I know it’s a beginning, and I’m pissed off I deleted the first attempt. But I’m trying to do a good job and so far I haven’t had access to Jules Castagnary’s article, and I haven’t defined subject matter. I AM ANNOYED. It’s on me to find a way to it, and read it, and take notes etc., but I just wonder if there are any ‘leads’ to it. I had a shocking dream last night, I discovered the meaning of obsession in my life, and was interviewed by Dr. Ramirez for the woman in the Red Dress, but this woman just shoved a mike in my face, and then they didn’t look at me, so I said hi – and they said hi - and then I asked them, is this about The Woman in the Red Dress, and they said yes. So then they started to talk to me; but the reason I got into the train carriage where the lady shoved a mike in my face was because I threw a knife that blocked the door from closing so I could get on the train so I could talk to Maggie and Gillian, I can’t remember why. Before that Evie and Una had spent weeks colouring in a woman like in a flick book style onto a bound book format so but then they realised that I hadn’t written very much and after that I was freaked out because the woman they’d drawn to represent her – Emily, looked like Suzy, and I showed it to Vicky who said that is true and she tried to talk to me but things kept changing, and people kept shouting at me, and tying to talk to me abut we tried to find a bed to sleep in that night and that was when we walked into ten people in one room and Luke saw me and immediately went down on me and then I gushed everywhere and he started touching my nipples and I had to pull him into the bathroom to tell him to stop, and I felt really aroused and he kept telling me I wanted to be with him, and I didn’t’ tell him that because of him I stretched my vagina and now I can have sex with whomever I want to; male or female – except not him. But anyway I pushed him off and when I went back into the bedroom everybody shouted at me for waking them up and told me to go away so I did and I had to go back a couple of times I don’t know why; following Vicky I think. But anyway I went for dinner after that in the canteen and I tried to explain to Maggie and Gillian what happened but they wouldn’t talk to me and they went to go away, but I followed them and I was so angry I threw a knife and managed to embed it into the gap between the train door and the carriage wall so I opened the door by pulling the silver compartment slot. I got onto the train and they wouldn’t even look at me and suddenly when I was trying to look at them, this woman put a microphone into my face; not in my mouth or anything, just right in front of me, and all I said was hi; is this about the Woman in The Red Dress, and then I saw Janina Ramirez in her red shirt and black cardigan and I was wearing a stupid clothes; really bad clothes I am embarrassed to wear. So then I got off the train at a bar and these women were sort of all around me everywhere but there were a few blokes too, but I was talking to Janina about I would really like; I mean I think Rachel Weisz would be perfect as Margot and then I went on and on the same point and I wasn’t embarrassed until after the next segment of my dream. So I was in this bar, and I can’t remember what I wore, I wasn’t aware of it. But Janina had left because all I talked about was Rachel Weisz playing Margot. Thankfully I didn’t say anything about my feelings, just about my belief that it would be awesome. Anyway she left but when I saw her she was so beautiful I was shocked. No I didn’t think that then, I don’t remember being conscious of talking to her, it just happened like I was floating through the bar; but I didn’t actually. So that was good. But then the crowds starting leaving and I realised I was on my own with this woman at the bar and I didn’t know her and she was flirting with me and I didn’t particularly enjoy it so I left to talk to some other girls , there was one I quite liked but she kept walking away. But before all of this, and as an interlude I was at a craft fair with my parents and younger sister and I played basketball with some people and Frankie was there inexplicably – I think this was how I started to ask Una and Evie to design the book for me. But I don’t remember doing that. So I talked to this local artist about impressionism for my coursework – don’t’ know why, some answers in a very Meta form. But also I asked him two other questions, one was about subject matter. I asked him how important subject matter in impressionist painting was. One was what does it feel like for an artist to paint a picture and he said it’s embarrassing. At that point I was thinking about The Woman in The Red Dress’s illustrations, but I can’t recall if they had started colouring in yet. So we waded across this river together to talk to my parents and inexplicably started speaking French; I thought he was English but I corrected my own grammar and I changed from the pc to the pqp and also realised something else I can’t recall but that was in the car park when we had reached the other side of the river. They came over to me and I talked to them and I explained that he was French and they asked me his name but then I asked him having realised I’d forgotten to ask him that. I can’t remember his name I didn’t listen and he walked away.
After that I was in the bar – no I was in the bar consistently so that was before all of this. But in the bar I met some girls, and a man –and Dayel. When I talked to this tall pregnant woman she started speaking to me in German and she said something and then asked me what it means or if I liked it and I said I’m sorry I don’t’ speak German, I speak French, but I came back and said I think I know what it means though, and I was about to tell her, but she was shorter and then I realised it was a different woman and the lesbian group said; you have to choose either you can talk to the straight woman over there or you can be with us tonight. So I thought well I’ll just chat to that woman who wanted to know if I liked what she said in German and that sounds really like flirting now but anyway I walked over to her and the next time I saw that girl I liked she just asked me to decide between her or that bloke who had aroused me and offered me a couple of joints and a glass of wine and I was like, well, no I’m sorry and I felt so sad and angry because she was uber sexy and she was too heavy, and drunk, but she had a nice face and there was something cheeky about her.
