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passionate-reply · 4 years

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GARY NUMAN - “THE AIRCRASH BUREAU”

In these times, people are much more willing to see music artists as, well, artists. Invaluable human resources. For the most part, people who grow and change as they get older but continue to produce worthwhile entertainment on some level. It does seem rare that people with creative minds ever truly stop being creative. Some might switch the medium in which they do so, but I think the drive to create is something indelible.

Anyway, I was born in the correct generation when it comes to this stuff. It’s easy to forget how much pressure was on, in decades past, to churn through these people and keep a crop of fresh faces at all times. Gary Numan is a great example of someone who was more or less victimized by the consumerist process of record companies. He’s got a huge cult following now (and deservedly so) but was never more than a flash in the pan, gimmicky success in the mainstream opinion. People were highly dismissive of his follow-ups to Telekon, Dance and I, Assassin, for being too jazz- and funk-influenced, “out of nowhere,” and breaking with the sterile, futuristic aesthetic of his Imperial Phase for something out of film noir or gangster movies.

This is a pretty silly criticism, though, and I’d encourage anyone with an interest in Numan to revisit that period with an open mind. Regarding the aesthetic, it seems ridiculous to me that Numan was lambasted for the film noir thing when Ultravox more or less made the same shift from cold and modern Vienna to gangster-inspired Rage in Eden at the same time, and they saw plenty of success. And musically, I would go to bat and argue that the slow-paced, bass- and horn-heavy sound Numan adopted post-Telekon is in fact prefigured on that album. Having recently listened to it again in full, and keeping in mind its relationship to The Pleasure Principle, it seems to me that Telekon era tracks like “The Aircrash Bureau” are really only a stone’s throw from “Music for Chameleons.” It’s got the dangerous, but mysterious air that sold the noir theme later, the twanging bass almost alternating with the vocal track, and intermittent synth stabs that could easily be re-imagined as some sort of brass.

Like I said, artists don’t stop creating, in most cases, and moreover, I think their output is more interrelated than it seems at first glance. I’m reminded of Marcel Duchamp, who left the art world to become a grandmaster of chess. That wasn’t a non sequitur, either, as Duchamp was apparently fond of saying, “art is a game, played between all peoples, across all time periods.” (Emphasis mine!)

#gary numan #music #new wave

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juudgeblog · 5 years

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Non Sequiturs: 02.10.19

* Irina Manta, a recent addition to the roster of Volokh Conspirators, assesses some of the attacks leveled against D.C. Circuit nominee Neomi Rao. [Volokh Conspiracy / Reason]

* In other nomination news, Thomas Jipping explains why conservatives should temper their excitement over those 44 judicial nominees who just got reported out of the Senate Judiciary Committee. [Bench Memos / National Review]

* Michael Dorf’s take on Chief Justice John Roberts joining the four liberals on the Supreme Court to put the Louisiana abortion law on hold: the right to an abortion is “not in quite as much immediate danger as one might have thought. And that’s not nothing.” [Take Care]

* Lawyer to the stars Alex Spiro, partner at Quinn Emanuel, talks about how he’s approaching the representation of his latest celebrity client, rapper 21 Savage. [Complex]

* On the occasion of his 15th blogiversary (congratulations!), Rick Garnett reflects on the past and future of blogging. [Mirror of Justice via PrawfsBlawg]

* Jean O’Grady chats with Pablo Arredondo of Casetext about the platform’s newest features. [Dewey B Strategic]

* And in other legal technology news, congrats to legal AI innovator Luminance on securing another $10 million in funding (reflecting a total valuation for the company of $100 million). [Artificial Lawyer]

* Last Thursday, Alabama executed Domineque Hakim Marcelle Ray and did not allow his imam to be present (even though Christian inmates are allowed to have their ministers present at their executions) — a manifest injustice, according to Stephen Cooper. [Alabama Political Reporter]

* In the latest installment of his ongoing series offering advice to trial lawyers, David Berg sets forth an essential rule of cross-examination. [YouTube] Non Sequiturs: 02.10.19 syndicated from https://namechangersmumbai.wordpress.com/

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1957aidan · 7 years

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Recently I have been feeling particularly European…perhaps in anticipation of my forthcoming and unwanted excommunication from that Community. Comme d’habitude, I found myself at the Tate Modern to consume Elton John’s largely euro-centric collection of photography…entitled The Radical Eye. A continuous tone of black and white modernism which fetishised both the 20th century and the virtues of experimentation. Hugely satisfying, it was akin to imbibing the best part of a bottle of port attended by a sharp Manchego and a touch of sweet Membrillo. Unusually, I then found myself tempted, rather greedily, to sample another of the Tate’s exhibitions…in the way that one might finish off the evening with a gratuitous cocktail. That’s how I came to be intoxicated for the second time that day by the freshness and carnival spirit that was the Wolfgang Tillman’s display.

