden house, in a village in Norway. The arrangement of the furniture and the lighting is intensely cosy: sheep skins over the chairs, ceramic mugs, bright colour candles in old candle holders, design lamps, a woollen item half knitted, a child’s jumper half darned, the crackle of a birch fire and its sweet smell, the sky and mountains beyond. Mari has just come in and is taking off her shoes. They have coffee in ceramic mugs and heart shaped waffles with jam to eat. Inger’s shoes are already off. They are both wearing thick handknitted woollen socks in cheerful colours. Their cheeks are rosy from the cold. Inger lights a candle. Mari: Hei du! Inger: Hei hei. Mari: So cosy! Inger: Ja. Mari: Very cosy in here. Inger: Ja. Mari: Cosy…. And Udin? Inger: He’s not back yet. Mari: And your mother? Inger: Fine. Mari: Your Father? Inger: Fine. Mari: The children? Inger: At school. Mari: We are lucky. Inger: Yes. Mari: No change here. Inger: Nei.
Mari: Hardly any infection. No face masks. Life as normal. It’s like we’ve been watching it on TV. I am glad I’ll be around to see what happens next. Because… cliff-hanger. Inger: What? Mari: It’s a cliff-hanger. Inger: A cliff-hanger? Mari: Yes. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, but you want to find out. Inger: Yes. Mari: You’re desperate to see the next…twist. Inger: We hardly watch the news. Because, we have friends in other places. People who are suffering. It’s awful to be the safe ones. Isn’t it? Mari: We’re lucky to be here. In the mountains. In the quiet. Only natural to be gripped. To be glued to your seat. It’s a cliff-hanger! Inger: I don’t think it is quiet in the village. I find it very loud. Mari: Nei! Inger: It’s harder to ignore people in the village. Everyone’s lives are much closer. Much…louder. What’s in the bag Mari? Mari: This? On the floor by Mari’s feet is a long, dark zip up or drawstring bag. Inger: Yes? Mari: We have been chopping a lot of wood… Inger: Right. Mari: We had a lot of wood to chop... And the girls got new axes for Christmas. They do some tween-sized ones at the sports shop. Inger: I see. Mari: And we’ve been out in the woods... Inger: Are the axes sharp? Mari: They have to be sharp to get through the wood…
Inger: Are they big? Mari: No, the ones they sell are smaller sharp axes at the sports shop. For kids. Inger: Right. Mari: We were up near Udin’s parents’ farm. Pause. Mari: Did he get all the sheep down? At the end of the summer? Inger: Yes, all the sheep came down. Mari: I saw him cutting down trees, building new fences. Inger: He had to stop doing the fences. Mari: Oh, why? Inger knowing that Mari already knows everything, but stillInger: Because he went out yesterday with his mother, to cut some wood to make the fences. And he was standing on sloped ground. And he was about to swing the axe into a large, thick branch of a big tree, when he was distracted. By a person, or a bird, or the church bells or the wind or a smell of bread baking or any one of these constant distractions that literally plague us here. And when he swung the axe, he chopped his leg off instead. And his mother is no good with the phone, and he had to instruct her on how to make the call and that took a while. And by the time the helicopter arrived… Mari: The axe must have been sharp. Inger: Yes it was. Mari: I hadn’t heard. Inger: It’s ok. Everyone knows. I suppose everyone thinks he is a bad farmer and his mother shouldn’t give the sheep to him. Mari: Nei. Inger: It will be harder with one leg. Mari: Yes. Inger: You can tell me what the village is saying about it. Mari: We weren’t sure if he’d lost the leg for sure or there was still a chance for it. Inger: They forgot the leg. The helicopter pilot was quite young. And they were thinking mainly about the clouds and the weather. So
the leg is lost. He will have to go and find it in the woods when he gets out of hospital. Mari: Let me know what happens. If he finds his leg. Inger: Ok. Mari: Cliff-hanger. Mari pulls up the bag. Mari: I thought maybe this could be it. Inger: What? Beat. Mari: His axe. Inger opens up the zip slowly… Mari: Everyone is going to try and come here. To the safe places. Everyone will be at the borders. Everyone will want a seat at the table. And there might not be room. Don’t you think? And then it won’t be nearly so cosy. It makes me want to scream. Inger peers into the dark of the bag. END Pronunciation guide: Mari – The a is long. Like starry. Inger – rhymes with zinger. Udin – Ooodin. Nei- rhymes with tie. Ja – Yah. like tar
