Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Life - Litter

Life - Litter

I was playing video games in my living room when a group of six teenage boys walked down the sidewalk past. They're loud and laughing, telling jokes in the rain as they pass by, when I hear a clatter.

I look outside. Over the headset microphone, several of my squad-mates ask what that sound was.  The boys have tossed two cans onto the walkway of our house. Still laughing, they start walking away.

I am seized by something. I put the controller down, pop the headset off and immediately stand up. Before I can even fathom the movement, I have thrown the lock on my front door and am standing out on my own steps.

I roar. In the voice I only use to call above the din of concerts and into fly galleries. In a voice I only use for theatre to carry several stories up or over loud music.

I am angry. My roar carries across the street up and down the avenue.

You damn kids! Come back here and pick that up!

They stop, hesitate, two of them make to keep walking.

Is that what you are going to do? Walk away? You think people don't see? We don't notice? Well I saw. I saw exactly what you did! Now come back here and pick up your damn trash off my property! Right Now!

One boy shuffles back, his head bowed low. He stoops into the grass and grabs the cans, then flees back to the group of them.

I see my neighbours across the street peek out from their windows. I see a lady and her toddler across the street pause to watch the whole thing.

I shut the door. Exhale.

I put on the headset and pick the controller back up.


Sunday, April 19, 2015

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

Writing - Rynyalla: Kanilay In The Dark

If darkness was a lover then it was one she knew well. Coiled and shifting, it wreathed its way around her, holding fast as the unearthly ship’s prow plunged onwards. Behind her, the crew moved with an unflinching accuracy, even in the pitch of unnatural night. The creak of sinuous rope and the buckle and grate of bone beneath the feet were the only sounds to accompany the slow lap of waves beneath.

In the distance glittered the jewel of the Eastern world. Myrefall. Ships fled their approach, tacking hurriedly and dashing away across the waters, fleeing for some safe harbour. There were no such places. Her fleet arrayed out behind her, a mental command as the rows of ships fell into formation.

The thump of booted feet approached behind her. A minotaur guard, clad in dull green platemail, his seven foot frame of rippling muscle bent in subjugation. “My lady. Landfall approaches.”

She waves one hand dismissively, he retreats. Clearly she can see beyond sight the city, even with the mask adorning her face. Instead, she raises a finger as though to hush the darkness...and speaks.

“Cull the city. Bring me the tribute that our lady seeks.”

Waves crash, and bodies groan, and the fleet pushes forward.

And Kanilay waits in the dark.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Texting

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Texting

The rack spun up in the dark. Mechanical processor started whirring, lights clipped on and the temperature rose by a degree. Flatline was sleeping, face down in the synth-cotton sheets. RAM spun and binary drifted. GUIN worked in the nanosecond spaces between nowhere and nothing.

The young hacker stirred, his eyes half open. Oculars and the synth jacks didn’t kick in yet, awaiting a mental command he never sent. Instead he lay awake, between awareness and not, half listening to the sound of electronics.

The myriad of terminals were sending a twist of digital code as they folded in on themselves again and again. On one console though there was the slow play of text unfolding, into a plain-char document that sat on a scratch-tunnel drive waiting to be uploaded to his wafer.

GUIN was writing something there, writing and erasing and writing again. Paragraphs appeared in an instant, the indicator dancing like wildfire down the page, before erasing it back again into missing digital particulate.

Over and over it happened, as he watched mesmerized.

The minutes ran into an hour, another.

Until the pulse of twisting text became just a single, simple sentence.

“Who am I?”

He closed his eyes.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Writing - On The Cascade of Humans

Writing - On The Cascade of Humans

Oh what these glorious monsters, astride in silence looking out into the darkness. I sat in quiet vantage, contemplating their movement and found myself alone. To behold their freewheeling paths, that which made them both envious and enviable.

Words bespoke one another, and gestures too. They tried to share their experiences, but words and language fail, they turn to pictures and then to long pieces of video, carefully constructed for the human mind, frame by frame at a galloping 60 per second.

These too fail.

I kept a silent vigil, long into the night. A cloak of cascade water, and a weary eye alight.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Celebrate - World Theatre Day 2015

Celebrate - World Theatre Day 2015



World Theater Day Message 2015

The true masters of the theater are most easily found far from the stage. And they generally have no interest in theater as a machine for replicating conventions and reproducing clich├ęs. They search out the pulsing source, the living currents that tend to bypass performance halls and the throngs of people bent on copying some world or another. We copy instead of create worlds that are focused or even reliant on debate with an audience, on emotions that swell below the surface. And actually there is nothing that can reveal hidden passions better than the theater.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Quotes - Erik Larsen

Quotes - Erik Larsen

"The audience is not wiser than the creative people. If they were better writers and artists than those in the field, they would be employed in the field. They’re mouthy amateurs and their suggestions should largely be treated like the witless ramblings of an insane person."
-Erik Larsen 

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Poetry - Come

Poetry - Come

Come the darkness, and wind and rain
Come chains to bind the unwilling
Come fall the best, let angels rest
For my lady shall walk the world again.

-From the collected books on Nysanna