That group of lesbian girls were behind me when I held hands with the man who was as fit as Johnny with glasses, but lighter hair and no facial hair. I asked him, I whispered in his ear, are we going to get stoned, and he said, yes and he grinned at me and I was going to kiss him but I didn’t want to then. So we were happy and walking down the road when Dayel walked up and put his arm around my man’s shoulders – I don’t’ know his name. But they were close and flirting or something I don’t know if they knew each other really well but then we went and sat in a field after we’d walked down the hill from that bar – and out of the city, into the countryside – I have no idea where we were.
The man I had chosen that evening sat on the grass and pulled three joints out of his pocket. One king-size, two regular sized Rizla papers. I said ah you’ve been waiting for this. And I felt that sinking feeling I know only too well that indicated I have chosen a fellow addict and that he was almost a boy compared to the tipsy seductress who wanted to keep dancing –as did I.
I wanted to go back to a man’s house. I wanted to go to a man’s life so that we could smoke, and drink and giggle and have sex and I could relax. But here was this boy and suddenly a joint the size of which was Dionysian in comparison to the joints we were about to smoke, or were smoking - I can’t remember if I smoked from disappointment at that stage. Anyway, satirical in nature, this giant phallic joint sat there and I decided to smoke it but it kept side burning and I just tasted smoke, I didn’t think there was any marijuana in it.
Suddenly I heard somebody say, can I have your identity cards please. And a police badge was in my face and a few forensic lab coated people as well. I nearly shat myself. All my precariously built time at university flew in front of my eyes and I think I must have been sheet white. Bone white, the whitest white you have ever seen in your life. I was suddenly very cold, and shaking, I didn’t know what to do, I just moved; I didn’t run, and I started thinking – it was very difficult, I might have been stoned, but I didn’t think so.
I heard Dayel start talking to the police, he was trying to get us out of trouble but the more he talked the more emotional he was getting so I told him to stop and held his arm.
So I said, please may I speak with all of you for two minutes. They laughed and said, this should be good – no something like we’ve heard this already. So I said as carefully as I could, we are drug addicts and we have made a mistake, I am very sorry that you spent your time doing this, but please can we leave. They laughed again, and then they walked away into the Wood directly in front of us to look at some more things on the earth.
I turned around, and Dayel had sat next to the boy again and he was smoking again- so he offered it to me, and I accepted. I had two or three puffs and still I felt nothing. Suddenly, again, a man was behind me, and he tapped me on the back. His face was very much older than Dayel and the boy and he said, come with me for a minute. I was very embarrassed to be seen, again, smoking. But he seemed not to be seeing anything about me except for me.
He walked with me for two or three, or five minutes until we came to the edge of the clearing, and I saw a hill into the deeper countryside. Listen, he said; the woman you annoyed at the club; her brother is looking for you and he will kill you if he sees you.
He said nothing else and stared at the hill until I walked away from him, when he said nothing I jogged and then I ran as fast as I could up the hill. I saw his jacket laying on the ground at the top and I didn’t not understand at first and then I saw it was at the point of least visibility if I lay down, and then I saw a young man approaching from the distance and I dropped onto my stomach and scrambled behind and down the hill and ran along the foot of it.
I ran until I came to the coast and I saw cliffs that appeared to be like Newhaven, and Seaford, but the coastline was entirely different. I climbed up the rocks to the short wall, and jumped and scrambled until I made it over that wall into the town where I was safe from the tide coming in. I jogged through the town until I saw somebody approaching me, but not as if they were looking for me. I ran into the first open house front to a man who I asked to help me. He listened to my situation and then said, you’re going home in my car, I made to climb into his jeep – but he pointed at a different car. But that’s joyriding I said and thought of the times (in my dreams, internally consistent narrative?)
He pointed at this other jeep, and said it’s safer if you drive. So I walked over to it to learn how it worked, so he would explain briefly to me. Instead of a steering wheel there was a yellow sponge material much like a circular mouse pad. There was a manual gear stick and the usual brake and acceleration pedals, but there was no clutch. The seats, before I had slotted them into place were folded forward; the front seats covered the unusual driving set up, and the back seats crushed into those. I pulled down the back seats, and then the front and they slotted into their slats askew so that I was worried already before I got in and started the engine. The keys were in their place already which I was grateful for. But when I sat in the driver’s seat I was comfortable and I could reach the pedals at no discomfort, so I didn’t try to adjust it. I turned the keys and he told me to drive up next to him and brake. It wasn’t until I pressed the brake that I realised the brake pads were worn down, or there was another problem because ; worryingly enough; there was no handbrake, but the car did not rest still, so I could not make a hill stop if I wanted to. We were about to drive up a very steep and long hill and I was very worried, but at the point that he told me,
“It’s better if the car flips and rolls than you roll into the car behind you”
I woke up.