And Now, The Weather Nina Segal
And now, the weather. It’s bright and warmer than expected for this time of year. But with low pressure rising, conditions look unsettled, with predictions of unpredictability, volatility and uneven patterns of destruction. And it’s looking like, yes, sunshine – right through the weekend. I recommend an SPF and an increased sense of caution. People’s behaviour can be heightened in hot weather. And it’s hot, today. So hot that he’s in shirtsleeves when I clear my throat to signal I’ve arrived. His tie is loosened and his skin is too. He’s old and sweating and his eyes are on my breasts. I say his name. He doesn’t say mine. I’ve read the weather for a decade and he doesn’t know my name. And why would he? He’s the boss – the god-like leader of this global news service that bears his name – and I’m a pair of breasts. A pair of breasts with no appointment. I feel my neck perspiring. The sky is cloudless and I want to fold my arms across my chest. But I don’t. I keep my hands free. And now, the weather. The words feel sharp and bitter in my mouth. He asks me what I want. I say and he responds with an exaggerated splutter. The weather, go before the news? But it’s the weather – not the news. A band of pressure moves across my temples. I push it down. The weather is the news. There’s nothing causes more harm, than the weather. It should be front page every day. He looks at me pityingly. We do TV. There’s no front page. He gestures with disdain towards the door. I step across and lock it, close the key within my fist. I’m fast. I wear trainers. It’s a perk of only being seen from the waist up. It should be the first item then, I say. Not page, item. The first item, everyday. There’s a shelf of press awards beside his desk – gold faces set in glass. He follows my gaze, then straightens – reminded of his power by these tiny golden men. And what would happen to the actual news? What if there’s an explosion? Or a terrorist attack? Or a grisly murder? His eyes light up like a lightning storm. What if lives are lost? Shouldn’t that be front page news? We do TV, I say. There’s no front page. And lives are being lost. I press the key into my palm, until I break the skin. Blood drips on cream carpet, as I use my phone to find a photo of a heat-related death. He cranes his neck to see my camera roll, then turns away – I’ve seen this one. It’s old – we can’t sell old. The outlook is unsettled and the risk to visibility is high. Do you have one of a child? Or a woman with her clothes ripped by the hurricane, just so? It has to be new – that’s why they call it news. I take a step towards him and he flinches – but I reach beyond him to the shelf of glass-
and-gold. He smiles. See – I know what people want. And they don’t want warnings – don’t want charts or graphs or corpses, not unless they’re very young or very hot, ideally both. They want sex. And violence. And sexy violence. But – he pauses to appraise me, as the humid air converts to rain – you’re not bad. You could lose a pound or ten and see a dermatologist. And a plastic surgeon, if you’ve got ambition. And you can have ambition. But you have to be able to sell. And sex sells. And violence too? The wind crackles like a wildfire, the block of glass is heavy in my grip. His eyes begin to stink with fear. I think of earth cracking, splitting open. Of heat. Of surging. He asks me what I want. I say, again – I want the weather to be the news. He shakes his head – a scattered shower. A bead of something human slides across his desk. It isn’t possible. His voice is cracking. The weather is the weather. The news is the news. In the satellite projection I see he’s fallen to his knees. There’s blood between his teeth. The room smells like urine. He really is very old. I lift my hand. I bring it down. And now, the weather. It’s hot. Unseasonably so. Hot enough to talk about. Hot enough to make the front page. Hot enough to make the weather, the news.