On entering the first room, my senses were assailed by both the scent of printer ink and an almost psychedelic colour palette. Acid lemons, limes and orange alongside deep blood reds and blue-blacks swirled around me like Athena’s Euminides. It was a diametric contrast and antidote to the chiaroscuro of Elton’s Radical Eye. Wolfgang is a long established figure in the Art World, recognised for his diverse practice exploring contemporary culture. He is celebrated, amongst other things, for his mantra…’if one thing matters everything matters’. His work is an exposition of visual democracy…there is no hierarchy among his subjects…and represents a voyage of discovery, aligned to a commitment to using photography as an armature on which to hang his own interests. Which include his politics. For Wolfgang, aesthetics and issues share the same space.

It probably isn’t useful for me to spend a lot of time analysing Wolfgang’s entire catalogue of work…there is plenty of speculation and deduction already out there when it comes to that…but I am interested in a statement that he made in an interview recently. He said something along the lines of ‘the defining quality of art is that it is useless…so it can be free to be just whatever it wants to be’. I like this idea. That Art doesn’t necessarily have an obvious function. I think it’s true. By the way…I don’t think that useless is the same thing as unimportant or without purpose. Art definitely has a purpose. That may be a discussion for another day. But it may be true that all Art and it's analogue, Culture, at it's best, is use-less. I’m inclined to quote Brian Eno, whose definition of Culture is ‘everything we don’t HAVE to do’. So…we do need to eat... but we don’t need to create Teppanyaki. We need to be clothed... but we don’t need Haute Couture. We need to communicate but we don’t need...Love Island. For instance. Of course, Eno has far more sophisticated examples than I do to back his theories up… which I won’t develop here… but you get my drift. It is my contention however that both Tillmans and Eno are on to a similar thing. Being useless, and perhaps unnecessary is great because it leaves us, the spectator, free to bring something of our own to the artwork when we observe it. A grace note or a logical non sequitur. Consequently the artwork itself is free to fly in any direction...like a kite at the mercy of the wind. It may even be that the artwork doesn’t exist until we engage with it. This reminds me of the old philosophical conjecture about the tree that falls in the forest. Does it make a sound if nobody hears it? Can it be proved or disproved? That’s the problem with Art…it needs a witness before it is complete. And then the witness comes with their own individual circumstance, preconceptions, prejudices and experiences. Quite unlike anyone else’s. So I believe that there is no such thing as a single reading of a piece of Art. Only multiple readings. Jacques Derrida proseytized for this. Marcel Duchamp knew this. David Bowie also knew this and exploited it brilliantly in his lyrics, which frequently floated between meaning and non-meaning, often by using William Burrough’s cut-up techniques, or by deliberate obscurantism. Anish Kapoor is another artist who makes Artwork that at first glance doesn’t have too much to say. It leaves space for the spectator to make of it what they will…and that may be nebulous…or ineffable. Good art, in my opinion is not result orientated. It may act on the viewer’s limbic system, or frontal cortex, or both at the same time .Those Foxes that practice associative thinking may have a more satisfying experience than the slightly banal counterpoint of the Hedgehogs that demand certainty and closure over the balance of probability or the unexplained. Art is not best experienced in the context of binding verdicts or the peer evaluated environment. I myself am trying, through my own work, to make photographs, and more accurately, series of photographs, that are elliptical propositions, open to interpretation. This I think reflects both my Socratic disposition and my own struggle to hang on to the mysterious and poetic in our existence, in the face of Science’s incontrovertible, dominant, and irresistible primacy over the fields of knowledge, explanation and solution. I frequently feel torn between my desire to understand the world and a corresponding inability to know anything with any certainty. My challenge to myself is to make work that reflects that tension.

