[Note – play runs at 80 bpm metronome beat. Each word takes on a tick, with some words split in half as shown. The form is solely experimental and used to explore instead of forcing the actor to use a set style. In rehearsals it may be found that a different rhythm 70 or 90 may create more discoveries than 80. But then, listening to a 40bpm metronome is helpful in slowing down the mind. In training, I’d recommend listening to various beats during daily life/sleep. As it is, one word or part per beat, an extra beat after a full stop and a space of five beats at the end of a paragraph.]50Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPPUkas8w76
(A bed was in the middle of the room. There was nothing on the walls. Walls and bedspread are baby blue. Lights down. Dim light barely illuminates the bed. Squeaking. Actor will emerge from under the covers and speak.) Knock knock. And there I was. This used to be my fav/ourite time to be a/live. When no/one is here. When I only am home. Up past mid/night. No sleep in sight. My room mate kept sma/shing her door closed un/til she knocked out at two a./m. We were both wo/ken up by the con/cern/ing situ/ation down stairs. All done now. Back to bed us all. Up late and no sleep in sight. ‘Jgshwee his/-see’ Ex/cept for my/self in bed. With/out any/thing bet/ter to be do/ing with time. Be/low the bed there is floor and above the bed is the fore/com/ing sleep. But none of that is now. Now I ext/end a hand from be/neath bed/sheets, and I know I will see my fin/gers. All 10 will be there. (Actor will extend hands, revealing only 5 fingers) Life will be/come myst/erio/us. I will fi/nally be a whole wom/man. I will be able to af/ford a rhino/plas/ty for my nose and bot/tom sur/gury. And I will be real. Or I will be dead. I will come to be known as no one. I used to think that I’d died. When you drink for long enough, you can’t see your self in your refl/ection any more. I would wake up to a blank ech/o. Of what? You couldn’t res/pond to ques/tions a/bout your health. How was your life? How is your day? Each small que/ry is becom/ming a mem/ory game. I can/not think of what to say. All/ways the complex re/lapse. Ne/ver just the pub. The off-/li/cense sec/onds be/fore close. Slurred rec/eipts. Dead/name on my I./D. Pis/sing in to the ward/robe, face down in the all/ey. High to death. Each morn/ing make a toast to end drink/king. Ne/ver. Ro/man/tic idy/lic imag/ery. To/morr/ow I will stop. To/morr/ow I will cease these un/ending ven/tures of self dis/cov/ery. Never. All/ways back up. Now, I will make my self beau/tiful. By rais/ing this drink to my cherry red lips I will a/lign with my dream of who I am des/tined to be. Be. Be/come. My heart will break in love. I’ve loved. Laughed, cried. What I crea/ted, I laid waste to. My first love was at age eight teen and her name was. Some/body. No one. We had some/thing beau/tiful. It all fell a/part quick. When alc/ohol be/came less legal. It drew me all clo/ser. Drink exper/iments filled even/ings. I be/gan the lies. The con/stant cy/cle. But now I’m a/lone I’m on my own I guess I do o/kay. I have my out/bursts at times. We are not saints. And. (looks to left side of wall) There is a pain/ting on that wall. That pain/ting is of my most recent ex/peri/ment of the mind. I will do some thing so unex/pected. A new ven/ture to shock all the mind. I will see God again in a new wom/an of the mind in/side. I will reme/mber to take my es/tra/diol. I star/ted three years back. The in/jec/tions. Each morn/ing got up took block/ers, stret/ched tang/les of hair in to some thing uni/form. Re/pit/it/ious: cy/cles wheel/ing in to the next morn/ing. Same as drink. A bit not the same. I did my make up twelve times over one small spot. Where the stubble per/sists. Some times it did/n’t stop un/til I took the trip to the Tes/co to buy some cans of cider. Then ever/yth/ing soft/ens. Under the bed there are cans left over from the night before. Where am I? This is/n’t where I was. I will take my in/ject/ion soon. To be stan/ding over the sink, rip/ping back the hair from my head. I will find the vein. Some things may hap/pen. I will not faint this time. I will not drink when my body fails to re/cog/nise a change? Knock knock. Lost in time. Aim/less in space. There is no bed now. This is not true. Looped through the cracks in hous/es. A/ban/doned in the must/ty closed house air is the sense of being for/got/ten. Knock. Lost. Mis/placed. I reach/ched up to find a cav/ity for a face. These will not be my own lips. Por/traits of un/know/ing. I will shut my self in now. Things will not a/gain be found out-- (Actor buries themselves in bedsheet, pause 5 beats, re-emerges from the bedsheets.) But on/ly an ill/us/ion of trans/ience. I was on/ly all here all the time. Sleep retur/ns. I exi/st stre/tched bet/ween pa/st and fu/ture. Not a lot feels real/ly real. My bo/dy is/n’t used for much. And here I am. I dream of soft skin. Knock knock. Who’s there? Up past mid/night. In/suff/icient funds, from drink to dreams. No thoughts till dawn. I will listen for foot steps. But noth/ing suffi/cient. Up all nights. Cy/cle of per/fect/ion. Come so close. Fall so far. Oh how broken. Fal/len sky. Held tog/eth/er by sor/row. High to death. Dead to life. No/thing ar/gues a/gainst a drink for to/night. A/nd all w/ill fade-- (Actor returns to beneath covers. Lights down.)50Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzifGw2d4ZW