IT MATTERS, THE WAY WE SAY GOODBYE By Joel Tan There are two voices. Me narrates and undergoes the ritual, the other changes form throughout the ritual. == Me Long story short: I fled London for Singapore. Corona. Been here a year. One of a million such sob stories. Back in Singapore, I get these... attacks. In the mornings. Can’t breathe. Paralysed with crying. Months of this, and one of my friends suggests I go see a healer. Like a spiritual healer type. I’m sceptical, but the first session is free, and the doctors just think I’ve got IBS. So… Healer’s Place Spiritual Person Tea. Is it drugs? No it’s just tea. Like mushrooms? No. ‘cuz that’s very illegal, you know that right? And just to confirm, right, the first session The first session is free. Interesting business model. You’ll be back. Oh I’m sure. See sarcasm is how a damaged soul speaks. You’re fraying at the edges, aren’t you? What? So. These attacks. You’ve been feeling… Like shit. Your soul has flaked off. You’ve left bits of yourself all over the world and in the past. You’ve gone around tying them down with all sorts of dead knots. Binding spells. Only way forward is to call these little bits back to you. Soul retrieval. Right. Don’t be sceptical. You’re already here. Relax. Breathe. You’re torn up. Where do you feel the rip? Look for it. The biggest rip.
The plane. Tearing off from the ground. The roar of it in my ear. The speed of it. The earth falling from under my gut… There’s pieces of you there. Yes. What do you see? Plane They wouldn’t give me peanuts ‘cuz of Covid. I’m starving. Last thing in my stomach a disgusting dry Pret sandwich. What comforts you? My own smell. This sweater. I hug myself the whole flight. Whose is it? The sweater. It’s mine. Go to it. What? The smell in the sweater. Garden The smell in the sweater is… a garden. There’s a bit of you there isn’t there? Yes. What else do you smell? Dog shit. Yeah focus on the nice things, please. Why? The garden smells of dog shit. Cigarette smoke. And croissants that one morning. Oh. Oh, we’re getting there. The sweater’s not mine. Obviously not. There’s a fraying string on the sweater. Is there? Oh yeah.
You’ve been fiddling with it. Tug it. Okay. Gently. Okay. Lover Look at this slug. Pause. Oh. Pause. She’s so cute. Or well, they, I think they’re hermaphrodites. This is the morning you found a slug in the garden and fed it lettuce and wouldn’t stop looking until it crawled away into the bushes. I’m so proud of them. I thought, what a gentle, gentle, gentle soul, and here we are, in the garden, and there’s a part of my soul that is a slug on a wet May morning, the morning I turned to you and said I love you and you went-I went very, very silent And later you said I love you too With hesitation, but I hugged you close. Leader/Lover. This is the first binding spell. What? Spiritual Leader
We’ve got to go now.
Why? Think of yourself like an ocean trawler, making your way across the water with a net, hauling-Garbage. I smell garbage. Flat Grief sometimes has a bad smell. Kinda lingers around and rots.
No that’s London coming through the window, I remember smelling it and thinking it might be a long time before I smell it again. It’s the week before I leave, you see, and-Lover Look, this country is going to shit, you should go while you can. We’re in the apocalypse babes, we’re all gonna get the rona, Miss Rona is here for the season finale of the UK. Do you want me to stay? Pause. Wow. Do you want me to stay? You’ve already bought the ticket, what the hell are you talking about? It’s just money. …… I make a face but really want to say: “when I leave this flat, wherever I go I’m drawing a circle around us, and every time I come home to you, the circle is stronger. More binding…” Pause. Instead I say: if you want me to stay I will. I’m not important. Don’t say that. You are. I shouldn’t be important. I’m a mess. I don’t deserve nice things. Or you. Don’t say that. Nothing good stays in my life for long. I’ve broken your heart. I’m bad for you. You’re not. All I’m good for is Dominos and chicken, PS4 games, and getting high. I love you, though. Okay. I want to stay. It’s the apocalypse, hun, run home while you can. Don’t worry about me. Passage
Here’s another part of my soul, on my shoe as I tie it up in a dead knot, leaving the flat to catch my flight. Spiritual Leader How did you say goodbye? A kiss. A long kiss. A hug. Longer than a few heartbeats. I see it now. I turn to go, they turn their back. A severing. An un-knotting. They knew. I didn’t. Afraid of abandonment, they’ve already started gathering their love back into themselves. Your spell of binding… binds you to this moment, tying you up, screaming, and screaming… They won’t let go either. Instagram We break up months later over Instagram Chat. I wail and wail and wail. Then-Lover Hi. You keep sending me memes. Yeah. You never say you miss me. I think your memes are a way of-Memes are just memes. One night I pop an E and tell you I miss you. Are you okay? I’m okay, I just miss you. And the memes stop for a while. Then, Here’s a song I think you’d like on Spotify. I listen to each one, thinking we are bound by the ear and heart this way. Then, I baked sticky buns. Proud of them. I dream I am a sticky bun, sticking to your gut. Spiritual Leader
There’s chunks of your soul trapped in your phone.
