Theatre: A Love Story

By

Caridad Svich

Performance enquiries:
Elaine Devlin Literary
411 Lafayette Street, 6th Flr.
NY, NY 10003. USA
Email: [email protected]
Or author: [email protected]
Theatre: A Love Story –
when there’s little time left, what world can we create? What is our theatre?
a play-conversation & installation about love, catastrophe, climate grief & other things.

Figures:
There are four actors/voices in this play
(though there could be staging/s where eight or more are cast)

They are called, in the play, One, Two, Three, and Four.
They refer to each other as first, second, third and fourth.
Later in the play, they will introduce themselves and use their real names.

The actors should be cast inclusively and reflective of the world, across age, gender
identity/ies, abled and disabled, ethnicity/ies, etc.
In no staging of this play, including digital stagings, should all the actors figure as white.

Time:
This play takes place in the future now.
The play happens in what should feel like real time, but it is really dream time.

Space:
Think of the space of this play as being acoustic space, in the ambient meaning of the term
musically. If there are objects and scenographic elements, make sure they are re-purposed
materials, if played live, or rendered eco-consciously if played as digital and/or immersive
theatre.

Notes on Text and Performance:

A stand-alone ellipsis between stanzas indicates an emotional shift or active silence.
Parenthetical text in the dialogue should be spoken.
A double asterisk indicates time skip, like a groove jump in a vinyl recording.

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Zero. For the audience
(After a little while, One appears. Their manner is very direct, casual, simple)

ONE: Hello. Welcome.

My name is X.
I’ll be the first person you meet today.
My friends will join me a little while later.

We’re a good bunch, overall.

You don’t need to worry.
We know what we’re doing most of the time,
And if we don’t, we can call on the gods to help us.

I just wanted to let you know a few things before we begin.

This is a play, but it may not always behave like a play

In the manner which perhaps some people expect
Plays to behave.

For example, you may ask where this play is set.

I can tell you it’s set here. Right here in this theatre.
Right here on this stage in the city/town of X.

Although, throughout the play

we will also refer to other theatres
that you may have visited once,
And ones too that we have been a part of, my friends and I,
and ones people we never met were also a part of. In history.

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Oh, and I should say that when I say “theatre” I also mean the world.

You may also ask when this play is set.

I can tell you it’s set now.
Right now. Today. At X o’clock.
But it is also set in the past – in memory - and in the future.

It will be good if you could let go

while we’re all here together of any notions of capitalist time.

Trust me. It’s possible.

Although, I admit I have trouble letting go, too.

But one of the things you should know is that

When I started this play,
When my friends and I did,
We were and still are wondering
What the hell we’re doing in a theatre
That runs on this notion of time,
Especially when there’s little time left…

Also, you should know that none of this is verbatim,

None of this is a reality show --

It’s all scripted.

I can show you. Later. If you wish.
I can show you the lines on the page,
And the white space, too

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 And how it’s all laid out –

But it does, this does capture

A lot of what we were and still are
Feeling/thinking/dreaming
And getting angry about
When we think about being in a theatre.

Oh, and I should say that when I say “theatre,” I also mean the world.
Did I say that already?

Listen, it’s been a long time.

A long time since I wanted to even do this again.
Because I’ve seen lots of plays
In all kinds of rooms,

white rooms, glass rooms, red rooms…

and I’ve even been in some of them,

(if you want to check the program afterwards, if there even is a program)

And to be fair, most of the time I just end up crying.

And then I lie in bed and wonder what the hell I’m going to do.

But let’s leave that for later.

For now, I’m going to ask you to imagine…

5
First Prologue (white)
(One continues, perhaps direct address, or pre-recorded lip-sync to their own voice.
We could see the room described below.
That is, it could materialize or be projected.
Maybe as a pre-recorded film or series of photographic stills – a document from the
archive of memory.
But likely in real time we see something else instead or in counterpoint to the above.
For instance, maybe One manipulates some quotidian objects or some paper and string to
achieve effects that become “the room,”
Or does nothing at all, because, after all, we are in a theatre and we can imagine)

ONE: There is a white room before us.

You know the kind.
You’ve seen it before.

Likely, in a theatre –
Maybe even in this theatre -
Or a gallery.

It is immaculate. Pristine.
It has high ceilings. And great light.

It is an art space.

It speaks of money.
And every person that enters this room knows it or is it.

Very often the people that enter rooms like these are money.

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Perhaps this room now reveals itself to have
A white sofa or a beautiful white chair.
Sleek. Elegant. Modernist in design, even though it is post-modernist.

This room and everything in it are the epitome of taste.

Look at this room. Admire its beauty.

Think of all the theatre and art you’ve seen here.

Then, think about the world.

And how dirty, sad and messy it is.

And how, for some, this room, this white room,

may be all that is left of what was once called “civilization.”

The room is quiet. Still.

And then, the room splits open.

Just like that.
The walls of this room come down,

And with them, the mess of the world –

But of course, you knew that. Because you’ve been to this room before.
You’ve been to this theatre. And so, we begin

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One. The first person in midst of the ruins of the white room

ONE: So, at first, after everything,

After everyone supposedly gathered
‘round the campfire, and ate their food
And drank their drinks,
This one person stood up
In the center of it all.

They stood up because they had something to say.

Or maybe they remembered something
From last night or two hundred years ago,
And they suddenly felt this incredible desire
To share it with the other people that were here.

Because, well,
That’s what you do
In gatherings such as these.

This person wants to fit in,

Or at very least, be part of some tradition.

This person was told once that theatre started

‘round a campfire,
Somewhere on an island far away
Where people ate olives
And drank clear liquor
That knocked out their senses;

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And even though they know this is only part of the story,
it all started, way before that,
And likely in a language or languages people no longer move/speak anymore,
This person is willing, for the moment,
To follow this tradition,

Even though
It may not be theirs,
And even though
there isn’t a campfire here,
And it’s all ruins now.

This person feels like they might as well

Say something.
Tell a story.
Because that’s what people gather ‘round for, right?

This person doesn’t really believe in stories,

Because they know life is random as shit
And as a friend (Anna Peters) of theirs once said
“the world is yikes, often.”