Fever



The music filtered through her mind as they swayed to and fro.

“Joan,”

Peggy whispered and ran her fingers across the soft hairs at the base of her neck.

“Stay with me tonight.”

and she wrapped her arms around her and pulled her as close as her own skin.

Joan laughed quietly and nuzzled her ear; she kissed her earlobe and as the gramophone span noiselessly they embraced.

“God!”

Joan cried out suddenly

“What on earth am I doing here tonight?”

“Don't you know?” Peggy responded,

“I'm more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I'm sure.”

“You don't have to, you know, stay; if you don't want.”

“It's nice to be asked.”

“Yes.”

“You have a meeting tomorrow at 9:00 don't you?”

“Oh shoot, I hadn't seen how late it's getting.”

“Peggy?”

“It's not too late for me.”

“I'm glad; I'm never sure how to talk; oh it's silly.”

Joan cupped her face and studied her silently.

“Come with me.”

She led her, slipping their fingers together, into Peggy's bedroom and closed the door. As they crossed from the living room, across the very threshold, Peggy felt her spine begin to tingle and her body to shake. She felt certain Joan would notice her nerves and not for the first time did she wish she could slow her down; slow her down and prolong her assumed confidence but as Joan smiled, turned and lit the candles along her bedside table she wrapped her arms around herself and studied the street below through her open window.

“It's been open every time I'm here.” She commented to nobody.

“I love the smell of night-time; somebody comes round twice a week to mow the grass and it's my favourite scent.”

“Are you terribly nervous?”

So she had noticed. There must be some cover; some pre-emptive pause, but she couldn't speak because at that very moment Joan reached and unzipped her own dress and it pooled to the floor in a haze of liquid silk. Peggy flushed to her toes and rubbed her sides. Joan laughed, undid her bra and tossed it on the lampshade so that her cups glowed against the cream wall – and Peggy was transfixed.

“People make mistakes about...this sort of thing.”

“Sure. Do you need me to unzip that for you?” Joan gestured toward her torso.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Peggy turned and walked as fast as a reasonable person who was absolutely not losing her nerve. She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it.

“Fuck!” She mumbled and dabbed her cheeks with a wet cloth. Suddenly Joan's voice resounded in her head telling her to assess herself with a paper bag. She slumped to the floor and held her face in her hands. Somebody knocked.

“Sweetie, are you alright?”

“Just a second!” She quickly pulled herself up by the sink and opened the door to an expectant and impatient Joan; she sighed and laughed. Unthinkingly she reached for the frame to steady herself.

Joan took a step closer.

Peggy rolled her head back and closed her eyes.

Joan took a step closer.

Peggy slipped a stockinged foot out of her shoe and lightly traced Joan's ankle with her big toe. Joan giggled and pulled her forward suddenly so that they both temporarily lost their balance; Joan's thigh slipped between Peggy's and she pushed her backwards against the wall; her head knocked and she winced; Joan cupped her face again and gently pinned her knee directly below Peggy's crotch.

“I think you've been a bad, bad girl; I think you ran away.” She growled low and her breath wafted across Peggy's skin and she tilted her chin up.

“Are you flirting with me?” She husked.

