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The Whole StoryFx. Intro music Lapis Philosophorum [piano solo]
Fx. Fades into the sound of rain against a window
Why did it have to rain today!?
I was going to go play footy in the park, but no. I got the joy of waking up at 11:30 to the feckin' rain hammering on my window and mum going on at me about how "since you're not going outside and I'm not having you spending YET another Sunday lounging around the house getting in my way, you might as well do me a favor and go check in with granddad!"
So here I am. Spending yet another gloomy Sunday afternoon sitting on a musty old arm chair in granddad's sitting room, nursing a flowery tea cup and trying not to inhale too much of the old person smell and cat hair.
Fx. The chink of a tea cup and the sound of him moving in the chair.
I knew he was going to tell me one of his stories again. I just knew it. It's what he always does. [Pause] I wouldn't mind if they were actually interesting or had some meaning to me as his grand
To Write You Into LinesI promised I would never write you into one of these
whatever you would call them
I told you long ago that I couldn't
A self-proclaimed poet;
too full up with idealistic notions
and self-satisfying dreams
Entrapment - Dream catcherOnce upon a time dreams were thought of as merely a succession of images, ideas and emotions that occur involuntarily in the mind during the stage of sleep called the REM cycle.
And once upon an entirely different time dreams where seen as a way of obtaining sacred wisdom and guidance for life.
But every night in the bedroom of Valentine Rêverie dreams are a thing to be feared ever since her* aunt had brought her the dream catcher for her 10th birthday, saying it was made especially for her by a genuine Lanape Healer. All lies, Valentine knew, it had actually come from the back of a travelling salesmen's cart, but she couldn't be bothered to complain.
Unfortunately since she had hung it over her bed, Valentine's nights hadn't got any easier, in fact quite the contrary.
It was bedtime for Valentine and her younger brother Erin. This was absolutely unfair in Valentine's eyes, her sister was only just 13 but she got to stay up a whole hour later, where was the logic in that? It wasn'
A reason to stayI have just moved in to my new apartment, there aren't many other residents and I had only met one or two other people as I was moving boxes in from the van. My room is now just a mess of boxes each one labelled with their destination room and contents; I can't be bothered to unpack. The rain has started to come down pretty hard so I had to rushed the last few boxes, only bothering to unpack 'kitchen- kettle, tea, cups, cutlery, etc.'
And I'm now sitting in the window nursing a cup of fresh tea and watching the rain splatter the glass an inch from my nose.
It's pitch black outside apart from where the street lamps spill liquid yellow in to the street, pooling in ovals that ripple in the puddles of rain drops.
Nothing moves apart from the constant rain that glitters in the pale light coming from the room behind me.
And then the stillness below me is broken by sudden movement that slips past the corner of my eye only lasting for a second but long enough to catch my attention, I
Chameleon eyesLike molten lava
spilling from the abyss of his mind
sparks fling as he looks around
Taking in everything around him
consuming life itself
digesting it in that inferno
he operates as a mind
and then erupting with all the new
information he has gained
forming words like fireworks
and hummingbirds wings.
Then they are liquid silver
mercury and rivers of fresh melt water
tears like beads of moonlight
encompassing every emotion
in their fall to earth
blessing the air they fall through
calming the inferno, cooling its fires
letting mere mortals such as I
approach - but still only look
for now it is frozen, deadly
and now he looks into mine
my dull earthy green and browns
and stops crying, for in mine he can see
the life that he could never create in his own
and he learns from mine, taking on the green
and filling the cold with vines and leaves and
soft brown earth that warms the air and feeds
the new life that blooms in this new found
even ground. His flame and ice [his extremes]
Paper DreamsShe wishes to be that picture
ripped neatly from the pages
of that magazine.
The one she just taped up
on top of all those others
each one, perfect.
But that's not it
she doesn't seek their perfection
their beautiful skin or glossy hair.