They quote them because

They like quoting their friends.
It makes them remember them again,
Even though they haven’t seen them… in days

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(and by the time you hear this likely, in years)

But they’ve been told that even in ruins,

Even in times like these,
Where it’s one boarded-up storefront after another (on the streets),
Stories have a kind of currency.
Value.

This person has trouble with the word “value”

Because they feel that maybe standing up
In the center of it all,
And telling a little story
While their fellow citizens (and the world around them)
are smashed out of their senses
Isn’t really of any value at all.

This person thinks the attribution of value

In monetary and instrumental terms
Is at the heart of the ruin in the first place.

They remember their other friends being told once

How they needed to learn things,
And only the things
That would make them
make something out of their lives.

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And if they wanted to learn other things
That didn’t make them
make something out of themselves,
Then they were failures.
And that they had wasted their time.

They remember how these words

Made their friends
Lie in bed for days
And not want to get up,
Or just curl up somewhere and die.

And how they had seen their friends

Lose faith,
Lose hope,
Lose pretty much everything
Because they didn’t know
How they were supposed
To measure up to
And with the rest of the world.

They didn’t how to make something

To make something out of their lives.

And at the time

This person wanted to tell them they didn’t know either.

I still don’t know.

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Maybe what we were all told once was a lie.

Maybe just sitting ‘round somewhere,

Not even ‘round a campfire,

Passing the time

With each other,
Around an idea for a story
Or several stories
Or no stories

Just thinking together

About impossible and difficult things
May be enough.

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13
Two: The second person joins the first person midst the ruins of the white room, though it
is likely they were there already, witnessing

TWO: And then a second person stands up.

Because the first person is alone,

very alone,

And it’s no fun to be alone,

And this second person says
We hear you want to tell a story.

ONE: Actually…

TWO: We know a little something about stories

Because we have told them before.
In fact, we have been in them plenty of times.

ONE: How did your stories go?

TWO: Well, ours were mostly about everyday things,

What some people might call ordinary things.

ONE: Ordinary lives?

TWO: Someone is born;

someone learns about hands and feet.
And parents or no parents.
And earth and sky.

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ONE: Or earth and no sky.

TWO: And trees and animals and insects.

And saying no and saying yes.
And wanting love.
And seeing the sun and the moon.

ONE: And wanting love.

TWO: And walking with their feet on the grass,

And on the dirt and sand and red earth.

ONE: And black earth and yellow earth.

TWO: And water and no water.

ONE: And wanting love.

TWO: And being loved.

And being hurt.
And getting a job or no job.

ONE: And still wanting love.

TWO: And getting hurt again.

And fighting about stupid things and big things.
And wondering what it all means.
And then wanting love again.

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ONE: And again, and again.

TWO: Because they know love is not capitalism

Even though there was a book once
That said maybe so.

They know love will save them,

Or heal them
Or make them feel
Like they can climb mountains
And sail oceans.

ONE: Even when the oceans are gone.

TWO: This love will/can do anything.

It can even make them believe
They will be immortal.

ONE: When of course they’re not.

TWO: Because they get sick.

And the pain is excruciating.
And they must pay others
To fix the pain.

But they never have enough money;

Because people say pain has VALUE.
And their pain is worth something.

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Even though to them
It’s just pain and sickness,
And they want to get rid of it
And not think about it ever again.

ONE: someone else says,

“We cannot get rid of your pain until you pay.
And if you don’t pay,
The debt dog will come for you
And bite you until you bleed;
and if you refuse to bleed
the debt dog will keep biting you
and chase you
even in your dreams;
and your debt will be so big
it will follow you
to your death.
And those that are left,
if there are any,
will have to pay the debt dog
with whatever money they may have;
and if they don’t have money,
they will have to borrow it,
because someone has to pay for your pain.”

TWO: and they think, how is it that those without pain,

those that are supposed to heal others,
are worse than banks?

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And then they get angry
with and at the pain and the sickness inside them,
and with and at the rest of the world.

and the anger,

ONE: in this place,

in this country,
in this blood,
in this land,

TWO: eats at their souls,

and at the ass of the debt dog,
and at the lives of those around them

until they forget

that what they want most out of life is love.

ONE: and when they remember it,

if they remember it,
it is too late,
just as it is in all stories.

TWO: and it’s someone else,

maybe a friend or a lover,
or a family member

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or a stranger
that is left with the hole

(spelled)

of their heart in their hands.

ONE: the whole

(spelled)

of their heart in their hands.

TWO: and they will wonder, how’d we even get here?

ONE: Ordinary lives, then?

TWO: Yes.

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Three The third person rises midst the ruins of the white room and joins the other two,
although it is also likely that they have been there all along

THREE: And then a third person stands up

Because they think why should there only be two
When it comes to stories,
If this is a story?

TWO: And the second person nods.

ONE: And the first wonders.

THREE: And the third person says that perhaps

What there really is here midst the dust and debris
Is a way to make something else,
To which the first person says

ONE: well…

SECOND: and the second person thinks maybe

THIRD: while the third person

has no stake in this,
No skin in this game,

Not really.

They’re just happy to be alive.

Because they read that difficult book once,

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 Or several difficult books,

And they know that no good can come from

Chasing unhappiness.

They just want to clean things up;

Get the dust and debris out of this room and start over.

ONE: And so, they do.

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Second Prologue (glass)
(One, Two and Three may voice this or lip-sync to their own pre-recorded voices,
alternating stanzas.
As in the first prologue, the room described below may materialize or be projected.
Or maybe what is described is seen in a pre-recorded film or series of photographic stills.
But likely what we see ultimately in real time, in counterpoint, is very simple:
One, Two, and Three cleaning the space with whatever brooms or rags and such they may
have at their disposal, or just words and what we imagine)

THREE: There is a glass room before us.

You know the kind.
You have seen it in this theatre before.

TWO: It is a room enclosed in what looks like glass on all sides,

And you can see the people and things inside it
Very clearly.
But sometimes they cannot see you.
Because sometimes these glass-like rooms
Do not let the people and things inside them see out.

ONE: It’s a little like a prison.

THREE: It’s a little like a laboratory.

TWO: It’s a little like a specimen box.

ONE: You can hear the amplified voices of the people and things
behind the glass.

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THREE: Several microphones are picking everything up.
Down to the lowest whisper.

(surveillance capitalism?)

TWO: The technology is amazing.

ONE: The glass room is shiny.

And costs a great deal of money.