Joan pressed upwards and Peggy gasped and grabbed her shoulders, her fingernails bit into the sensitive flesh leaving slender weals. Heat shot through her as Joan's kneecap ground into her clit. She moaned and rolled her hips forward and backward as tension built and held her; they panted into each other's mouths; they scratched each other and Joan's hands hit the wall either side of Peggy's head.

“Oh; oh my God; I can't breathe,” she pulled Joan's plump plum-tinted mouth into hers and suckled it as she climaxed.

They stilled for minutes, perhaps five and Peggy's voice seemed to arrive from nowhere.

“I like it when you...when you tell me off and...sometimes I imagine you humiliating me in public.”

Joan raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“Joyce gave something to me that she said I ought to have,” Peggy laughed

“She said I might like to try it one day.”

“Oh you mean the dildo under your bed?” Joan shrugged.

“Would you...well, I mean to say,”

“Are you still nervous?”

Peggy laughed.

“Maybe a little.”

“Well I brought you a little something just in case.”

She pulled her away from the wall and Peggy revelled in the line of beauty between her buttocks (pausing for her underwear) and her shoulder blades.

“How come you kept your panties on?”

“You weren't a sport.”

“I see.”

They returned to Peggy's bed and there it was on her bed spread alongside a small open tin with what seemed to be three or four large hand-rolled cigarettes.

“You don't seem like that.”

“It's for weekends.”

“Wait,” Peggy said before Joan could slip out of her undergarments.

She approached tentatively and ran a fingernail around the hem, teasing her slowly; she rubbed approximately at the place Joan had found and to her immediate pleasure Joan's breath shallowed and her knees wobbled. Peggy licked her lips and yanked them down pausing only to allow her to step out of them and so, toss them across her room. She knelt down and kissed her pubic thatch (neatly shaved, of course) and scraped her teeth downward and sucked or nibbled her alternately until she grabbed two fistfuls of her hair and massaged her scalp; lost to sensation. Shyly yet, with increased confidence she sucked her fingers and slipped Joan wide open; she gasped at the moisture present and the shapes and textures and make of her.

She looked up.

“Joan; what do you want me to do?”

“What?!” She shuddered at the heat of her breath against her sex.

“Tell me; tell me what you want; tell me exactly how you want it.”

“Well tongue me until I come.”

Unperturbed Peggy leant forward and pushed Joan backward so that she fell onto the bedspread and lay with her legs open; she sighed and pulled Peggy closer who tickled her clit delicately and Joan squealed – a small reactive gush ran along Peggy's lower lip and she basked in the intimate flavour. She took a longer slow flat lick from the tip of her anus to the top of her clit – she wiggled as she walked and then she entered Joan with her tongue and fucked her. Joan pressed her thighs together so hard that Peggy could barely breathe but she continued to gulp at her offering. She pulled away and Joan yelped as she nipped her thigh.

Slowly; slowly; she sucked her fingers and slipped and curled and rolled her wrist and watched Joan ride her until she leant forward and half swallowed Joan's clit; sucking and simultaneously tickling it with the tip of her tongue. She felt a sharp pressure around her fingers and Joan grabbed the bedspread and tensed – a sound emanated and she sobbed as orgasm shook through her. Peggy felt oddly cocooned between her calves.

They rested for moments until Joan sat up – her carefully held composure (and bun) was in pieces and she let her hair hang loose as she wobbled upright. She stretched until her vertebrae cracked and then reached for the dildo.

“Your turn.” She grinned and her eyes flashed demoniacally as a car passed and its lights flickered through Peggy's room. At first, it seemed the harness was complicated and she fussed with it – and slapped away Peggy's hands as she attempted to re-position it. Eventually it sat snugly around her hips and Peggy felt a bolt of arousal at the thick cock grinning at her; teasing her.

Joan seemed to alter subtly; she yanked at Peggy's clothing and flung her onto her own bed; she pushed her (violently, almost) and pulled her by her legs so that she could grip her cock and stroke Peggy's sex until she shook with pleasure and passion and begged.

“Inside!”

Joan had kept hold of her legs and she bent them backwards and propped her against her shoulders and then; she teased Peggy's entrance with the tip of it; let it enter, let her readjust and then retreat. She rammed inward and Peggy screamed in shock; half in pain and she concentrated only on Joan's body stroking her inside out. She had been unprepared and she saw the wickedness on Joan's face – saw the devil herself as her hair glowed and her face flushed and her skin damped; each thrust deeper and deeper until she couldn't feel herself; couldn't move for pleasure and mercifully was allowed to rest.