That’s very next level. Why? You stare at it like a lover. You love the ghost in the phone. I do. You stare at it before you go to sleep. I do.
When it lights up it’s like… It’s like they’re smiling at me before falling asleep. When you sleep, you pour dreams into your phone. Shit I do. And when you wake up? Absence Fuck. Lover Morning. I wake up gasping for air. I wake up most mornings with knots in my stomach. The knots our legs made in bed. I hold these knots close. It makes me sad to see you like this. Let me go. Let yourself loose. Don’t be sick. Okay. Here. Let’s say goodbye again. Properly this time. A kiss, a hug, longer than a few heartbeats, a parting, a turning back to look. Gather your love back into yourself, so that you can fly further, higher. Breathe. Receive the gift. Breathe. Breathe. I miss you. Spiritual Person/Lover Call all these parts of yourself back to you. I miss you. Call them back. I miss you. Call them back. I miss you… An adorable cosmic slug appears, floating across the cosmos. Myself Here I am, the best parts of you. Squishy and warm and jealous, a little slug that was loved and sent on its way. Coming back to you across the months and oceans. Take me back into yourself, feed me with crunchy lettuce, I am an infinitely gentle, infinitely fragile, infinitely suffering thing… Got you.
Lover (turning to go) Love you. Miss you. Bye. Healer’s Place Spiritual Person How do you feel? Heavy. You’ll be okay. Okay. Thank you. Oh hun, you’ve barely begun. Oh. We are such broken, broken things. Oh. So. Second session is $50 an hour.
THIS END OF THE YEAR THING By Maya Zbib
CHARACTERS: OULA CARMEN MATÍAS ANNA AYMAN
41 (F) Lebanese, specialized in psycho-motricity for children, has a secret crush on Ayman, has confidence issues, feels overweight. 40 (F) Lebanese, writer (journalism and non-fiction), sarcastic, mildly depressed, generally broke, smokes a lot. 48 (M) Spanish, works in the NGO world, free spirited (or so he thinks), talks a lot, drinks a lot, thinks the whole “Covid thing” is a conspiracy, never wears a mask. 39 (F) Lebanese / Brazilian, in relationship with Matías, art curator, from a rich background (family of bankers), yogi/vegan etc… feels beautiful and healthy. 43 (M) Lebanese, artist (painter), francophone, intellectual, introvert until he’s not.
PLACE: Beirut. New Year’s Eve 2020/21. A house party.
SETTING: OULA’s house. A spacious 7th floor apartment in Beirut, with a large balcony. A living room with a big couch. In the middle there is an empty dance space with red lighting. Also in the middle, towards the back, the dining room table was moved near the wall, it’s filled with dry food, alcohol, and party disguises. There are several seating areas around, including on the balcony at the edge of stage left. The entrance door is stage right.
