Saturday, March 08, 2003

Mortal Man meets Death

The Room of Decision

Black lady lies invisible beneath the chair of decision, death's messenger with the task to escort souls to the afterlife.

Mortal Man enters. Walks slowly & deliberately towards the chair - last breath.

The characters contact each other through breath.

Black lady breaks into the room, cracking through into the realm of the visible and reaches out for contact.

Mortal Man first hears then sees Black Lady.

The characters contact through sight.

Black Lady is pulled away from Mortal Man to a gateway of the afterlife. She has violated her task by attempting to talk.

Mortal Man, as a child or newborn to this afterlife, watches and is curious about this light cloth. Examines where it begins, where it goes, touches it . . .

The White Lady emerges & introduces the game of hide & seek. A mother calling her child to come.

Mortal Man hesitates then begins to play - even when he hides among the living (the audience) he is found.

The characters contact through play.
The White Lady coaxes Mortal Man to rest his head on her lap and then shocks him with the voice of terror.

Mortal Man experiences the full pain of the physical self collapsing.

The characters contact through voice.

The White Lady prepares the body for the afterlife (washing ritual)

Mortal Man rises looks to audience & consciously decides to stay in the world of the living or to enter the afterlife.


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We do not die because we have to die: we die because one day, and not so long ago, our consciousness was forced to deem it necessary.- Artaud
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Oh,

I

know


I too shall cease and be as when I was not yet, only all over instead of in store. That makes me happy, often now my murmur falters and dies and I weep for happiness as I go along and for love of this old earth


that has carried me so long and whose uncomplainingness will soon be mine. Just under the surface I shall be, all together at first, then separate, and drift through all the earth and perhaps in the end through a cliff into the sea, something of me.


A ton of worms in an acre, that is a wonderful thought a ton of worms, I believe it. --- Samuel Beckett From an Abandoned Work