They lay smoking quietly afterwards; Joan stroked Peggy's hair and kissed her forehead before she stubbed the dead ended joint.

“I'm sorry I wasn't nice to you; I don't know what came over me.”

“I told you it's alright; I like you like this.”

“We should; I mean; we could do this again if you like.”

“Yes; I think I would.”

and they slept through the ebb of night and the rise of dawn.

Recorded reading her poetry = on youtube =

Mindblowing stuff.
Love her muchly. RIP.

xxx C

I Remember:

She's the bad girl,
the atheist,
the cad,
the star.

she's the one who drives
my new car and
floors it,
into a tree.

She's the devil
and she loves me.

She follows her heart
before her feet
can begin the tatoo;
repeat, retreat.

She is the world,
the circling mass,
She wants to hold me
but she moves too fast.

She is my friend,
my comrade, my ally,
my best-known temptation.

She is my body-rocking
heart-stopping
salvation;

her will will never
bend.

she's the devil and
she loves me.

On this earth which she lost,
for trusting in a beautiful lie;

the freedom of choice
is above you or I,

I'm destined to mend.

I'll send the angels
packing; you and I darling,
unto the purest end.

I will not rest until there's
marriage between
the Devil and the Sky.

I'm chasing an even number;

Lucy, I've met my match
in you.

Me plus the devil
makes two.

The devil is the cleverest
angel with the warmest
heart.

You corrupt her;
you excell her to false starts;

you show her love and you
tell her sweetness or
light.

You leave nothing
but the flashing back lights
of mood machines and
a teenage
dream of love.

You make me scream!

Can't you see that you're hurting
my lady?

She doesn't know herself
yet. She's young;

she's headstrong and she's full
of her truth;

Forsooth,
she's coming to claim me,
my devilishly angelic
baby!

My dietary choices are part of my soul's truth. I am teetotal because alcohol's damage does not have a place in my body.

Why am I choosing to be celibate? By celibate, I mean = to abstain from all sexual practice and to remain unmarried.

I am doing this because I want to focus on discovering my spiritual identity.
I have a simple message to teach, but the ramifications will be huge; not just for me but for all people who take my message into their hearts. I will explain this further over the course of the next few days This, in large part, is why I have not communicated with people for such a long time.

I am not following an Orthodox path, though theories from Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sihkism and Islam will be taken into consideration as I explain my ideas. I will be de-constructing the world and explaining my self.

I love you all and I wish you well.
Much Love,
Catherine.

http://www.toplessrobot.com/2010/02/fan_fiction_friday_harry_potter_and_the_surprise_p.php

Q.

JANE BOND ROCKS MY WORLD. 'Nuff said.

The Lovers Card:


Romeo and Juliet will always have to meet.
Without each other they remain,
incomplete.

However, the small print is hidden and discreet.
Beneath their pre-fabricated greeting
where they have in fate's path, a seat;
death's timeless presence tracks them
relentlessly.

If we are to learn anything,
surely it is this;
despite God, family conflict or bed sores
and more
you and I will die.

We will face our changing hands,
curling inwards to their shared and finest point
where our truths will become
self-evident.

Aye, here's the rub; the day that
you feel safest, locked up in your
tin jewel treasure box, your home,
the thing that seems to be pure
but is still a thing, you will
open the door for a pint of milk
and the news carrier that
you have never met before will be
beautiful.

They will be so true, such a clear shade
of blue that you will clutch
the gaping wound in your chest.
Is the best of you untested?
You will see it in the soul of
evermore.

You will feel every single
particle of your skin burn in
pure living.
You are you,
reborn and more.

You must be just.
Be prepared to trust, but first live
as living is,
beyond a simple lust, which is stagnation.
Fertility awaits at the gates of death
or fate.


AND:



The Shadow:

In the shadow of a world or Universe a
thunderclap sprawls and the lonely wanderer
wanders on.

Two fat pigeons make adornments of a tree's
broken or wintry fingers and the lonely wanderer
wanders on.

Its eyes are black, aye, and its cheeks are sallow.
Its veigns are empty and its breathing shallow.
In this dream or nightmare the earth is barren.
It is bare. It is all but your thoughts to guard and to
keep; the elements mix and mingle without sleep
and
the lonely wanderer wanders on.

It looks to the sky.
Its ever fatal eye
obscures the mind which
draws the sun closer.

