Well we started out with this bed
it was a four poster
the design of which I’d taken from this poster
I think it was signed by the drummer or something
or the band manager
or his dog
either way
this bed
that bed
a bed of roses with birds circling overhead.
that’s where this all began.
that’s the scene.
there are no words
everything that you can hear is slow as if drip fed
the mis-en-scen is minimal
it feels as if there should be a filter
perhaps sepia
but there isn’t
the diagetic and non-diagetic sound have forgotten which of them is supposed to be positioned where and are nervously switching places.
After a while the throbbing returns to its normal intensity
the ebbing and flowing has stopped.
deterritorialization and reterritorialization have found a comfortable equilibrium.
we have plateaued.
But what happens next?
I’m sure that’s the question on the audience’s lips.
what happens next?
heart burn?
gut rot?
gout?
I am a character, but I am not in character, and I am in bed.
I am dreaming in typography.
What do you get if you cross Kermit the frog with Kurt Cobain?
I honestly have no idea.
we are going to add a diner scene
I vetoed any creative choice that included a dolly zoom
I was not in character when I made this decision.
The camera pans to the right and we return to our project.
the bed is in a field of roses and there is a wooden box resting on top
the box is filled with soil
in which some roses have been planted.
What is the most shocking similarity between Michael Cain, Keaton Henson and Michael Palin?
one day they will all be dead.
I didn’t think anyone got gout these days
I thought it was awfully out of vogue or undignified
like consumption or the plague
How would you like to die?
in my personal opinion I would just to say
fuck martyrdom
have some fucking dignity.
okay, that time I was in character.
Thank god for the 1700s
if it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t be where we are today.
I’ll put the diner scene in here once I’ve found it.
The camera pans seventy years into the future
the focus is on a building that was built to last forever
inside flaky plaster and luminescent mould clings to the walls and ceilings stained in brown and blue
the colours shift, like the oil and water in those little plastic things they have on the desks in the waiting rooms of therapists offices.
this project has really changed
this project used to do 3.5s but now it only does 2.8s
the building is filled with pockets
pockets which are in turn filled with soggy lint and old money covered in paint
dig deep with your bare hands
really let it get between your fingernails
I am going to stamp the word BANK across your forehead
then I want you to brand the world CINEMA onto my left buttock
C-I-N-E-M-A
that way once we are gone people will know exactly what we used to be.
to recap: would Shetland ponies still be called Shetland ponies if it wasn’t for continental drift?
The following bit of the project is an extract from a larger project, which is in fact a play.
a play about a dog.
The play was originally published in serial by the daily sport.
it was then published again (and amended) as one continuous piece in the Michelin good beer guide.
The New York review didn’t care for the content
the Paris review was shocked
the London review of books was bored
and this reviewer happened to be the one who wrote it.
this part of the project, known henceforth as THE PLAY, contains:
a complex stream
a vast web
several nodes
lines of flight
layers of intensity
several characters
numerous letters
and a few numbers.
I used to have a dog
I used to walk him every day
people used to stare at my dog.
the government then promised that everybody could have a dog as well
and the people rejoiced.
what they didn’t realise was that all of their dogs would look just like mine.
the outcome of this government project has not yet materialised.
A grubby mirror in the centre of an empty room begs explanation
as it casts warm waves of light across the floor
splinters raise like hairs on freckled forearms
floorboards warp like goosebumps
exposed brickwork is so in right now
exposed brickwork is so fucking in right now.
tear off your skin right now and expose your beautiful fucking brickwork.
Ah, here’s the diner scene:
Three of the characters are in a diner and they are talking about evictions schedules, the volume of my voice and the volume of water you have to consume whilst on ecstasy in order to flood your brain.
Throw acrylic paint across the floor and let it dry, pull it up and stitch yourself new skin for when the rain comes.
In the next scene one of the characters is talking to who is offscreen, offstage and totally off their rocker.
“who on earth left that there!?” says one of the characters
“totally mismatched” says the other “doesn’t go with the room at all!”
the first character tuts and says “do they not teach this kind of thing in schools anymore? This country is going down the pan”
We have a sequel planned.
in this one the weather is much worse.
in this one some of the characters are older and some of them have had kids.
Some of the characters have suffered great losses and none of them would consider their interim, off-screen time between films a success.
The camera pans down to reveal the amphitheatre seating
THE PLAY is sat arguing with a portly man who is called THE DIRECTOR
“I thought that this was a play?” said THE PLAY
“yes it is, I assure you!” said THE DIRECTOR “but the sequel is a film, it’s a multimedia thing”
everybody digs multimedia
“so now I am a movie about a play that is about multimedia?” asked THE PLAY
“yes” said THE DIRECTOR “and I am very proud of you”
In this one the characters are much more reluctant to make eye contact with each other and have almost completely forgotten about the dog.
not mentioning the dog feels right, almost as if there never was any dog to start off with
and like their lives had never changed.
this is the only film that none of the characters have ever watched.
Three of the characters are still in the diner after all this time; two on one side of a table and one on the other
the window of the diner frames the background
it is late and the patches of the street are illuminated by streetlamps.
every time one of the characters says something a car or truck noisily drives past, causing the window to rattle and obscuring the characters speech.
I moved out of my previous house because I didn’t think there was enough doom.
don’t you know I base all my decisions around doom?
I am currently not in character.
The last scene is set in a land where language never happened.
a moonless night sky.
the future is just the past but in reverse.
everyone who inhabits this place is literally made of roses.
being bored is sometimes like being drunk
it makes you do strange things to pass the time
like a doodle a strip of flowers as long as your arm
or send dirty text messages to yourself
although sometimes being bored is not at all like being drunk.
being bored only seems like being drunk when you have no choice other than to be bored.
when I was a child I often used to exclaim
“I’m bored””
and I think that I was wrong.
I now dream of a bed of roses carefully tended by hands unseen
and as I look down upon the bed from the window of my roses-room
I think to myself.
It is getting late, perhaps we should just pack up all our things and go back to bed.
Welcome to The Plains of Elysium 