Francis Hodgson is a photographic educator, writer and critic who appears to be far less conflicted about these things than I am. Perhaps he is a little better informed l than I am. I think it may be possible that he has acquired a superior appreciation of Art than I have. He has recently written a critique of the Tillmans exhibition at the Tate. Here it is ;

https://francishodgson.com/tag/wolfgang-tillmans/

He seems to be unhappy with both Wolfgang and The Tate, and has taken issue with the stochastic style, form and content of the display. He has written of his concern at the scale, the variety of pictographic language, it’s political content, and it’s apparent lack of a coherent message or obvious conclusions. He accuses Tillman’s of incontinence. And triviality. Well, I think that he is wrong. In my opinion, Hodgson is a Hedgehog. Perhaps his scorn is a symptom of generational dissatisfaction. He does, after all, rather patronisingly also accuse Tillmans of teenage sentiment. Or perhaps it is rooted in something that we can only speculate about. My feeling is that in an emerging post photography age, a Quantum age, where, in fact, a particle may be in two places at once, that reality itself is essentially indeterminate. That nothing is fixed despite our desire for reassurance. Photography is just one way that we have tried to freeze probability into solidity. I give you The Decisive Moment. But it isn’t so. Reality itself remains open to multiple overlapping and complex possibilities. Bowie’s lyrics reflect just this. Attacking Tillmans for not coming to conclusions is missing the point. For me, Tillmans is in the Avant Garde. In the future ‘photography’ may no longer be valued as a document at all…rather as a type of flow chart for ambiguity.

I think it is a shame that Hodgson has felt the need to be so negative about this exhibition. Not just because he obviously experienced it in a different way to myself. For me it was a refreshing and inspirational moment. But it’s much more that I feel there is no need to pin the butterfly down. The artists responsibility is firstly only to himself and secondly to make other people care about his or her obsessions…and then for those people to experience and process them as their own . It’s actually the Incomplete Principle that fascinates us and draws us back to the Art, time and time again.

Perhaps it’s even the case that the only way to defeat mortality is to transform all that precedes it into a search for answers. That’s for the Scientists to deal with. The Artists need only point at the questions.

I have posted some of my own images from the Tillmans show…in the hope that they will suggest the joy that I experienced as I navigated a couple of hours one May afternoon in London.

#wolfgangtillmans #eltonjohn #radicaleye #tatemodern #brianeno #photography #davidbowie #anishkapoor #williamburroughs #quantumtheory #art #culture #london #aidanmccarthy

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perfectdagger · 7 years

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if you see this, post a section of your WIP

I know all y’all will be waiting for some iyewbil update from this but guess again! it’s your friendly neighbor star bringing you a tease of a larcel au i’m working on

but marcel? all these years later? listen y’all can take this au from my cold dead hands. i don’t care. i don’t care.

here goes:

“What? One of them is your girlfriend?” Louis wondered, not for the first time, what kind of person Marcel would be attracted to, if he even was into dating. The guy was a bit weird, yes, so he couldn’t stop himself from questioning what exactly struck his fancy. Maybe he didn’t even feel sexual attraction, maybe he was into some BDSM. Who knew.

“What?” Marcel scoffed, “of course not. I don’t even-, I mean, I like-, I. Hm.” Suddenly he got flushed, a red tint colouring his cheeks as he glanced at Louis and away, over and over again, until he admitted softly.

“I’m gay.”

Oh. Okay, now that’s a question answered, a thousand new ones forming in Louis’ head.

“Kay. Good. Thanks for telling me.” Louis tapped his fingers on the table, eyes averting from his tattooed wrist back to Marcel’s fixed stare.

“Go out.”

Louis blanched. “What?”

“With me.”

Louis scratched his head, confused by Marcel’s non sequitur. “I’d call this more of a casual hangout than anything, Marce, but yeah, sure. I like to go out with you, you’re an alright guy. Of course you being gay doesn’t change that, if that’s what you’re on about. You must know I’m gay as well.” He laughed slightly, but it only seemed to frustrate Marcel further, who huffed, pulling his chair closer to Louis.

“What I meant to say is- is- is,” he took a deep breath. “I need you to go out with me. Want! Want you to. Out. I mean, going. Out. With me. In a date, dating, kind of like boyfriends, but not yet, not until you want to because I obviously want you. To. I want you to. A trial date? Could be wherever you want, I just would like to have you. Out with me! On a date. Not a trial, just a date. With me.” Marcel seemed to realize he was babbling, blushing furiously and looking down, right hand fixing his glasses - more to hide himself than anything - while his left one hugged his bag’s strap tighter against his chest.

Today’s sweater vest was a deep green one. It matched his eyes.

“Wow.” Louis cleared his throat. He had no idea what to say.

Marcel shyly looked back at Louis, eyes zeroing in on his lips as Louis nervously liked them - ready to reject him gently - and mumbled something.