THREE: Unlike the white room (from before), which is money,

The glass room is about money.

ONE: It sits suspended in the middle of a vast expanse of light

Like the shiniest toy in the universe.

TWO: It asks you to look at it as if you were looking

At your neighbors across the city or continent.

THREE: It asks you to see your reflection in the glass

As if it were a mirror.

ONE: Even though all you can think of is

how much money this glass room cost
and how much time and energy it took to install.

THREE: When really,

All you want to do is spend some time with some people

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You may or may not know
In the hope that the evening will be short or feel short,
Or be long and feel as if it were eternal (in the best possible sense),
And that the real stuff of the world
Can be dealt with outside rooms of glass.

TWO: When suddenly,

the glass room starts to flood with water.
Or stir up volcanic ash and dirt.
Or rain the kind of pelting rain
You swore only happened now in the central and southern countries.

ONE: And then the glass room shatters.

Just like that.

TWO: And the water, ash, and dirt spill out.

THREE: And everyone, all the people and things,

Are soaked and stained and freakish
And a bloody mess.

(we are)

TWO: And so, we begin again.

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Four The first person and the second person and the third person and now a fourth
person midst the ruins of the glass room (a scene from what could be a story or what may
feel like a ‘play’)
(One, Two, Three and Four set-up some chairs or maybe even push on a sofa –[yikes] and
suddenly it feels as if we are in a play of some kind, or some facsimile of one.
This should have the feel perhaps of a backstage/backyard chat. It’s all very natural. None
of this should suddenly become actorly in any way. What’s key here is that there is a shift
in energy and what feels like a new space)

ONE: So, we’re in another country

(theatre/world)

TWO: And it’s hot.

THREE: And it’s expensive.
FOUR: (appears here if they have not done so already) And the fourth person says they
just want to go out.

ONE: but we can’t.

TWO: because we lost our money.
THREE: or we lost our way.
FOUR: Or we found a love, and love has a way of…

ONE: And we’re aching.

TWO: dying for cigarettes (like the old, old days in a movie).
THREE: or booze or amphetamines or opioids or whatever the fuck addictions there are
to be had.
FOUR: and the food is amazing.

ONE: is it?
FOUR: yes.

25
TWO: So, we don’t leave.
THREE: Because we don’t have the money.
ONE: even though we know talking about money is the one thing,
TWO: except maybe other than religion or politics
ONE: that people really don’t like to hear about in places like these.
FOUR: rooms like these, you mean.

ONE: is this a room still?

I thought we were past the room.
Past the white room,
And the glass room,
And…

FOUR: well…

TWO: we’re not leaving yet.

THREE: because addictions.
ONE: ok.
But we’re in another country.
FOUR: with amazing food.
From all the fuck over.
TWO: and the cigarettes are the old kind: stinky smelly tough cigarettes that reek of
nicotine.

FOUR: it’s good here.

THREE: really.
FOUR: you can feel comfortable.
Have a chair. Have an olive. Drink the clear liquor.
TWO: set up a tent.

26
THREE: lie back and look at the stars.

ONE: are there stars?

FOUR: we can imagine.
We’ve the best technology.

ONE: it’s not easy being in a new country.

TWO: so much work to be done.
THREE: so many new things to learn.
FOUR: new loves to be found.

ONE: the last time we went to another country

(theatre/world)

Maybe was when we were adolescents.

TWO: before the wars.

THREE: before everything started to go to shit
And cost way too much to even think about.

ONE: there was this thing we used to do

back when we were adolescents
that had to do with believing in the world.
TWO: its goodness?

27
ONE: its power to take care of everyone
And not just a few.

FOUR: are we talking about the same world?

TWO: what I would give for a cigarette. Right. Now.

ONE: and we thought things mattered

Maybe more than they should,
But then again, why shouldn’t they matter
If this was the only life we’d remember?

FOUR: (note: there is no actual food, though there may be water)

have you tried the food?
It’s amazing.
ONE: amazing?
FOUR: amaze. amazing.
It‘s from everywhere.
It’s astonishing this kind of food still even exists.
We should be happy.
Look at us.
We’re terrific human beings.
TWO: even though we have done things.

FOUR: everyone has done something

At some point in their life;
But really, it’s no use thinking about what’s done.
We are here. Now.
Past all that fucking mess.

28
And we’re in a beautiful place
Under the stars
Sitting in chairs or under tents or just lying back
On rolled-up pieces of canvas,
Like we don’t have a care in the world.
How many people can do that?

TWO: even without money.

FOUR: even without anything
We should be happy.

TWO: even if we’re crying.

THREE: and everything is in ruins.
And there’s dirt and ash and soaking bits everywhere
And glass and the whiteness of what once used to be a sofa
Somewhere over there.

ONE: but we pretend we don’t see it

Because it belongs to another theatre.
One we gave up on a long time ago.

TWO: We can’t bear to think of sofas.

THREE: the worst.
TWO: we cannot stand to see one more sofa.
Our hearts just sink at the thought of one

(in a theatre)

29
Sitting there in the center of it all
Demanding all our attention.
TWO: blocking our view.
THREE: asking us to honor it and admire it.
And make love on it and make war on it.
And watch it being puked on,
And pissed on,
And climbed on,
And cried on,
And despoiled in general
In all sorts of ways.
ONE: because once you have a sofa
In the center of it all
TWO: such things will happen.
THREE: and they do.

(And maybe such things do happen here for a moment.

A dance/movement break of sorts around the rage, glory and dishonor of the sofa as an
object in art)

ONE: when really,

TWO: a cigarette
THREE: some money
FOUR: are all we need sometimes.
TWO: even if it’s been agreed upon that cigarettes are bad for everyone
And must never be seen again.
THREE: there are other addictions.

30
TWO: the ones we won’t admit.
FOUR: or admit much later in life
When caring about what others may think
Has long stopped being a priority.

ONE: but back when we were adolescents

FOUR: it’s easy to romanticize.
ONE: there was this feeling sometimes
That this room, these rooms we were in
Could be different.
Sometimes we would find ourselves making other rooms
THREE: other countries.
ONE: Or no rooms.
TWO: fields.
ONE: entire fields (made) with paper and string.
TWO: and very little money.

ONE: and we’d ask some friends to stop by.

