This is a surreal piece I wrote about the cruelty of life and how the elderly are treated in Britain. It was inspired by the time I spent with my grandmother in her care home when she had Dementia and Alzeihmers. It’s a stream of consciousness borderline script.
MRS BRUISED : “I’m tired”
CARD SHUFFLER: (throws his voice from a table on the left)
“I’m tired too.”
MRS BRUISED: (Sitting upright like a majestic, beaten up old queen)
CARD SHUFFLER: “Aye? Go to sleep then”
The room fans out into a full house of insidious laughter.
MISS CARDIGAN: excuse me Dear, can you tell me where the toilets I’ve only just popped by
THE WEED: ( Looks around for sign of a staffed house)
Of course just follow me….
(The weed walks back from the toilets and goes to crouch down to hold Mrs Thought Bubble’s hand).
THE WEED: She has pissed herself. Can someone change her?
THE ROSE: No- she hasn’t.
GINGER: Here you go. Open your mouth?
(Shovels a hefty spoonful of what looks like boiled bagged food)
Lost in thought……
(The smell of piss can’t be worse than death’s kiss…)
GINGER: Here- wah la! open your mouth.
Listen to thoughts of an animated Mrs Thought Bubble.
THE WEED: Tu es Pleine?
Like an old coffin opening for the first time in a century;
MRS THOUGHT BUBBLE: ( creeks out slowly)
THE ROSE: ( Comes back from the kitchen with another full beaker of red diluted kids juice)
You are thirsty today.
So so thirsty.
Three empty beakers all lined up in a row – My eyes rest and are ready to aim – trigger happy and ready to blow.
THE WEED: She has pissed herself, look!
THE ROSE: Oh you have made a pee pee Mamie- a pee pee!
*This song & quote inspired a script I’m working for my Degree in the Humanities.
Basic premise: a jury split over the ‘ grey areas’ of a high profile court case, A young man is accused of raping his wife to be. Is he absolutely guilty of Raping his wife? One night of passion. Two stories. What happened that night? The evidence lies in the hands of 12 jury members.*
‘Now are they not twayne then, but one flesh. Let not man therefore put a sunder, yt which God hath coupled together.’
‘Do you promise to tell the truth, so help you God?
In one gender.
Half a dozen men fester in a room
Separating Sensationalism versus truth.
sweltering Summer days spent
In a hyped media playpen
Forecast for doom.
Devising the fate of a boy
In touch with his truth.
A mistake , is he to fall?
Be punished for the ongoing debate?
Does it make it right?
The boy continued a relationship with the sexually assaulted.
Public claims she is fearful of her boy’s sinister
Fright on sight?
It’s never okay.
No means no.
Damn, that’s a blow
No drug could penetrate,
Mass guilt floods
Semantic fluid clogs the mind
Of a boy done wrong.
Easy to get cynical.
You were to decide his fate.
Where do you compromise your
Determine the facts?
Voices tear apart opinion after opinion
Silenced into cloud funded crowds offset to dissipate.
What is a worthy punishment?
Did she manipulate Boy to gain the upper hand to?
….Deal with the death of her paternal bond?
Cash in on emotional connections equivalent to living in the cult of the son of I am.
‘Forgive me not or let me be free!’
Can we move forward?
Can we sever ties?
Chalk it up to experience.
Live without hubris.
His remaining existence determined by
A dozen eggs:
Hidden behind Neon flashlights pointing to God’s hand
Directing the choir to Man’s asunder demise?
Asunder is an adverb that means “into separate pieces.” So if you’ve torn your ex’s love letter asunder, you’ve forcefully ripped it into separate pieces — and rightly so.
Asunder comes from the Old English phrase on sundran, which means “into separate places.” It is a somewhat archaic and uncommon word and most of us know it only from marriage ceremonies: “What God has joined together let no man put asunder.” In most cases you can use its more common synonym “apart” and convey the same meaning, unless you want to express a particularly violent or forceful ripping.