“What?” Louis asked dumbly.

“I said,” Marcel cleared his throat yet again, trying to contain his squeaky voice. “I said, you have a bit of chocolate on the corner of your mouth.” He pointed with his finger to Louis’ face, indicating where the chocolate was supposed to be. Louis passed his jacket’s sleeve to try and clean it, trying again and again every time Marcel said it wasn’t quite there yet until-

“Here, let me.”

#larry fic #i mean it's just a tease??? it's not much but it's there #it's almost finished as well yay #also the smut was kinkier than it should be when will somebody stop me #constant star #fic rec #i think?????#steph help i dont know how to tag TELL ME I'M A SCREWED UP MESS THAT I NEVER LISTEN LISTEN #i'm procrastinating i think yall should know that as well #fic teaser

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beldin327 · 5 years

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Touching the Void by Padraic Harrison Act I Scene I

ACT I SCENE I

(The stage is dark. Suddenly from the dark we hear a scream. Red lights illuminate the stage. Center stage is the source of the scream, a male in his late teens named Ziggy. Three figures, two male and one female, all in black surround him. The two men are Malcolm and Albert and the woman is Roberta. Rebecca is next to Ziggy.)

Mal: It so easy to upset these creatures.

Al: You say that as if it were a bad thing.

R: Why does it make a sound when it feels pain? What is the purpose?

Al: I don’t know but I like it. It’s like music.

Reb: Zig, it’s Zag. Stay with me, Zig. Fight it, Zig, fight it

Ziggy: I can’t.

Reb: Yes, you can. Don’t let them win.

Mal: The other one is here again.

Al: Strange. It doesn’t derive pleasure from watching the subject suffer.

R: It feels sorry for the subject.

Ziggy: Please, just go away.

Reb: That’s it, Zig.

R: It thinks we can be beaten. Silence, subject Z. (Ziggy opens his mouth but can’t make any sound the Voices laugh.)

Reb: Talk to me, Zig. What’s going on? (Malcolm whispers in Ziggy’s ear.)

Ziggy: The hands of the clock are wrong.

Reb: Zig! It’s Zag. Zig, do you know where you are?

R: My turn. (She whispers in his ear.)

Ziggy: Turn the key. Turn the key to open the door.

Al: It’s almost too easy. Let’s give it time to recover. We wouldn’t want it dead, now would we?

Mal: Not yet. (They exit.)

Ziggy: It’s over, they left.

Reb: Come here. (She holds him as he shakes from exhaustion.) It’s okay, Zig. It’s okay. (The lights change to illuminate a dorm room. Ziggy walks into the scene and sits next to Bill, a male his age. Bill wears jeans, a white t-shirt, and combat boots. His hair is dyed blond.)

Bill: What’s it like?

Ziggy: Having a pseudo-seizure?

Bill: Yeah.

Ziggy: It’s like being in a cage. You can see and hear everything going around you but you’re powerless to stop it

Bill: Weird. What do the voices say?

Ziggy: They command me to do things. And I can’t resist.

Bill: Sounds scary.

Ziggy: You have no idea.

Bill: Do they know what causes it?

Ziggy: Fuckin’ doctors. They don’t know shit. Oh sure, they have theories but they don’t actually know.

Bill: What’s the theory?

Ziggy: Stress.

Bill: Do they ever hurt?

Ziggy: No, but sometimes…

Bill: Sometimes what?

Ziggy: Sometimes, I feel like they should. That probably doesn’t make any sense to you.

Bill: It makes perfect sense. (Enter Jenny and Hiram.)

H: Hey, guys, what’s up?

Bill: Not much. What are you up to?

H: Nothing. We were in Jenny’s room but Robin and Brian are “busy.”

Bill: Again? Don’t they ever do anything else? Like homework perhaps?

Jenny: Jealous?

Bill: I just don’t think sex is a good thing to build a relationship on.

Jenny: I never thought I’d hear those words come out of a straight man.

Bill: What can I say? I’m just a hopeless romantic.

Jenny: Hey, Z.

Ziggy: Don’t call me that.

Jenny: I’m sorry. I, I didn’t mean to—

Ziggy: (still angry) It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.

H: (awkward silence) Soooooo, how ‘bout them Packers?

Bill: What?

H: Just something one of my friends at home says when ever there’s a lull in conversation.

Bill: Why?

H: He thinks it’s funny.

Jenny: Sounds like an interesting guy.

H: Ever see a six foot five Navy sailor in full dress uniform dancing to Mariah Carey?

