DANTE: You. You’re here already. You dog. You sly dog.

ROBIN: I’m not a dog.

DANTE: I have established, set in motion, through the use of metaphor, the notion that you are a dog.

ROBIN: I’m not a dog.

DANTE: Robin, you say? You see I knew it was you, dog. Your name rings out.

ROBIN: Good. Your name escapes me.

DANTE: The dog bites. You see? You have evident talent. How very exciting. And yet…Robin, I’m not happy. Despite your trick, I am not so happy. You don’t believe me.

ROBIN: I believe you.

DANTE: You think I’m pulling a bit too tight on your tail. But the fact remains- in arriving before me you have aroused something of an anger inside me. A mean rhythm is throbbing in my gut. Dog, we may have to ride out this wave and I think I see a way. Tell me, you spin a tale from time to time? Indulge in a fiction every once in a while?

ROBIN: Yes.

DANTE: That is most pleasing. Every once in a while is the most fitting of a frequency to regale a tale. I bet they are of the finest quality, these stories of yours.

ROBIN: They are the finest.

DANTE: That’s why you are here.

——————–

This one’s been put on hold somewhat, in all the Picaresque excitement, but look for it to emerge sooner rather than later. Plenty of stories, all rolled into one, on a hill, in the winter, in the dark….

I realise this might create something of a feedback loop, but thought I should post it here as well:

Picaresque at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2009! 6-16 and 18-30 August at Sweet ECA, Lauriston Place.

Delightful times. You can check out our brand new website here and once again thanks to Ted for the great artwork. Tales and reports of our adventurers previous escapades will be going up soon, so check back regularly.

Reading:

Gunter Grass – The Tin Drum, James Joyce – Ulysses (after a long hiatus I’ve returned- I’m up to Nausicaa)

Recently finished reading:

William Boyd – Any Human Heart, Jeanette Winterson – Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, Michael Chabon – Gentleman Of The Road and most of what was on my earlier list.

I’ll try and get some tasty stuff up for you soon, and maybe some photos and videos. Sound good?

ELIJAH lies centre stage, sprawled over a chair, as though he has leaned too far back, fallen over and stayed there. He has one arm splayed to one side, with a pen loosely held between his fingers, and the other arms rests over his face. There is a book slightly to one side, discarded and open, with some jagged scribblings visible. An attendant enters tentatively.

ATTENDANT: Sir.

There is no response from Elijah. The attendant walks a bit farther and leans forward at about a 45 degree angle.

ATTENDANT: Sir?

There is still no response. The attendant walks still farther, until he is right next to Elijah, and leans forward almost 90 degrees.

ATTENDANT: Sir?

There is a slight pause and Elijah clears his throat very loudly, flails one arm out and attempts to sit up. The attendant has swiftly returned to an upright position, avoiding Elijah’s flailing arm, with little or no reaction. Elijah tries to sit up again, but at the apex simply leans to one side and rolls off the chair. He groans.

ELIJAH: What time did the meeting finish last night?

ATTENDANT: I couldn’t say for certain, sir. Conversation seemed to crescendo then descended into some rather loud banging and crashing, which eventually subsided around four.

ELIJAH: I think I was taking the minutes… (he grabs at the book and stares at it for some time) …but seem to have segued into scribbling some sort of sordid epistolary novella. (Pause) Where has all the furniture gone?

ATTENDANT: Now if I remember correctly…in the flowerbed, in the oven, in the lavatory, in the fountain, under the maid, on the roof and I’m not entirely sure where the table ended up.

ELIJAH (sheepishly): I do apologise…

ATTENDANT: Not at all, sir. I have seen far worse. (Pause) You have a telegram, sir. I would have left you for a little longer otherwise.

ELIJAH (still sitting on the floor): Really? Who’s it from?

The attendant produces the telegram from his pocket and scans it.

ATTENDANT: The Lovely Coffee House it would appear. Confirming a reservation?

ELIJAH: The Lovely Coffee House? Up by the church?

ATTENDANT: No, no, that’s the Quite Good Coffee House.

ELIJAH (thinking): Opposite the town hall?

ATTENDANT: No…you’re thinking of the Simply Marvellous Coffee House. This is from the Lovely Coffee House (Pause) London.

ELIJAH: London? But..

ATTENDANT (confirming on the telegram): Yes, London.

Realisation slowly begins to dawn with Elijah.

ELIJAH (slowly): What is the date of the reservation?

ATTENDANT: Table for two on the 21^st September. Apparently you asked them to remind you closer to the time. You insisted that you must not miss this appointment. You requested three exclamation marks.

ELIJAH (to himself): Remember, remember, the 21^st of September… (slightly panicky)(jumping up) No, I can still make it! Nathaniel! I’ll be there, old friend! (To the attendant) I need to get my things.

Elijah looks around, realises he has no things, produces a bundle of notes from his pocket and thrusts them into the attendant’s hand.

I’ll be checking out now, I think. Many, many thanks.

He rushes around the room for a time, as if mentally checking he has everything, picks up the book and then moves to exit. He stops, gives the attendant some more money and then makes to leave again.

ATTENDANT: And when will the Really Cool Club be next convening, sir?

ELIJAH: Not for some time I would imagine. I have to…leave. Yes. Leave.

He exits rapidly. The attendant shortly follows

————

Getting this one together for Edinburgh (fingers crossed). Should have some art for you soon, courtesy of Ten Bandits, and then eventually some national anthems for the assorted countries…

Scene from my last trip to Kobe. Check out the kid behind the kit. I think he was about six!

things of that nature. A knot frays in my
chest. A light on the horizon blinks, desists.
I dream
of my body’s potential. There is a
model, or toy, placed and across from my
chair. Swiftly, I think
along

lines. The wish to replace, to put in his
place, channels a thought into timber.
Clumsy,
each one of my stabs ape his frame without
mercy. At rest, yet alert, forever
he stands: lean, simple and
alone.