Although the eye is never
blind, it is secondary, solitary.
It is guarded and manipulated by
the mind.

No one eye sees clear;
though the sight to the mind is dear.
Dearest is the inspired clarity between both.
Immediately beneath a fragile wind a
sign post reads - the path to transformation lies herein.

It faces the cold and the dark
as tree bark, organic and real.
It is beyond the lack of things.
It is not the words on a page.

It looks up to the birds. They who
wheel and call.
Their busy flapping; their carterwhauling
circles
a perpendicular point.

It is there that they are joined. It
and its surroundings.

They are apart from each other.
However their circling,
their endless searching drives
them on. They are both to dissapear
into the coming night.
The endless darkness within the endless light.

Oruboros is tatooed to every
beating heart. As one life
ends, another starts.

And this is sees in the
multitude of beating hearts.

The genre of bird is unclear,
the magpie is the most near.

It shudders, curling into a wince.
That sorrow is near, it is convinced.

However, the bird flickers.

It is
not coupled, but embraced.

The beast is at one with its surroundings.
Fully felt
and in its natural space.

As it
calls out,
the lonely wanderer feels its
journey depart.

"Thunder! Lightning! The beasts
of the earth and sea rise up;
they rise to greet me."

"In meeting me they fall to
their knees. Their claws, their
breath, the certainty of their
death; they feel it as they
bow to my path. This pleases me."

In a
sudden burst of colour
it allows itself to feel. Rage.

The once empty earth and
aching soles, trodden on by a
belegured soul. Speak no more
of human right and wrong.
Speak no more of the lusty love
in song.

It, the once harried.
It, the self-reflecting.
It, the knowing.
It, the lack of need to feed
the throng and the masses.

It passes from a shadow
into the sun.

And no longer does it lie.
The lonely wanderer,
wandering on.


AND:

Thank you for reading!
xxx
C

“The Woman in the Red Dress.” (Set:1943)

SCENE 1: Train/Meeting.
The audience hears the sound of a train rattling (as if about to fall apart) in motion. Two pairs of chairs face each other to represent the seating. Facing the chairs is a 'door' dividing the carriages. The stage is mostly in darkness save the occasional flicker of west deck and overhead lights above the baggage rails. We can see from this that the character of EMILY is dozing, asleep. The train grinds to a halt, waking her. EMILY cannot have been fast asleep as she is hardly disorientated on waking. She opens the purse she has tucked between her thigh and arm, taking out a silver cigarette case. She searches for some matches as the 'door' clicks open on the slides. MARGOT enters:

Margot: (American Drawl) “You got a spare one of those?”

Emily looks up delicately, then a state of shock registers on her face. She becomes confused.

Emily: “I...er,”

She fumbles at the cigarette case in her purse and opens it clumsily. She holds it up.

Margot: “Thanks, doll.”

Margot lights the cigarette, facing a diagonal between Emily and the audience. The strike of the match lights her face, showing startlingly dark blue eyes and the electric lights flicker on to reveal the red dress.

Margot: “All this technology and they can never get it to work.”

Through studying Margot, Emily's cigarette remains unlit. Margot sees this and crosses the space so she stands opposite and replaces Emily's cigarette with her lit one. Emily recovers from her stupor as Margot lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. Margot exhales the cigarette and drawls.

Margot: “The name's Margot.”

Emily takes on the information, but forgets to offer her own name.

Margot: “And you are?”

Emily: “Emily.” (she recovers herself once more) “Where are you bound?”

Margot: “End of the line. And you, Doll?”

Emily: (Stumbling at being called Doll) “V...Victoria. We have a house there.”

Margot: (Her interest is sparked) “We?”

Emily: “Well, my husband does...it's all his, really.”

(Margot takes a reflective drag on her cigarette.)
Margot: “Shame.”
Emily: (Defensive) “Shame?!”

Margot: “Oh, not you, doll. Marriage as an institution, the laws around it, that sort of thing.”

Emily: “Surely you're not suggesting a woman keep her own household?”
(Emily doesn't agree with what she's saying, but is shocked a stranger should speak out so easily.)

Margot: “Sure I am. Men are just a figurehead for what we women are already doing; behind every great man, and all that.”

Margot: “Us women should stick together. We'd have much more fun that way.”
(The insinuation does not register until Margot stands to leave. The train rocks back into motion and the lights flicker off.)
Margot: “See, you can bet a man designed the lighting. Later, Doll.”
When the lights come back on Margot has dissapeared and Emily's cigarette has gone out.