Bill: Can’t say I have.

H: Then you’ve never truly lived. Like you said, Jenny, he’s an interesting guy.

Jenny: But it’s ironic, right? He doesn’t actually enjoy her music, does he?

H: Oh, he does.

Jenny: Is he straight?

H: Very.

Jenny: Where’d you meet him?

H: (as if obvious) Charleston. I only live half an hour away.

Jenny: That means nothing to me.

Ziggy: Charleston, South Carolina is where Navy nuclear technicians go for training.

Jenny: I didn’t know that.

H: It’s okay. I’m just used to everyone knowing.

Bill: My parents want me to join the armed services.

Jenny: Which branch?

Bill: Well, at first it was the Marines but now they’re saying it should be the Army.

H: No offense, Bill, but I don’t think you’d last very long in the military.

Bill: That’s what I said. They think it’ll toughen me up or some bullshit.

Jenny: Don’t most people join up before they go to college?

Bill: I managed to convince them this way would be better. See, if I got discharged I wouldn’t be able to pay for college. But this way I’ll have something to do in the event I get discharged. Of course, if my grades aren’t impressive they’ll pull me out and refuse to pay for college, which means I have to find the money on my own and the military would look pretty tempting.

Jenny: What’s your major?

Bill: (Smiling ironically) Theatre.

Ziggy: Maine won the Civil War.

H: Huh?

Bill: H, do you know what he’s talking about?

H: Not at all.

Jenny: Little Round Top.

Bill: What ever happened to sequiturs?

H: I think they went out with hammer pants.

Jenny: During the Battle of Gettysburg the Union soldiers retreated to a hill called Little Round Top where the 20th Maine was. They were the North’s last line of defense against the South. They couldn’t retreat. They were ordered to die to the last man if necessary. And not only did they hold the line, they won the battle. And it turned the tide of the war in the Union’s favor.

H: Where did you learn this?

Jenny: I’m from Philly. You know, Pennsylvania.

Bill: What does the Civil War have to do anything?

H: Good point. Ziggy, why did you bring this up? (Ziggy remains silent.)

Jenny: Things we expect everyone should know.

Bill: Well, we certainly proved the point.

H: Ziggy, are you okay? (Ziggy nods.) You went quiet all of a sudden. (Ziggy shrugs.)

Jenny: (She stands) I think they must be finished by now. Bryan will be anyway. Goodnight, guys. ‘Night, Ziggy.

Bill: Later.

H: Auf Wiedersehen.

Ziggy: Bye. (Jenny exits.)

Bill: You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?

Ziggy: What?

Bill: Oh, so you can talk.

Ziggy: What’s your point?

H: You were channeling Marcelle Marceau.

Ziggy: I didn’t have anything to say.

H: (rushes over to feel his forehead) No sign of fever. But it could be a tumor.

Ziggy: Get off me. I feel fine.

Bill: You aren’t acting like it. First you blow up because Jenny—ohhhhhhhh. (He laughs.)

Ziggy: I don’t have a crush on her.

H: (smirking) Nobody said you did, Ziggy.

Ziggy: Just don’t tell her, okay?

H: Of course not, but you’ll have to tell her eventually.

Ziggy: (sarcastically) Oh, that’ll be a wonderful conversation. Excuse me, Jenny, how would you like to go out with a complete loser with self-esteem issues? C’mon, guys, Jenny’s smart and gorgeous. She’s out of my league.

H: Awwww. He’s so cute when he’s oblivious.

Bill: You gotta wonder how someone so smart can be so dumb.

H: Well, he is from Maine.

Bill: They still have girls in Maine.

H: That’s true.

Ziggy: You do know I’m right here?

H: (Ignoring him) Do you think he’s figured it out?

Bill: I think we have to tell him.

H: He still won’t believe us.

Bill: But he has a right to know.

Ziggy: (exasperated) What the hell are you trying to say?

H: (to Bill) May I?

Bill: Please.

H: She digs you.

Ziggy: Next you’re going to tell me you’re straight.

Bill: Glass half empty much?

Ziggy: You guys really think she’s into me?

H: Have I ever lied to you?

Ziggy: We’ve only known each other a month.

H: But have I lied to you?

Ziggy: No.

H: So trust me.

Ziggy: (stands up) I’m going to the library to do some reading. Later.

H: See ya.

Bill: Have fun.

Ziggy: Oh, I will. (Exits.)

Bill: Why’s he study so much?

H: He’s applying for a scholarship. Without it he can’t come back next year.