Scene Nine

(Austerity)

(A GNARLED MAN and a VENERABLE MAN are sitting at a small table, playing chess. They both wear large flowing cloaks that hide their legs and are staring in different directions into the middle distance. A long time passes)

GNARLED MAN: Your move.

VENERABLE MAN: Is it? It’s always my move.

GNARLED MAN: Only because you never remember it’s your move.

VENERABLE MAN: Is that it? Yes, I guess it would be something like that. The knight moves…?

GNARLED MAN: Nocturnally.

VENERABLE MAN: I suppose that makes sense.

(He moves a piece. Beams)

GNARLED MAN: You never think I will notice. Your ‘famous special move’. But I do. You smile like some sort of idiot.

VENERABLE MAN: Hah! Of course you do. You always lose; it cannot do you much good. So who is the idiot?

GNARLED MAN: I do not always lose!

VENERABLE MAN: Pray, when have you won?

(They ponder)

GNARLED MAN: When have you won?

(They ponder)

VENERABLE MAN: True.

GNARLED MAN (considering the board): How is the knee?

VENERABLE MAN: Oh it is sufficient. (Pause) It doesn’t work.

GNARLED MAN: They rarely do. How is the career?

VENERABLE MAN: Oh it’s ok. (Pause) I haven’t got one anymore.

GNARLED MAN: Who has! (Pause) The bishop moves…?

VENERABLE MAN: Fundamentally.

GNARLED MAN: Well, naturally.

(He moves a piece)

VENERABLE MAN: This could go on for some time.

GNARLED MAN: Doesn’t it always?

VENERABLE MAN: Does it? It does? I can’t remember.

GNARLED MAN: Well, I don’t know how to stop it.

VENERABLE MAN: Do we have to?

GNARLED MAN: I think it would be better if we did. If we could.

VENERABLE MAN: You always say that.

GNARLED MAN: What?

VENERABLE MAN: ‘If we could’. Oh, if we could. ‘If only we could! We would rend mountains, carve new paths and shake the very foundations of this earth.’ (Pause) There’s no time for that anymore.

GNARLED MAN: I don’t believe there ever was. (A long pause) Your move.

VENERABLE MAN: Is it?

GNARLED MAN: Don’t you dare start that again.

VENERABLE MAN: I don’t know what you’re talking about. The king moves…?

GNARLED MAN: With difficulty.

VENERABLE MAN: Poor bugger.

(He moves a piece)

———–

The ‘Beckett Episode’. Our protagonists stumble in shortly after this, another stop on their strange journey. Want more? You know what to do.

struggle to pull these pictures from my throat.

What do I paint with if not the apple

of my eye? I spit and sit amongst so

much debris, searching for the fruit of my

labour.

“I… pretend I’m sure.”

“So you’re happy?”

“I’m sometimes happy. Often happy. Come on. This is rather too general.”

“Necessary. I’m helping. Oooh, feel it helping.”

“Witch doctor. Hoodoo.”

“Repression. Mother-love.”

“Okay, carry on.”

“You are anxious. Are you anxious?”

“You make me anxious. Unnecessary, I think.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m just trying to maintain clear, defined roles. I am the figure of therapy.”

“You have no idea what you are doing.”

“How do you know?”

“I think you are demonstrating your ineptitude perfectly clearly.”

“When you were young did your father tell you he was proud of you?”

“Yes of course.”

“When?”

“Plenty of times.”

“When?”

“I was…in a play once.”

“We were all in a play once.”

“You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

“We’re getting to that. Now this play you speak of…were you any good?”

“I was six. Does it matter if I was any good?”

“It matters a great deal.”

“The point is my dad was proud of me… regardless of if I was any good.”

“Is that the point? What if you were the worst actor anyone had ever seen? And yet you were still praised? Have you been encouraged to settle for what is merely sufficient? Or worse, are you blind to your flaws?”

“No. I have been imbued with at least some measure of confidence. That’s a good thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“We all repeat ourselves. Doomed to repetition, despite claims to the contrary. Despite even a healthy number of historians. Your problems are manifold and they will dog you regardless.”

“Again, you’re supposed to be making me feel better. If we acknowledge a problem, isn’t that the first step towards dealing with it?”

“No. And what’s more… times up.”

“What? You actually make me think about something and then bugger off out of your commitment? That was barely ten minutes.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“Charlatan. Parasite.”

“Insecurity.  Father issues.”

“Okay, well get off my couch, then. Aren’t I supposed to be on the couch, anyway?”

“Are you sure?”

SOL: Life is hard. I know how you feel, Sad Man.

There is a sputtering noise from the bin by the bench.

LUGRA: Are you talking to yourself?

SOL: Wha!? A voiceover?

LUGRA: No, you bread roll, it’s me.

SOL: Lugra? Is that you? You’re hiding behind a bin!

LUGRA: I’m hiding behind a bin…with some gin.

Lugra flourishes her gin.

SOL: Aaaaah! Oh my, you made a rhyme!

LUGRA: I can make a rhyme…all the time.

SOL: AAAAH! Oh my, stop it.

LUGRA: If I stop it will you…stop…it? Balls. That’s enough of that.

SOL: Balls!

LUGRA: Uh huh.

————

Sad Man has no stuff. Sol is good at finding stuff. Soopa has lots of books that tell him about stuff. Together you would think they have this cracked. You would think…

A morsel of this one. Let me know if you want to read more and I’ll fix you up.