TABLEAU 1 9:00pm
(OULA bubbly, positive, wearing an elegant black venetian half mask and a long blue dress, opens the door to CARMEN, who seems quite down, wearing casual clothes, all black, with a black Covid mask. We hear “She’s Lost Control” by Joy Division playing in the background, very faintly.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PtvIr2oiaE CARMEN (enters quickly, directly handing OULA a bowl) I made salad. OULA (sincerely thankful) Thank you!! You really didn’t have to. CARMEN
I know… I just opened a few cans. OULA Oh, ok! CARMEN But there IS an actual lettuce in there that I’ve had to wash. OULA Cool… thanks… I know you hate to cook. (giggles) CARMEN (smiles) Shut up! (Carmen sits on the couch, OULA sits next to her, for a moment they both face the audience, in silence, with their masks covering opposite parts of their faces.) OULA (Hands her a venetian half mask) You’re wearing the wrong kind of mask for the occasion. CARMEN (Checks it out and gives it right back) I’m wearing the only appropriate mask for any occasion these days! (CARMEN lights a cigarette, OULA stands up) OULA Outside please! CARMEN (moving towards the balcony chairs) Ugh! Let’s see how long you could keep this up tonight! OULA Drink? CARMEN Gin and tonic. OULA I made a margarita pitcher! CARMEN Can’t handle tequila energy. I prefer a gin cloud over my head. OULA (makes a short laugh) Ha! How’s your novel coming along? CARMEN Terribly. OULA I’m sure that’s not true! What is it about?
CARMEN Nothing. (OULA looks at her skeptically, as if saying “oh, come on!”) CARMEN No, really! Nothing happens at all. The characters have the same voice, negative, passive, passive aggressive. OULA They’re all you! CARMEN (at the same time as OULA) They’re all me! (They both laugh) (Very short blackout)
TABLEAU 2 11:55pm (Lights on, new atmosphere. The party has started. People are tipsy.) (We hear “Cristalline” by Björk and Omar Soleyman playing in the background, loudly.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3vEjKrP6tOs MATÍAS wearing a long faux-fur coat over a wifebeater and a “costumy” top hat, is dancing alone on the dance floor, with a drink in one hand, and a cigarette in another. He grabs Anna as she walks by, they dance for a bit, sensually, she excuses herself and leaves. Anna is wearing heels and a short silver dress, open at the back. MATÍAS goes towards CARMEN and OULA standing near the balcony door, he comes too close, they both move away as he speaks and sputters.) MATÍAS (speaking loudly) So what’s your New Year’s Resolution ladies? (They both stare at him awkwardly in silence) I’m Matías by the way, I work with Oula (shakes CARMEN’S hand forcefully). I bring her little underprivileged refugee children and she teaches them how to move. (laughs) I would like have a six pack! That’s my resolution… what about you? Think about it! (He goes back to dancing alone. The women look at each other, then burst into laughter.) ANNA (Comes back, rubbing her nose, hands MATÍAS a small bag of coke that she had hid in her bra.) (To the women) So I found my New Year’s solution. OULA You mean resolution? ANNA No, no, solution for puffy eyes.
CARMEN It’s a thing? ANNA It’s a cream! CARMEN I mean having puffy eyes is a thing? ANNA Of course! I have puffy eyes… you have puffy eyes… CARMEN (kind of worried) I do? ANNA I’m telling you this cream is magic! But you also need to eat more salad. CARMEN Salad makes my teeth ache. ANNA I don’t understand! CARMEN I find the contact of salad with my teeth to be quite painful. ANNA What about kale? (CARMEN looks at her annoyed, and doesn’t answer) ANNA That explains your constant jolly mood! CARMEN Oula please tell your friend to shut up or she will soon have a black eye! (The doorbell rings, CARMEN goes to get it. OULA checks out under her eyes with her fingers.) ANNA (excited) Right on time! Goes to change the music on the laptop. (CARMEN opens the door, it’s AYMAN. Boho, disheveled hair and puffy eyes, with a cigarette in his mouth. He hands CARMEN a bottle of Jack Daniels, rare to find in Lebanon these days!)
CARMEN (to AYMAN) Do you think I have puffy eyes?
(Blackout. Electricity cut. Silence. Then sounds of gunshots from the balcony, and loud celebrations from other places are heard. Red flairs from the celebratory bullets being continuously shot are reflected through the balcony’s glass door.)