TWO: we would give them drinks.
ONE: and maybe a bit of food.
TWO: snacks.
ONE: lots of snacks.
FOUR: snacks are important.

ONE: and we’d say this was all just an experiment.

Just a little something we were working on. Just a little story.

31
THREE: And there was no pressure.
None.
Because this was just between us
And it wouldn’t last very long.

TWO: hours sometimes.

ONE: but really, not very long at all
Compared to, well, the rest of life.
So, it was simple in a way.
And it was fun.
FOUR: And there were snacks.
Lots of snacks.
ONE: And no one was paying more than they could.
THREE: sometimes nothing.
TWO: often nothing.
ONE: no one was asking for great gobs of money.
FOUR: mountains of money (these days).
ONE: (continuing) From anyone
For just a little story and maybe a song or two.

TWO: we used to sing.

ONE: right?
TWO: and we didn’t care if we were pitchy or anything.
THREE: we prided ourselves on being pitchy.
It was a thing.
ONE: and we would gather our bits of stuff
And whatever other stuff we could scrounge up
And we made it work.

32
TWO: with nothing.
THREE: hardly anything.
ONE: because we could be anything or anyone.
we could even be animals and plants and insects.
TWO: We were ants once

ONE: and after, we would just sit around.

Like this.
FOUR: like right now.
ONE: just sit around and talk with one another.
THREE: over drinks.
TWO: snacks, and maybe even a bit of cheese.
FOUR: cheese is important.
ONE: and it was fine.
THREE: it was easy to imagine.
TWO: we didn’t really need much of anything.

33
Five A little song (quartet)
(The four people sing a little song that’s, yes, a little pitchy in performance but it is full of
feeling and open-heartedness and general sense that they are being themselves and they are
truly enjoying what they are doing. They could also lip-sync to a recording of themselves.

The song could be a song from another theatre, ideally one from the theatre of life.

A wedding song.
A drinking song.
A praise song.
A fight song.
A hurt song.
A lullaby.
Or just,
A song of anguish and joy for the universe.

Perhaps it is a mash-up of all these kinds of songs put together

From all different eras and countries and languages.
It could even be a wordless song.

It should last at least three-and-half minutes or so.

Maybe more If the song is particularly transcendent and evolves into an event.

However, it manifests, it should fill the room, this room, with a sense of both the past and
another future)

34
Six. The first, second, and third person rest, while the fourth tells a story

FOUR: If you’re the fourth person, you’re always late.

It’s a simple fact.

Because the fourth person wasn’t really a part of it all

in the beginning
‘round the campfire
When that first person stood up
Way back when.

The fourth person was in the crowd

Drinking, eating, resting.
Maybe smoking a pipe.
Maybe inhaling herbs from a shaman.
They were not part of the story in the way they are now.

And they are still kind of new to things.

Because they know, deep down, they were not thought about
At the beginning.
They were not the center of anything.

They were just, well, like you.

Taking it in.
Wondering fuck-all.
Going along for the ride.
And probably thinking about bills they had to pay
And stuff they hadn’t bought

35
And how much everything costs now.

Sometimes when we’re here

In rooms like these,
Even if they aren’t actual rooms
With walls,
and heating and no heating,
And electric and no electric,

Well, some electric,

There’s always some now
Because the grid
Is inevitable,
Or so we tell ourselves,

We have this tendency,

And obviously
It’s more pronounced at certain times than others
Depending on the state of the world (and what’s left of it),
To start to keep a running tab

Not a figurative running tab,

Just in our minds;
Although actually…

of what’s in the room.

what’s before our eyes.
and well, how much it all costs.

36
Just the other night

Last night or maybe it was two hundred years ago

We did this.

We looked at everything
That was before us,
And started to wonder what each little piece cost in monetary terms.

Now, we know talk of money is not very pleasant.

In fact, it has a strange tendency of making people angry
In a manner they cannot fathom or even want to fathom.

Maybe when they were children

A certain kind of shame was attached to the idea of talking about money.

Even those with means, with plenty, as they say,

Don’t really like for there to be talk of money in rooms like these.

But we like looking at money.

There’s something very hypnotic about it.

Just think

(about what we see in some of our theatres)

A wall of projected images.

37
A tower of light.
A marching band.
A parade.
A sea of people moving in unison in amazing clothes.

A ship.
A train.
A great big machine roaring its wonder across the expanse of it all.

A flood.
A devastation.

A beautiful war.
A beautiful snow.

A white room.
A glass room.
A red room with red carpet.

A house on stilts.
A house with multiple stories.
A house where you can see all the rooms.
A house where you can only see one room.

The re-creation
down to the last detail
of another room from this city or another
from this century or another.

38
A living room.
A dining room.
A kitchen.

Another living room.

Another dining room.
Another kitchen.

A bar.
A stoop.

A kitchen with running water

And a working stove!

A basketball court.
A bowling alley.
A dance hall.
A soccer/football pitch.

A pool that cost one hundred thousand pieces of money.

(True story)

A chandelier.
A helicopter.
An action hero soaring across the universe.

A revolution.

39
A bridge.
A tunnel.
A cave.
A fortress.
An enchanted island.

A migrant ship

(called Our Boat by Christoph Buchel, 2019 Venice Biennale)

Another revolution.

A table and some microphones.

Two tables and lots of microphones.

A camera and another camera.

A whole bank of cameras.
A whole sea of eyes.

A tree.
A mound of dirt.
A stairway up to the sky.

We like looking at it.

Sometimes we even like knowing how much it all costs.

40
like the pool.

Although knowing can also generate a justifiable sense of anger

Given that no pool in the world
Under any kind of stage light,
No matter how sexy beautiful it may be,
Should really cost one hundred thousand pieces of money.

But ok.
Sometimes we just like to look
Because we’ve been taught perhaps
that knowing the VALUE of things is important,
And that being given VALUE is even more so.

“That thing is good value.

My life is good value.
That object is really good value.”

Just like maybe once we were taught

That there was a first person and then a second and then a third
When it came to the telling of stories
Or the doing of things.

And that a fourth was a bit of strangeness

That we would have to make room for somehow

Even if just for a little while

41
Before they fade into the background.

And to be honest, sometimes looking at the money,

Sometimes, all at once, is intoxicating.
And makes us forget about everything else in our lives and in the world.

