A single pair of shoes could displace emotions, could replace relationships, could speak for oneself. I never killed myself until that. I hate it. I hate it. Especially when one says it to the other. It means that the former thinks that the latter will accept it and it is the best solution, the last resort!
I’ve got so many things to write but I don’t feel like it, at the same time, I feel relieved to have someone (blog) to talk to. I’m a lost, lost sheep in Maryland.
Today’s Mayday, at least NTUC called it this ambiguous ‘ship-distress’ title, or it might be true and I’ll have to be a noob. Sheesh. Well, I’m having the fever now, the narrator caught the egocentric fever and would like everyone to have it as well, at least assumed. Word of honour? Oh bother, I’m screwd today. Went to Downtown East for an extra ticket to Wild wild wet/Escape.
Personally, I did all I can to prevent this from happening but I still did, spent 7 hours there, or rather 2 hours, waited, half-sitted, half-mourning position on the stairways that birds of a flock come together, but I’m different, I’m not a bird, so you see don’t you, that I need to bitch. Me, the yogi practised meditating, face-in-hand for 3 whole hours before I got tired of sticking my index into my ear half the time. Thanks percussionists, thanks gay pseudo-avrils (some stupid chinese band from some channel U band thingy, oh yes, Superbands) But I’m justified as a detractor, they sang Girlfriend, eh Spyduh? Your previous comment? Haha, spot on. We cannot forgive her, *shakes head*.
And the above as well as the following accounts are perfectly proportionate, not distorted, when the narrator says its 5 hours, she means it. Then I got up from my position, my bones were creaking (not that they’re capable of anything better) and I cramped in the most inconvenient places (neck, calf muscles). I knew I’ve got a cold or even a fever, sorry the fever but I don’t care, better off resting in the coffin. I got up and decided to make a vlog (video blog).
Terrible idea, but it swings, it fluctuates like all other. I found a way to avoid public scrutiny. I twanged out my mobile and pretended to be in a call, then placed the camera on my lap, bending over it in the previous yogi position. Then I took several shots and decided that the best one is the one that shot the woman behind me and half of my temples, but my standards are bad, the best is not good enough.
But they really did make a terrible din over there, every 15 minute interval, they’ll get a troupe of people to string up a funeral procession, or rather two, three, four, till your fingers go, then your toes, I will not say gazillion for literal’s sake. But its terrible, magnified (now I’ll say it) a gazillion times by a sick person. I was really annoyed, about to say pissed. But I was never pissed from months ago, until mom came back.
You’ll know, 5 whole hours of waiting for something that’s dreadful but inevitable and needed. I dread their presence but I need them to fetch the pram and get me home. So I just cried cos they’re planning to go on the last round of the horse carousel, dumps bottle of H-two-O bought from god knows where and leaves with a wave that bearly completed a period. Flash and go. Damn and I just sulked for the ton of papers left to complete and things to settle, no book to read.
Then I got back to my previous mentality, I should not have gone there, should’ave just pulled a long face and sulk at home instead of the public. Well, so I got to them and threatened to go home and I did, up to the bus stop, then I realise that I’ll get a thrashing at home, if not, everyone will hate me more. But I thought of how mom is going to lug the pram up the stairs (she has tennis elbow) so I made a U-turn at the carpark and went back. By then, they’d rejoiced and went back for another round of carousel-ing. I just hecked the shit and walked a whole 3 round round the muli-purpose hall until it came to me that mom might see me. So I headed to the same spot on the same stairway and plopped down. I never turned back again, but she did saw me.
And that’s where the tide of blood came in. I’m writing like a damned essay, but I didn’t mean to.
Well, I just half-cried, half fending it away from her eyes, from the public. I did not want her to think that I hated her for it, which I think she did later on. Then came the consolations, level 1 consolations, ” don’t cry”, “stop crying”, then the second level, “cheer up”, “be happy”, but I hated the 3rd one. She just asked me,” What present do you want?” And I just sorta broke down.
Then she went on,” Tell me, I thought you want new pair of shoes earlier on (1 year ago,
fulfilled)”, “Or we go shopping tomorrow? ( no thanks)”.
That was the worst part of the day.