Bill: That shouldn’t be a problem.

H: Well, he wasn’t exactly studious in high school. He barely graduated.

Bill: The seizures?

H: That’s part of it. He tell you about Rebecca?

Bill: Not the whole thing, just that she was pure evil.

H: He got so wrapped up in her that he stopped paying attention to his grades.

Bill: How’d he get in if he had such bad grades?

H: His essays were fucking brilliant. Trust me, I read them. (Looks at his watch) Shit, gotta go.

Bill: GSA?

H: Yeah.

Bill: Can I stay here? The beast is in my room.

H: Still not getting along with your roomie?

Bill: Not even a little.

H: Don’t break my stuff.

Bill: I’ll try not to. (H exits. Bill walks over to a bookshelf and selects a graphic novel deliberately, after some thought from Ziggy’s collection. He sits on the bed and begins to read. There’s a knock.)

Bill: Enter. (Robin, Jenny’s roommate enters.)

Robin: Is H here?

Bill: GSA meeting.

Robin: Oh. (Pause) My name’s Robin, by the way

Bill: Jenny’s roommate?

Robin: Yeah.

Bill: (Pause) I’m Bill.

Robin: Oh. (Pause) I’ll just leave then.

Bill: Nah, stay. I mean, if you want to.

Robin: I don’t want to bother you.

Bill: It wouldn’t be a bother. I’m only reading a comic.

Robin: (sits) Thanks. (Pause) How do you know Jenny?

Bill: We had orientation together. (Pause) How’d you meet H?

Robin: Through Jenny. (Pause) Have you picked a major yet?

Bill: Acting.

Robin: Getting a degree in starving to death?

Bill: Yeah. You?

Robin: Art or art history. Can’t really decide.

Bill: Art history people are pretentious assholes. I mean, the ones here. I mean—

Robin: It’s okay, I agree with you. But if I major in that I can actually feed myself.

Bill: Food is overrated. Dignity is more important.

Robin: Living in a cardboard box is dignified?

Bill: At least you can decorate the cardboard box. (Pause) You okay?

Robin: Bryan dumped me.

Bill: Oh. (Pause) And this is a bad thing?

Robin: What?

Bill: I’m just saying the guy’s a douche. You do know he was cheating on you right?

Robin: I didn’t.

Bill: Oh.

Robin: How do you know this and I don’t?

Bill: Everybody knew.

Robin: This day just keeps getting better.

Bill: Sorry, I was actually trying to cheer you up.

Robin: So far you’re doing a wonderful job.

Bill: Sorry. I just think you can do better.

Robin: What makes you think that? We just met. I could be an axe murderer for all you know.

Bill: I may not know you but I know Bryan. He’s a prick. A dumb prick.

Robin: (Abruptly) Bill, are you hitting on me?

Bill: (cockily) Maybe.

Robin: Is your normal strategy to bash the ex-boyfriend?

Bill: I’m trying something new.

Robin: How’s it working out so far?

Bill: You haven’t run away screaming so that’s a good sign.

Robin: Not very subtle.

Bill: But it works.

Robin: Oh, really? Maybe I’m just being polite.

Bill: You’re not.

Robin: How can you be so sure?

Bill: No woman has the power to resist William T. Sanders.

Robin: I see. Then I’m doomed. What’s the T stand for?

Bill: Terrence, my mom-- (She leaves her chair and sits next to him.) Wh--

Robin: Shh. Don’t speak. (She leans on him and he strokes her hair. The lights on the set dim as Bill walks into the foreground. The lights on the stage are red. Drums play as the Gremlin enters. The Gremlin wears a mask with an absurdly long nose and claws. He holds a knife. Bill is sitting on the stage; the gremlin circles around him. Bill rocks back and forth.)

Bill: Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood clean from my hand? O, o, o, for a muse of fire. G-g-g-gallop apace you f-f-fiery footed steeds. All, all, all is lost. It is the-the-the cause. I (as in if), If you prick us do we not bleed? No, no, no, don’t think of blood. Blood is bad, very bad. Bad. Bad Bill. Must be punished. No, focus, Bill. You can get through this. If it were done, if it were done, if it were done ‘twere well it were done quickly (the Gremlin and Bill stare at each other.) O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I. (Addressing the Gremlin) Help me! (The Gremlin offers Bill the knife) Just a little cut (as he reaches out for it). A tiny one. Just deep enough to know. No! I can, I can fight this. No, no I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. (He takes the knife. The Gremlin cackles as the lights fade.)

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