And sometimes, lots of times,

we even applaud the expense.

we find it thrilling.
Like a great amusement park ride.

‘Ooo. Money! Applause!”

Because we want to applaud ourselves

For recognizing our ability to applaud
At all the money we’re looking at,
Even if we don’t always know the (exact) price tag.

But even if we don’t know,

There is a part of us,
Maybe at least for some of us,
That finds this all a bit troubling.

42
Ok, more than a bit troubling.

Because in all this looking and not looking business,

What is it that we see when we look?

Right now?

You see me.

You see the others.
You see this space.
And its things.

Maybe you see beyond this space,

And what it seemed like when you walked in.

And what the floor was like.

And what the carpet was like,

if there was carpet.

And what toilet was like,

And if it was roomy or cramped,

Clean or sort of barely.

And what the bar was like.

43
 If there was a bar.

And what the café and restaurant were like.

If there were one or the other.

Or what the grass was like or the road,

And, also, who was outside.

Was there anyone?

Were they sleeping?
Were they asking for change?
Were they drunk?
Were they high?
Were they just getting on for the night?

It’s a lot to think about.

But before my friends here

Rise from their reverie,

Here’s a running tab for the night thus far:

(and this is an actual running tab, X will equal actual cost)

My clothes cost X.

44
Their clothes cost X.
This space cost X.
These things in this space cost X.
The light cost X.

The person behind the lights

And the person behind the sound
And the person behind the everything cost X.

We are being paid X.

Each of us.

And if one of us were stars

We would likely be paid three times X.

Just to be here.
Just to show up.
And do our thing.
Which if you’re stars can be something.

Because at the end of the day you didn’t ask to be a star.

It just happened.
And it was cool.

It was great
To finally not have to think about every little bit of X,
And just let everyone know you have FU MONEY,
And that maybe you can do

45
Something amazing with that FU MONEY.

This chair cost fifty coins at an old thrift shop.

That one cost three times that at a boutique.

This platform, if there is one,

Was made by a carpenter that charged X $ an hour.

That one item that looked so great in the glass room

You saw earlier cost X.

and yes, we spent X because that one moment

Of seeing this one item,
And having the experience of seeing it
Meant the world.

The front of house, if there is one, cost X.

The management cost X.
The person that runs the building or façade of the building makes X.

The five hundred people in admin offices

that are part of this building or its façade make X.

The four people in no offices that are part of this building or its façade make X

46
The persons that made sure people knew we were here cost five times X.

The people you don’t see usually but are here,

Back there somewhere
Working long hours and working hard,
And running to their children and no children
At the end of the night,
On trains and buses and cars and on foot
Cost X.

Just to open the door or no door here costs X.

And the persons way before anyone here

Had an inkling of what this could even be,
Or if we could even be here
Cost X.

And before that, maybe even before that

That one time when we had to book
That tiny room with a piano in the corner,
And a window just open a crack
In the freezing winter,
With no heat,
And two chairs and low light,
Just to even begin to dream about being here -
That tiny room cost X.

47
And yes, yes, it would be stunning
If none of any of this cost X.
To anyone.
And we lived in some post-utopian society
Where money and borders of all different kinds
Didn’t exist.

But we don’t live in such a world.

Not even here in the ruins.
Not even here midst the dust and debris
Of the white room,
And the glass room,
And the other rooms to come.

So, what are we seeing when we see?

How can we make it cost nothing

Or next to nothing?

How can all this here, as bare as this may seem,

Ask far less of us all
So that we can dream?

(Four waits for a moment, suspended in thought, and then walks off the stage.
An interval may be taken here of about ten to fifteen minutes.
If not, then it’s the next scene)

48
Seven. The first person and the second person and the third person midst the emptiness.

ONE: So, you think the first time you thought about any of this
Was when you were walking in the country,
Back when you could do that kind of thing.

And what I mean by ‘this”

Is this.

Just this.

Us here.
Like this.

TWO: This was years ago.

Things were still green.
The animals and plants and insects
Were mostly still with us.

THREE: The air was polluted, of course,

Toxic as hell,
But it wasn’t as obvious
As it is now.

TWO: and will be after we leave.

ONE: Being in the country has a way of sorting everything out

Or rather clearing your head From the noise and death of time spent in cities.

49
TWO: clustered as fuck.

ONE: But make no mistake

To think of the country as some idyllic
THREE: Pastoral romance
ONE: would be a lie.
A lie to the country itself.
Nature is tough.
THREE: Nature is hard.
TWO: Wild, overgrown, vicious, volatile
and up to its own needs.
THREE: No use for us.

ONE: or so one would think.

But if you turn it around,
Perhaps it has some use for us?
We’re part of it, after all.

TWO: we were ants once.

ONE: But what kind of nature is it

That we see when we walk into rooms

And no rooms

Such as these?

TWO: Look at us. We’re not all that special.

50
THREE: Hey.

ONE: We may want to be. We may think we’re ALL THAT.

TWO: In the most magnificently arrogant sort of way.

(ecstatic replay of the white room and glass room shattering,

and then in ruins,
And then, after several breaths)

THREE: But we know

We must know somewhere
Deep down in the void of it all

TWO: In the darkness that consumes us

ONE: That it doesn’t work.

TWO: That we’re not ALL THAT.

THREE: What does it matter if our lives are glorious?

Or are lives are shit, when our lives aren’t the world?

(shift, the lens widens, think of this like an aperture)

ONE: Imagine a road.

Imagine stopping on the road.
looking at a field.

TWO: Wind graces your skin.

51
THREE: You can feel the tug of the earth.

ONE: a hundred thousand teeming multitudes.

TWO: Crawling along the grass.
THREE: Making rude noises in the fields.
roaring wildness.
ONE: what are their stories?
Do they even think in story terms?

THREE: We laugh at our own arrogance

ONE: But we still wonder: what are their stories?

(After a moment, an animal walks in and crosses the length of the space.

The three people watch the animal cross.

There is a sense of solidarity amongst them and therefore, kinship with the animal, but
there may also be a sense of wonder.

Ideally this animal should be a goat.

However, this animal may be unique to every performance.

For example, it may be an audience member’s pet, that is recruited in advance for the
performance, or it may be one of the performer’s pets or belong to someone on staff or
crew at the venue housing the performance, etc.