A single pair of shoes could displace emotions, could replace relationships, could speak for oneself. I never killed myself until that. I hate it. I hate it. Especially when one says it to the other. It means that the former thinks that the latter will accept it and it is the best solution, the last resort! Degrading! In recent times, I never gave a serious damn heck about material. It just shows how they know that little about me.
Well, I’m elusive, no one knows me.
Ah, I finished the draft two to Act one but its whole six pages in MS word doc, so… Never mind, I shall get it here, read it or leave it. Haha, but I’ll get the whole thing here once I’m done with draft three so please review it, I’m quite proud, or very proud about it.
Disclaimer: I’ve nothing to do with Jane, and I’m not that. I names my blog, my screen name after the title of my poem as well as the ‘Jane’ in this play. Thanks.
Act 1 Scene 1 (Ballroom)
JANE (fantasy, did not arrive yet, soliloquy imagined, as for subsequents in Scene 1)
Where is my manuscript? They always ask, they never stop, they always quabble over my roles. I told them they’re not good enough, but they kept pestering me, once, twice, thrice, till I ran out of fingers, then came my toes, a gazillion whopping times till my life ran out on them. You’ve gotta know when to draw the line when you’re simply not good enough, but those beasts of humans, they never knew. What’s the point of getting cast roles when you’re someone else? Why, why? I’m asking you (engage with audience), you came here to tell me, but you never live it up, you never did, like the rest of them. (overlap with Gordon) GORDON (reality)What the hell time is it?
HATTIE Oh, gorgie dear, sure you didn’t change o’er the years, hot-blooded as the 18-y’old version of you (teasingly), keep that shot down, learn to wait, Cinderella’s late for the ball! You know she’s primping her carriage for you!
JANEThey kept expecting me. But they don’t know that plays need time and they don’t bother to understand, to hear, to listen, to me, to my voice. Over time, they took over my voice and spoke for me. Over time, I don’t ever bother to correct them, those unsightly flaws. Those Assumptions of man, Poison! And when I did, they search me over and throw me a few nickels in exchange for a seat in the cast. And that’s where things turned ugly.
GORDON I said, in the name of Christ, what hour is this?
HATTIEWhy do you man always ask for the time? If you would only be half as faithful as that during Julibee Race Hours, JANE would have come even without a clock.
GORDON Fine, you son of a bitch (he has been drinking). *Stands up to leave*
JANEPeople always ask why but they get questions in return. A play without answers.
HATTIE No Gorg, no, its, its (fumbling for her timepiece) four. I mean, err two more hours to breakfast, eh? Err, early mornings, healthier meals. Gorg! Wait! Oh, United won 2-to1. Gorg! C’man look at the telly! Gorg!
GORDON4, eh? For four years I’ve waited, for four years I’ve died. Lets make it a five then. Hawkings! One more shot, make it the fifth!
HATTIE When will you st-
GORDONI’m sorry, but I don’t favour early morning fills.
HATTIE But Gorg-
GORDONHawkings! Forget it! I don’t want it anymore. (Bawling) The fifth, the fifth, you bitch, I cud’ave settle for Rose, for Violet, for Daisy. One each year! Nice flowers, them. P’raps you’d better go. Scram! You and your goddam plays, turning a neurotic day by day. I shud’ave clean you off long ago-
HAWKINGSWell I say Gorg, you cud’ave given her a good one (makes a jerk). That’ll settle her if marriage won’t.
GORDON Ha-ha-ha-ha, Jane? I say, Hattie, d’ya believe in the 5 impossible things before breakfast? J
ANEBlood and lust, Blood and lust. People stabbing you in the back, in the neck, in the spine. You can’t turn, no, till the day you die, from a horrible Act, a Scene turned wrong!
HATTIE You men, never got the right things in your brains from day 1-
JANEThe day he was born, the day he was born, I threw a screw into your brains, juicy—yum, and stirred and stirred. You, you! Everyone of you! (audience) You’re screwd! Cursed, yes. You’ll never get a role, never!
GORDON Like a madman never calls himself mad.
HAWKINGSUnless he dislodged that screw in his head—unscrewd (makes an action with his hand)
GORDON Haw-haw-haw-haw. Good one there Hawks.
HATTIEMen and his sick jokes come together. You’d better have a looking glass before Jane sees you.