SCENE 2: Victoria

There is noise and bustle. The station is relatively packed with men in uniform, anxious looking women and various 'professional' men, e.g. Doctors. All of whom seem to be frantically moving on and off the train. Emily takes this all in and from the corner of her eye, through a fog of train smoke, sees a red shape moving towards the exit. She is compelled to follow, but hears her name. She turns right to see THEODORE. He is dressed smartly in a navy blue overcoat spats and brogues. Two men stand on either side of him. One is tall and overweight, the other is short and 'mean' looking. Like a terrier. Light cascades down from stained glass windows onto the trio. EMILY notes a certain irony.

Emily: (walking towards Theodore) “You've polished your shoes.”
Theodore: “Could nae've done it without you.” (Embracing her and pecking her on the cheek. While they continue their reunion, the stage is changed from a railway scene to a 'modern' detached London house. The 'soldiers/doctors' etc help to change props. The movement surrounds the four characters – centre stage.)



































MARGOT and EMILY are standing under a 'blacked out' street lamp in a moonlit park. The effects of the war are clear on the aesthetics of nearby buildings, but the park itself, indeed, nature is still beautifully intact. We see the women's profiles and they are deep in conversation. EMILY keeps glancing around, expecting a siren or a busy-body night-watchman to usher them into a shelter. MARGOT seems to be staring straight into EMILY'S face and hanging onto every word she can snatch before EMILY's gaze wanders off again.


Margot: “Why did you wear blue this evening?”

Emily: “It reminds me of the sea and I haven't been to Plymouth since I was a child.”

Margot: “I prefer you in green. That cast-off from Betty. You look great, your eyes shining and
those pearls to set off the colour. Trust me. I'm an artist.”

Emily: Distracted, glancing away. “But not a doctor. You could be a doctor of art.”

Margot: Putting a hand on Emily's arm, her voice soft. “Hey, I could make your clothes better. Take care of them when they're sick.”

Emily: Head snaps back to Margot's face, as if electrocuted. “That was terrible.”

Margot: Having kept her hand on Emily's arm, she trails a finger up and down. “It wasn't so bad. I could've told you worse. I could have reminded you that you're married; not out painting the town.”

Emily: Softly, as if afraid of her words. “But you paint it for both of us.”

Margot: slowly, elongating her drawl. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Emily: shivers, which makes Margot move to remove her hand from Emily's arm, but is caught short by Emily catching it and holding it between her hands.
Emily: inspecting the hand, gently. “I remember when I was small, I used to be fascinated by my foster mother's hands. She'd be cooking, cleaning, writing...I don't know, anything and I'd just want to reach out and hold it. Just for a moment. Just to see, for that second what she was feeling as she moved. I thought she could do anything with her hands. I think artists – painters, rather are sometimes so full of power that with one touch they can change your life. They can simply pick up a brush, clasp an idea, hold it so hard and squeeze like there's nothing else in the world and just...rearrange what destiny provided.”

Emily: reverently, to herself, while stroking Margot's palm “Have you ever wanted to change someone's life? To put onto paper a different course of events than was organised and filed away for you? To slip into somebody else's skin through the flicker of an iota of an idea? Derisive snort. I must be mad. I must be mad to think about changing my lovely life. Quieter But I do.
Becoming angry: But you can just pick up a brush. You can pack a suitcase and buy a first class ticket to London with your last 'fast earned bucks' mocking Margot's accent. You go ahead and flirt with a secretary for some free bloody tickets to the Opera, where nobody goes anymore because there's no art. There's no art when everybody's dying. In all the wars of all the world, you pick up your bags and come running into the thick of things. My God, you could have stayed in America and been safe!

Margot has been silent and listening, her face unreadable. Abruptly she quietly responds to EMILY'S anger. “I'm in love with you.”
Emily, who only paused for breath to continue doesn't experience the full impact of what has just been said. “And another thing, what bloody kind of a nickname is...What?”

Margot: at the same level and not changing her stance or face. “I'm in love with you.”

Emily: stunned. In denial. “But, but you can't be.”

Emily: gaining momentum “You can't just, love me...just like that. I mean, you're...we're...Near hysteria, comical. It's disgusting. How on earth do you suppose women will react if you just go around telling them that you....you have those kind of feelings and what if...”