After the animal walks off the stage, there is a moment,

And then)

52
Interlude. For the audience
(One comes forward for a moment)

ONE: In the days when this all began

‘round the campfire,
If we are to believe that story,
Animals were part of everything.

You may be somewhat familiar

With theories about this.

Often an animal would be sacrificed,

And then after much drinking
And praying and carrying on,
The first person would stand up
And the story would begin.

Don’t worry.
We’re not going to be sacrificing any animals here.

Although the notion of animals

And birds and trees and insects
Is something I’d like for us to keep in mind.

More than keep in mind

Because this is not our story.
In the end, this will be their story.

53
 Or at least the stories of the ones that may be left.

And so, thinking about animals, birds, trees and insects

Will be helpful, in the long run.

If anything, it will give all us some perspective about things

In the wider field.

My grandmother used to talk about animals often

And, about trees.
Long winding stories about the trees in her town
Back when she was a child,
And how they existed under a far different notion of time
Than the rest of us, most of us, have come to accept.

My grandmother was not a scientist.

She never even finished high school.
I think she barely even finished elementary.

She was what some would call “uneducated,”

But she had a close connection to we might call “tree time,”
And not at all in a trendy kind of way.

My grandmother was not a trend-setter of any kind.

In fact, I think she might find my talking about her here
With all of you a bit embarrassing.

54
I’m thinking of her because she often mentioned this one pet she had
And how it cried the day the tree at the front of their street was felled.
As she got older, and her stories started to go further and further into the past,
They almost always became about her childhood.

The pet had been her favorite pet,

And it had died under the wheels of a moving vehicle far too soon.

Many, many years had gone by since the pet had died,
And she still talked about them as if they were here.

Eventually, the stories about the pet would circle back ‘round
To the one about the tree.

The pet’s cries had woken her up one night.

And the sight of the pet mourning the felled tree
Stayed with her in mind all this time.

She said to me, “when you plant a sapling,

It may take two hundred years to reach its full stature.
When you cut a tree down, you’re cutting down the past.
And, any notion of the future.”

She said this very simply.

She wasn’t trying to teach me anything.
We did not have that kind of relationship.
In fact, we didn’t really get along.

55
But the sight of the pet crying and the felled tree
Became my memory too.

In sharing the story with me, I too started to see the tree
And I too started to cry, though likely not as vociferously as her pet once did.

By the way, “vociferously” was one of her words.

So much for being “uneducated.”.

I think of the tree now, when we’re here in the ruins

And are trying to imagine the field,
Because that field once bore trees,
And dirt time and tree time have nothing to do with our time,
Or at least the kind many of us
(and our theatres)
follow.

So, I’d like us to think about that,

Because we’ll be telling some stories soon.

Some stories about us,

And memories that we have,
And memories too that we imagine we’ll have one day.

I know we haven’t been all that personal thus far.

56
 not in a conventional sense.

Not in a play kind of sense,

Where you’re supposed to know everything about everyone

In the first five minutes,
And fuck-off, animals and trees.

But in the next bit, we will get personal.

In a slightly more conventional sense.

And we’ll even use “I” more times

than any of us have used the word today,
Which is, a lot.

Of course, none of this is verbatim.

This is all just story.
This is all just a script
Writ down on some page.

But we could still say that what we will share next

May be related to, or seen as, living
in the memory/ies of trees.

(The animal – the goat ideally – crosses the space again. They know something about the
future)

57
Eight. Stories in and out of time and nature, or a memory theatre
(And now, in the emptiness of the field, it’s all broken open, and memories and all else
take over)

TWO: To begin again,

You may be wondering what our names are.

THREE: We can get that out of the way… finally.

ONE: My name is X.
TWO: (about Three) Their name is X.
THREE: (about Two) and their name is X.
TWO: And our friend, the one you met earlier, is called X.
They’re in the back, catching up on other things.
You’ll see them later. Not to worry.

ONE: So, like I said, when we started this piece

we were thinking about the theatre.

And when I mean the “theatre,” I mean the world.

Did I say that already?

(and we begin to move into memory time, and into a fluid space between past and future,
where life and theatre and the world, and being and playing at being, sometimes called
“acting,” are all on the same wavelength.
Layers upon layers of consciousness/acts of discovery. None of this nostalgic.

58
Ironically perhaps, the following section until the end of this scene should feel the most as
if we’re watching a play. Perhaps it is lit differently, and maybe the soundscape too, if there
is one, starts to become more prominent in its ambient nature)

THREE: You sang a song once.

Karaoke.

I’m referencing now, because in twelve,

maybe even two hundred years’ time, this word, this word “karaoke”
may be completely lost;
and someone, if there is a someone,
hearing it may wonder what such a word means,
and they will research it maybe,
even go to the trouble of trying to footnote it,
but you will laugh
and think it’s stupid to footnote anything
because nobody reads anymore.

TWO: (referencing Patsy Cline and Willie Nelson)

You sang “I fall to pieces.”
It was an American country song. A classic.
It was made famous by a beautiful woman that had a sad life.
It was written by a man whose life was just beginning then,
but who now, now in our time,

(which will no longer be ours soon)

is nearing the end of his life;

and so, this song, this classic,

59
means something different to him when he hears it,

when we still sometimes use the pronouns

“he” and “him” and “she” and “hers.”

ONE: I fall to pieces.

It was a weekday, I think,

The day the buildings caught fire.
I was on the other side of the world.
I was heading to yours.

The fire was thick in the air.

The people were running out of the buildings.
Someone said they were poor people,
Much poorer than us,
and that these buildings were made to catch fire,
made to make them disposable,

Made to make them think

They could make nothing out of their lives.

You refused to listen to such things,

but you knew this kind of cruelty existed
because we all lived it
and we called it capitalism and prayed to its gods,
when we knew they had long since stopped doing any good.

60
** (denotes a slight time jump, like skipping grooves on a vinyl recording)

THREE: It was a weekday.

I was wrestling with the chicken on the kitchen surface.
It was slippery. You said use a knife,
I wanted to use my hands wanted to break it open,
wanted this chicken to surrender.

Later we stopped eating,

because we couldn’t taste it anymore,
after the days of smoke.

**

TWO: You were dreaming of that time

when we were going to go on vacation.
We hadn’t taken one in years.
We worked all the time.
We were addicted to phones.
We slept with them, caressed them,
sang them little songs,
even before they sang anything to us.