She has spent years collecting them
lining her bedroom walls with their
Photo-shop smiles and glistening eyes.
She hides herself away with them
half believing that if she spends her life
surrounded by them and only them
not going out, not eating anything
never leaving her sanctum of paper
then one day she can finally
achieve what it is she sought
not their perfection
paper thin, curves and skinny bones
not bracing against heavy flesh
but the subtle under-wiring of tanned silk
Her paper dreams
torn from beauty magazines
Stunning, loved like each of the models
Skinny, thin like each page taped to her walls
when you find yourself
in a crowd of familiar faces,
the struggle for breath
You Will PayI can taste the fear upon you:
The cold sweat in your palms,
The eyes that dart at shadows,
And the lips that are forced into a tightened smile.
You wait beneath the blankets,
Shivering each night as the anxiety rises.
You gasp at the slightest sounds and quiver...
For you are afraid of the curse that comes.
In your mind you see what you have done to me.
You watched as you ripped my tongue
And stole the very voice from my soul!
But even if I am without a body,
Even if I can no longer hold a knife to your throat.
Fear alone is enough for me to silence you,
And I will NEVER allow you to be heard!
To The HeroesJustice?
I'm not sure you know what that means.
To you the very word of "justice" suggests that:
Those who do not comply are simply targets to be broken.
Those who do not agree with you, must always be denied.
Those who have the greatest freedom are chained and made to kneel.
And those who choose to fight are labeled 'incarnates of evil'.
Doesn't it all sound a little familiar?
I think it does...
So tell me, oh great hero,
Having fought monsters like me for so many years...
How does it feel to have finally become one?
Inner DemonI harbour a monster,
It lingers deep within.
It wants to escape me,
To tear free from my skin.
It gnaws at my insides,
And hopes that I'll give in.
It works hard to tempt me,
To lead me into sin.
It wants me to suffer
To feel its wretched sting.
But I stand true and strong,
I will not let it win.
The nights are the hardest,
In bed I pray and sing
To the Lord God above
To rid me of this thing.
But instead it remains,
My monster still within.
MazeLost within myself
Looking for a way out
This cannot end like this
Trapped in my own mind
A maze with no exit
I keep running and running
But I always end up
In the same place where I began
RustThe dwelling rust
swells this hollow garden
and somewhere in the yard
a tire swing goes flat
against the skyline.
It chokes the autumn light
in the silo,
the crush of
mums and ragged berries
It bubbles in the percolator
steeping still life
in the caul
of early morning -
the red-brown crumbs
of breakfast toast and jam
growing ghosts upon
And deep inside
I still hear you waking up
the soft salute
of morning voices
stirring the wind
outside my window.
Red Light ReduxHaving a truck
Paint me red
Is the strangest feeling
I’ve ever felt.
I’ve seen myself melt away
Like a mid-summer’s ice cream
While my personality screams
To be noticed. Every wall that once
Stood between me and reality
I am finally free.
Until they strapped me down
And sewed back my hands to my head.
My heart to my mouth.
My legs to the earth.
The taste of freedom
Rests gently on my tongue,
And I’ve been trying
To no avail.
Harmonious DiscordShe dreams
of making music
but it's not music at all.
There is no melody,
no rhythm to her song.
Just the repetition
of the same-
As if the orchestra is
tuning their instruments.
Waiting for the tap of the baton
to bring the mess to order.
hopes that the maestro never arrives.
She loves to loose herself in the fuzzy-buzzing
twanging confusion of it all
The busy white noise
that fills her ears like cotton wool
She knows she could mend it
with the snap of fingers
[bring the rhythm back]
the tap of a foot
[give it a bass line]
the rhythmic clapping
[Make a beat for it to follow]
Start something bigger
than anything previously experienced
In this small static word of
TV snow storms and dial tones
Of broken space filled with
empty frames and fogged up lenses
But she won't.
For this is her harmonious discord
filling the darkness in her head
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