OULA (frustrated) I can’t believe they cut it at midnight on New Year’s Eve! This is a new low! CARMEN (seriously worried, almost yelling) Get inside! You’ll get shot in the head with a stray bullet! (Electricity comes back. We hear “Happy New Year” by Abba - skipping the intro.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Uo0JAUWijM ANNA and MATíAS are kissing next to the laptop/music station. Everyone looks at them for a few seconds, then they start awkwardly greeting each other for the New Year.) (Music continues and fades out slowly. Lights fade out.)
TABLEAU 3 2:00am (CARMEN is playing music and MATÍAS is hanging out with her, sharing music tips. We hear “Sunday Morning” by The Velvet Underground & Nico. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xhbyj8pqUa AYMAN is sitting on the couch, busy drawing something on his sketchbook. OULA comes with food for him.) OULA Did you fix your studio? AYMAN (continues drawing) Not entirely. Too expensive. OULA There were several grants for artists, after the explosion. AYMAN (continues drawing) I just can’t fill applications. OULA I wish you’d asked me! ANNA I heard you lost a lot of artwork too. AYMAN and OULA (at the same time) A whole collection! (They look at each other, AYMAN continues drawing.) ANNA Don’t you feel like leaving now?
AYMAN Where to?
ANNA Paris maybe? It shouldn’t be very hard for you to go back there.
AYMAN But do I want to? OULA Canada? ANNA Oh I hate Canada. (Goes to check on MATÍAS and CARMEN) AYMAN You know, it’s beyond “where to go”. I feel uncomfortable anywhere anyway. I have a real problem with time and space. OULA You mean you have a problem with the present. AYMAN (looks at OULA and doesn’t answer) OULA Where DO you feel comfortable then? AYMAN Nowhere! I am doomed by restlessness. The idea of sleeping and waking up comfortably is foreign to me. I can’t sleep in a comfortable bed. I prefer the couch. I like to feel broken when I wake up. OULA Do you think this gives you political edge? (smiles) AYMAN (Smiles) it’s my proletarian aspiration… OULA (Sarcastic and slightly dismissive of the previous statement) Just go to Europe! European life is comfortable and secure… AYMAN It is tiresome and unsafe. You spend your days commuting and you are more likely to get shot by terrorists there than here. OULA You know it is said that people who live in cities looking out at sea, always want to go beyond the horizon. We are these kinds of people… I felt that something ended with the explosion for me. Some kind of adult childhood of mine, some kind of naivety… an altruistic impulse … Playfulness too, has no more place in my life. The explosion came as an evidence of something that had already ended here. I really don’t have the energy to reconstruct anymore, I need make something new. I feel as though we are stuck in this city, always waiting for a future that will not happen.
CARMEN (comes and sits between them) You know Lebanon is not really a country! It’s some kind of an exercise for living. And we’re constantly looking for some kind of intensity. AYMAN I think we’re all just bored to death! And one of the largest non-nuclear explosions in the history of human kind isn’t enough to shake us out of our numbness. Our pain threshold is really high. (Light and music fade out.) TABLEAU 4 03:45am (Light fades in. We hear Dalida’s “Helwa ya Baladi” faintly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ox2vAPd51dQ (All sitting around the table, binge eating, seeming more drunk.) OULA (holding a glass) Dears, before you all black out, I have an announcement to make! MATÍAS (eager) She’s pregnant! I knew it! (Carmen elbows him in an attempt to shut him up. He laughs.) OULA No Matías, I’m just fat!