ONE: (half sung) I fall to pieces.

TWO: A vacation seemed remote, impossible, oblique.

You said no one uses the word “oblique” unless they’re in college
or have had time to read past the news,

61
but I used the word anyway.
I liked the way it held our tongues,
because it promised mischief.
Oblique.

The vacation would be on an island full of sun and no violence.

An island from antiquity filled with everything.

THREE: deep debt, beautiful ruins, the sound of summer rain

And people smashed out of their senses.

TWO: but also, just people going about their lives,

ONE: Ordinary lives.

TWO: trying to get by on what little they had

After the days of debt,
And trying to hold on to their dignity, too,
When it was clear such days were long gone,
And had been for some time.

ONE: you preferred the woods,

a vegetable garden, four dogs and two cats
and somewhere to rest your head
without feeling the arch of the bedframe when you slept.
I could’ve told you all islands now radiated violence
and that the woods were a thing of the past,
but sometimes it’s best to keep our lies, because they give us hope.

62
**

THREE: My friend Chris, the one that wears plaid shirts and glasses
says we’re all cursed and that this, this space,
right where we are – this theatre -
is also cursed,
and we should be happy about it;
because whoever said this space was holy?

TWO: Why should we believe such a thing when everything in the world
When seemingly everything in the world has gone to shit?

ONE: We did this.

TWO: We made it shit.
THREE: We made it all shit.
ONE: And then we cried.

TWO: we marched and held up signs

and said our children would be the ones to solve everything,
because we couldn’t,
we had fucked everything up. Gloriously.

**

ONE: (like the phrase of the song stuck on the groove) I fall to pieces.
I fall to pieces.
I fall.

63
**

THREE: remember that night? When we were…?

what was it? Deluge?
I had your sex in my mouth
and we swore we’d change the world. With just our sex.
we were such romantics.
Imagine changing anything with just sex?

TWO: It’s better than the news.

I hate the news. I can’t watch it anymore.
I used to. I used to be a news junkie. Every minute, second…
I used to know everything. From all over the world.
I was so fucking educated.
But what could I do with it?
My education, all my education,
couldn’t change the way you looked at me when we went out.

THREE: We never went out.

TWO: When we used to go out

Before the days of fire.

**

ONE: Later, later, after the buildings fell,

and the poor people were pushed out,
no one knew what to do with them.

64
Years went by, and still no one knew,
while the poor people,
much poorer than us

(though not by all that much, given the state of things),

the poor people waited

And said we are living in a very cursed place.

They knew this. We knew this,

But some of us said we didn’t know what to do.

TWO: In the days of fire

ONE: All days
TWO: In the days of fire
We counted how many times we saw things,
And how many ways we could avoid touching each other.

THREE: we stopped touching each other long ago.

When we met, we would just stare at one another
or maybe wave with our hands.

(They all wave with their hands, as if saying “hello” with the wave)

But never touch, because even the most innocent touch was cause for alarm.

ONE: These were the days of fire

And soon there would be other days. But we would not see them.

65
**

TWO: Out of earshot, we hear how the woods are closing in all of them.
They are surrounding us. Even though there are no trees.
And we wonder how this could be in the days of smoke.
It is a true thing. We heard it.
We saw it across the wires
And if something is coming across the wires of no wires then it must be true.

FOUR: (walks in) I don’t know anything anymore.

I have been given up for dead.
I was once one of the poor people
that lived in one of those buildings that shouldn’t have caught fire,
but did, because someone thought flammable materials were ok to build with.

Years later, no one has yet to say, “I’m sorry.”

I know better than to expect an apology but sometimes,

even if said by rote, the words “I’m sorry” can mean something.

** full breath

ONE: Late at night, like this, late at night and no one listening,
the sound of my heart, racing,
looking for the next sign of forgiveness
from across the world.

66
I ache for the words “I’m sorry”
Because I have long stopped saying them myself,
and I am filled with shame.

THREE: The chicken is in the oven.

The stew will be made soon.
I am a lousy cook, but I pretend taste (the sense of it) is still with us.

FOUR: It is a dark day, and not just because it is night.

Deep sudden rains consume us. And we throw up our hands.
We don’t even try to find an umbrella.
The wind is sharp. It cuts our skin.
We look for a bandage to stop the blood.

**

TWO: When the woods let out a gasp, and the trees disappeared,
and the oceans rose to such a point
that we had to climb to the highest rock to get a hold of ourselves,
I promised myself, I swore I would write you a letter.
It would not be nice. We had long stopped being nice to each other.
History was a poison. We could not purge it.
We made this.
We made all this happen.
We were the lowest of the low and we made low sounds
across the fields of no fields.
**

67
ONE: We did this.
TWO: We made it shit.
THREE: We made it all shit.
ONE: And then we cried.

**

FOUR: My letter stank of shit and piss

and tears and bones breaking apart.
It carried in it the weight of all worlds,
and you would know it all, my little cunt-sucker.

We said such things to each other,

back in the days before the days of fire,
before the days of smoke.

We said such things and some people were shocked

because they said such words, such cunty words,
were the lowest form of expression
and didn’t we want to rise?
Didn’t we want to be above it all?

I said to them, above whom? Above what?

I’m one of the poor people you threw out

I’m one of the ones left here,
still here,
in this city, in this town,

68
ONE (Perhaps joined by Two and Three): in this place
In this country,
In this blood,
In this land,

FOUR: in this village,

in this square,
in this everything.

I refuse to be above anything.

Because it is them that were above,
that said were above us,
claimed (that) the cost of us all
wasn’t worth the VALUE.

it is them that were above,

that said were above us,
chose to make us invisible.

So, my letter will stink of all,

all human-ness,
earth-ness,
tree-ness
bird-ness
plant-ness
insect-ness

69
water-ness
air-ness,
and even the plastic-ness that consumes us now,

and yes, I will call you my little cunt-sucker,

because back then,
it was the sweetest word we could say to one another.

**

ONE: Left for dead, some were.

In the days of smoke.
Of course, this was just like that movie,
but we’re not in that movie.
We’re not in the most wretched days on the earth.
It just feels like we are.

**

THREE: Listen, let’s put our thinking caps on.

Remember that expression?
Was it something you grew up with too?
Once, we were told to put our thinking caps on
and this meant that if we did,
we would be able to change the world.