GORDON Haw-haw-haw-haw. Men will always be the men and women will be welcomed in as his sick jokes! Sick material, entirely, four years, four years, you squandered away four years, time more than a lifetime of horse bets will worth! (continue muttering in a slur)
HAWKINGSAch sir, bachelors have a helluva time. Just look at me, not a day over 25 and white hair appearing!
GORDON No matter! White hair is in Vogue. Dye it, un-dye it once, twice, thrice, gazillion times, nothing will shatter in the process. But four years! Four years, waiting for a train that never makes it face at the station. Dozens of others bypass it concurrently but what’s the stationmaster to do? Fold his arms, drape The Mirror across, preoccupied with the same issue for 4 years in a role! For a loony! Yes, a goddam loony!
HAWKINGSWell I say-
HATTIE Yes, four years, four years of horse bets, four years of porn rags, four years of complaints screwing my nerves. Its no wonder that the loo—(stopped herself in time from saying ‘loony’) Jane, she waited that long- longer, for you to turn sober. But you failed in your part.
JANEI told them, I told them, did I not, did I not? Need I repeat, need I raise my voice? They are not in my play! I told them to stay away but they won’t heed it. It starts with candy-eyed eagerness and ends with…with. (Sigh) Bad roles, bad acting, accusations, “you-failed-in-your-parts”, listen, have I not warned them. Have I not told them, to stay away, to stay away from my play, from my life? This caboodle of hate, blood and lust, not the script, not the actual script, actors, actresses acting on impulse, the last thing I need is bad improvisations! This is not how my play is gonna turn out! Curtains, curtains! Exeunt, people exeunt!
Act 1 Scene 2 (Jane arrives)
GORDON Oh Jane my sweet, you’ve turned into a woman!
HATTIESee, I told’ya, she’d been primping herself ready for you (teasingly).
GORDON Oh Hattie-
HATTIEAh Gorg, still the red-faced kid as before eh? Look at him, just look, ha-ha.
GORDON No—I mean, I—err I mean. Rose (holds a rose up, from Hattie’s bouquet), care to have a swing with me? Been times since we did the tango.
Ah, ah. I think I’d better excuse myself, been times since I went to the loo.
JANE Oh sorry? (Fumbles in her pockets) But sorry, what scene is this?
GORDONWhat what scene is this?
JANE The play! The play! Have you forgotten? Better if you have, so we’ll save on the rehearsals, I’d never planned it for the stage. If there’s nothing else, Mr. Keys, I guess—
GORDONC’mon Violet, we’re not at the theatre (holds up a violet from Hattie’s bouquet).
JANE Since when did I give you a role? You, outrageous, you! I said don’t mess up my play, its been bad when me myself was at it and worse when you tried to get a hand at it. Now I say, Rock Bottom! Yes Rock Bottom. Will you just stop cutting in one day?
GORDONI—Look Daisy, its been four years, I’ve been holding you, supporting you for four years, will you accept me, I promise, look, I swear, I don’t want a part in the play of yours.
JANE Gordon Keys, you give up the role? Fine, thanks you for taking time in the auditions. Next!
GORDONLook, I thought you don’t want me in? Hey Sweetie, hey!
JANE A chance forgotten is a chance lost. Second chances are ghosts of third, fourth fifth, and yes the first—I count for you, Mr. Keys, till I ran out of fingers, then my toes, a gazillion whopping times till my life ran out of them. You’ve gotta know when to draw the line when you’re simply not up to it, but you beasts of humans, you never knew. What’s the point of getting cast roles when you’re someone else? Why, why? I’m asking you, you came here to tell me, but you never live it up, you never did, like the rest of them. Come and go, come and go, Spring, autumn, summer, winter. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
GORDONYes, precisely. Four times, no more no less. Hear, you wanna make it the fifth tomorrow? Helluva crap!
HATTIE (in a distance, arranging flowers, overlapping) Roses are red
Violets are blue
Daisies are sweet
And so are you (Dead silence, Hattie says this extraordinarily loud)
JANE No Mr. Keys, not anymore.
GORDONSome things go, some things stay. Woman are things, just things aren’t they? Things that suck four years outta your lives and regurgitate them out when they decide they’re full.
JANE I’m full Mr. Keys, full, years ago, (glancing up the calendar) exactly four years ago, not a day more, not a day less. Au Revoir.