MATÍAS (embarrassed) Sorry…
OULA It’s fine… I’m going to Montreal. I just submitted my papers. ANNA Congratulations! CARMEN Wait what? AYMAN (obviously drunk) Typical! Let’s all run away at the first opportunity we get and leave this place to rot! OULA Easy for you to say, you have no idea how hard this is! You are a spoiled bourgeois francophone home owner, who doesn’t know what it means to sacrifice in order to exist in this world. AYMAN
And you are a self-righteous self-congratulating middle class bitch, who thinks that just because she held hands with strangers in the human chain during the uprising, she contributed politically. OULA Says the guy who’s never worked a day in his life. AYMAN What the fuck do you mean? I’m a painter and I work every fucking day… Just like any artisan out there! OULA You’re not an artisan, you’re an intellectual! AYMAN Of course I am! And one does not exclude the other. OULA You’re so arrogant! AYMAN You’re so ignorant! (They stare at each other in silence)
(ANNA drags AYMAN by the arm offstage.) OULA (irritated) I mean I don’t understand why you have to do this in my bedroom. We all know you’re snorting coke. Just do it here! MATÍAS (calmly, seductively) No baby, it’s not the same. It’s sexier inside. Come with me! (holds her hand.) OULA No I’m ok Matías, Thanks. MATÍAS You sure? (OULA nods to MATÍAS and sits down.) OULA (to CARMEN) This whole thing is too depressing! (CARMEN doesn’t seem to get what she’s talking about. OULA continues.) OULA This end of year thing. CARMEN It’s just another night. Do you really think 2021 will be any different? It will probably be shitty year anyway! Economic crisis, political collapse, Covid… I really never get the hype around New Year’s
Eve! growing up in the civil war, for years we spent it at home watching TV, and hoping the network would call and give us some prize! (laughs) OULA Yes! Remember those shows? CARMEN They still do them! Or some version of them. We just don’t watch local networks anymore, except for the news. OULA New Year’s Eve was always epic at our house in the 80s. My dad would plan everything in advance, so that when he would come from the shop right before midnight, everything would be ready. Lumpfish eggs, smoked salmon, and cheese, lots of aged smelly cheese. Sheep marrow and sheep testicles… CARMEN Gross! OULA On this day, he would swap the red label whisky with a black label. Somehow, he really liked to consume expensive things on New Year’s Eve, to feel somewhat rich, sophisticated, foreign, for one night a year. It was a kind of a distancing affect from the context, I guess. A symbolic escape from the inflation. A short trip to the west!
TABLEAU 5 06:00am (Lights fade in. ANNA is sleeping on the couch. We hear “Dance Me to the End of Love” by Leonard Cohen, faintly. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGorjBVag0I OULA is clearing the tables from the cigarette buds and the empty cups. AYMAN is sitting on the floor facing the wall. CARMEN is happy drunk. MATÍAS holds CARMEN by the waist and brings her close to him. They dance. She is surprised by how much she likes it. He smells good.)
CARMEN (Touches MATÍAS’ hair sensually) Do you have hair implants? MATÍAS Yes, kind of. CARMEN You were bald the last time I saw you. You seem to be getting younger. MATÍAS (smiles)
I am eternally young baby! CARMEN No you’re not! (They laugh. They dance. The music intensifies. MATÍAS kisses CARMEN. She kisses him back. Then she stops suddenly.) MATÍAS (whispers in her ears) Don’t worry, I got you! I got you… You don’t need to control anything… (She tries to move away. He holds her.) Hey… slow down, slow down… (She slows down. He kisses her.) CARMEN (stops) What about Covid? (She continues kissing him before he answers.) MATÍAS (stops) This feels like kissing someone else’s wife! (They continue kissing.) CARMEN (stops) What about Anna? MATÍAS We have an arrangement. (He continues kissing her.) (She touches his hair.)
(Meanwhile, AYMAN sitting on his knees in a corner on the floor, busy jotting down lines and numbers on the wall. OULA, passes next to AYMAN with a large bowl of leftover crisps in her hands.) OULA What are you doing? AYMAN The wall was full of writing already! OULA These were my niece’s height marks! AYMAN Now it’s an expensive painting… there you go! You’re welcome. OULA I can’t even sell it!
(We hear “Boukra Bteshro’ Shams el Eid” (tomorrow the holiday sun will shine) by Sabah.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSchuyC3hdg
END
With enormous thanks to all supporters of the Royal Court who have stood so generously by our side during these difficult times and enabled us to create this work with these extraordinary writers. Thank you.