TWO: I am putting on my thinking cap.

I am thinking. I think we could be good.

70
**

ONE: (as if the recording is stuck in the groove) I fall to pieces.

I fall to pieces.
I fall…
F
A
L
L
**

THREE: So, the chicken did taste good.

I gave it a seasoning.
Some spices and things.
someone said that all the best seasoning is Mexican seasoning,
but I told them that was racist, because what about everybody else?
But this someone said they read it somewhere,
that Mexican seasoning was the only seasoning left in the world
and we should just get used to it.

This someone said they ate tacos and chipotle every day,
even when they were far, far away,
in places where you would not expect tacos and chipotle,
and they didn’t miss any other kinds of food or seasonings,
because once, in the days of hummingbirds,
in the days of myths, Mexico ruled the world.

**

71
ONE: Late at night, this person was found frozen in the desert.
they said they had eight hundred dollars in their backpack.
They had been carrying it for miles.
The bills were wadded up and stuffed in a hole
inside a hole inside the belly of the backpack,
and when they were found,
when they were found by this other person with a flashlight,
the bills spilled out from their wad as if they were an offering.

This person with the flashlight, the one that found them,
wore a scarf around their face for protection from the desert wind.
They had been travelling too.
They knew the inside of the desert could waste you through and through.

But they wouldn’t give up,

because they knew others had crossed once
and had found miracles.

**

TWO: I am at the highest point of the highest point of the rock

and I am afraid this letter won’t ever reach you.
Shall I sing it to you instead?

ONE: (half-sung, simply) I fall to pieces.

TWO: The birds of this region are flying overhead.

They don’t know we sometimes used the phrase “seagulling” to mean the worst.

72
They swoop and caw. They do their fly-over.
They pretend we are good and send this letter. I give them a wave.
THREE: Wave. Because I know we are long past touch.

**

ONE: I woke up today.

The fields were full of wildflowers.
We sighed like adolescents.
we swore everything was gonna be all right.

THREE: (with casual irony) the kids are always all right.

**

TWO: Last night the world was on fire.

We walked up to it and held out our hands. a bit of warmth.

FOUR: you’ll want to find me.

But I won’t be here.

I’m telling you this for a reason.

Because you’ll wonder,
perhaps someday, maybe even now,
if all days were like this.
Like smoke.

73
Nine. In this theatre
There is a sound that begins to take over the space –
An ambient loop/mix of pre-recorded lines and phrases from the previous scene – i.e.
“days of fire,” “like smoke,” “I fall to pieces,” etc. – that turns into another sound, one
from the natural world -

Wind?
Trees?

It is strong and insistent.

This can be done with foley effects or, again through pre-recording.

Four, Three, Two slowly walk off the stage, casually, as if they are going out for a stroll or
on break.

One remains.

The sound builds in intensity.

It feels as if the back wall, if there is one, if it is that kind of site, will indeed break open.

For a while it should feel as if it may,

And then, the sound subsides, and there is a silence.

And things feel calm and easeful somehow.
Breath.)

74
Epilogue

ONE: Faith takes work, my grandmother used to say.

I didn’t know what she meant.
She was from an older country.
And sometimes would slip into a language I did not understand.

She was a tough cookie and did not suffer fools.

She had old ideas about faith,
which, when I knew her, I associated with organized religion.

I was a tough cookie too.

And had little patience for faith.

I wanted rebellion and freedom.

Without faith.
Of any kind.

Except that, well, I did have faith in gatherings such as these

Because they made me dream.
Even though they were not necessarily ‘round a campfire.

There’s this book I read once that talked about skywriting.

In this book, on page nine,

there was a section devoted to the relationship between language and air,

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Specifically, on how words carry meaning and emotion through sound.
But also, how they are writ upon the traces of previously vanishing lines.

Palimpsest.

Skywriting is a kind of dreaming.

It demands faith.

The moment you write, it’s already fading away.

But you write anyway,

Because someone

(hope, hope)

may come across it

As they look up and shield their eyes from the sun.

They may even take the time

(hope, hope)

To tell their friends what they saw and how it made them feel.

And the next day maybe those friends will look up

And wonder if there will be skywriting today.

And the day after that

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or two hundred years from now,

(if we get there)

The people or animals or trees may say to themselves

Let’s think our way into doing things
Even if there is no skywriting today.
And see what the potential could be.

In the dictionary one of the antonyms of the word “potentiality”

Is “reality”

So, I tell my grandmother now

In our imaginary conversations

Because she has long passed

That although I don’t believe in her kind of faith

There is this dreaming that I find rather interesting.

Because it has no clock.

It has no price.
It’s full of potentiality.

And when I think of it

I am amazed at the little things we can still do

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As once in caves
flickering shadows.

So, I will leave you with this.

(I promise this won’t take long)

Close your eyes.

Imagine you are here.

Imagine this room is the world.

Imagine all that is possible.

And then imagine

Taking someone’s hand.

Holding it for a while.

And whispering in their ear

Something like love.

(A moment, and then)

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Additional Notes on Text and Staging
When there is a double space between sections of text, this indicates a slight shift or breath
need be taken. They are stanza breaks in the poetic sense.
When actors say “X” in this play, sometimes they mean X and do not use the word that
should be there, and sometimes “X” is standing in for a word that will be filled in by the
creative team in performance. A playfulness around this is encouraged.
In this play, when someone exits, it is said instead that they “walk off the stage.”
In this play, the actors use mostly the words “we” and “you,”, instead of “I,” except when
they do. This is not done in the spirit of imposing hegemony and disavowing differences,
but rather as an intentional semantic choice related to the plurality of being human and
removing the centered nature of “I” from drama. We are many I’s at any given moment, in
other words.
Gender pronouns in this play are nearly always “they,” to reflect a non-binary view of the
world. Actors bring who they are to the work, though the pronouns used in the script will
remain the same.
ASL, BSL or ISL may be a performed language of some of the text. Other languages,
besides spoken English, are encouraged as well in performance. For example, an actor may
say a line in English, but another may respond in another language. Care need be taken
with the cadence and overall poetics of the text.
A choreographic approach is encouraged when staging this play. Even when staged
digitally.
There is silence in this play. Don’t rush through it at a gallop. Consider how time is treated
in a musical sense.

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