Margot: not pausing to break Emily off with words, she cups Emily's face and without warning kisses her passionately. EMILY struggles and pushes for a second, but relaxes into the kiss. They continue for 2-3 seconds.

Emily: gasping and clapping a hand to her mouth, her eyes like dinner plates. “Jesus.”

Margot: “No. Margot.”

Emily: scowling at Margot's off-handedness “Don't you dare make a joke of this! Do you have any idea of what you just did? What you made me do?”

Margot: finally showing some frustration. “I made you? I made you? Listen lady, I just handed you my heart on a silver-fucking free Opera present platter. I kissed you and YOU kissed me back. The only thing I made you do was open your eyes and you terrified yourself.”

Margot: releasing the physical tension that's suddenly clear “I miss you. Every day I can't be near you because your man's got you locked up and your heart threw away the key. I hear your voice in my prayers, taste your skin that I've hardly touched in every last supper I think I'll eat. America is hot and beautiful and full of liquor, but I still can't get you off my mind. Time paces on and on and on and I can't paint. I can't touch colour and light, because, I think, you're always just out of sight. You duck and dodge and betray my heart, but I know the truth. You're a fucking coward. But I love you. I'll always love you. Please, just tell me the truth. Tell me I'm not alone.”

Emily: swaying slightly, as if drunk, whispering to herself “All these years...all these long years. All the words that don't mean anything, as if saying them will make truth appear. You put things down; your handbag, your keys. Cigarettes. You pick up your glasses and then you're married and everybody thinks you're alright. You finally find a way to break yourself down and then you're set free. I lost my keys. I lost my keys. I lost my keys...”

Margot: shaking her, trying to get through to her “Listen to me. Listen to me now. You can put this right. You can walk into the sunset, into sunlight and live your life. Emily, Emily come back to me.”

Emily: “I was always yours. Even before I knew you existed. Even before I could forget how to dream. Your face was hovering at the back of my mind as I sleep-walked into Theo's arms. No. No more excuses. No more lies. I'm not even surprised. There were clues, perhaps. But you...You just...”

Emily: “How?”


Margot: soft again “I just saw you and I knew. Now I realise why.”

Emily: beguiling, reaching out to touch Margot's cheek “How many times have you thought about this moment?”
Margot: “I don't know.”

Emily: “Show me. Show me why you love me. I can't believe it 'till you do.”

MARGOT cups EMILY'S face as the moon appears from behind a cloud, illuminating the scene. Every natural thing around them seems harmonious. Visually, the image of the stage including all the props (like flowers, grass, trees etc) are immaculate and picturesque. EMILY AND MARGOT are the 'only two people in the world.' EMILY leans forward and kisses MARGOT as MARGOT begins to cry. It is important that the audience notices MARGOT crying. Silently, the scene fades to black/changes.




























The stage is now bare but for 1 chair and 2 figures. EMILY is standing centre stage and forward. Her hair is in loops and strings, completely unkempt and cut short but pushed back from her face. Her clothes have been replaced by institutional brown cloth. Her eyes are very dark and hollow. A light shines on her face making her seem ghost-like and empty. She is smoking a cigarette that she holds in her left hand, which is shaking. She stares into space, as if she is not in any place. To her left hand side and slightly back from her PETER her psychiatrist is watching her like a hawk, glasses on his nose, pen poised. PETER is wearing a brown suit, which, in contrast to EMILY'S rags is beautifully tailored. He carries a small black notepad.








“Mon Dieu,” By Edith Piaf swells in the background as we see MARGOT walking towards EMILY in the red dress. As the song reaches its climax, the psychiatrist hands EMILY a pistol from underneath his chair, where he picked the whiskey canteen from.

EMILY: in time with the chorus, just as Margot reaches her to touch her shoulder “And the Atheist died in a puff of green smoke.”

PAUSE. To capture the image, MARGOT'S hand is on EMILY'S heart.

BANG.

BLACK-OUT.







APPLAUSE.

http://bnp.org.uk/policies/education/

Okay, I actually just wanted to post the picture of the little BLONDE BOY buried in a textbook, which, as they say  is worth a thousand words. But you can go and read the whole thing, because, as we all well know, you HAVE to stay informed so you can critique evil correctly.


Oh and I am glad to say that I remain a 'militant' and 'peverse' homosexual.

Although, I always imagined a pe(r?)verse lesbian would fancy men. *Cue laughter.*

xxx
W - ENRAGED...but mostly exhausted.