Yeah!!! Three DAO pages achieved by my last entry. This entry was put together on a reporters pad, one day when tramping the streets. I was between appointments. I had been in and out of galleries, done a little bit of work here and there, composed a poem for DAO on seeing Lord Nelson from the National Portrait gallery. Later i went to a favourite cafe and watched the theatre crowd unfold.
In the cafe, as shops close, the theatre crowd gather to eat and chat. What a wondrous show. three men, eacah closer to a final tragedythan the other enact their roles with hands at rest in different places, demarcating non equitable status. the Young Man's hands - the younger man's hands - are onhis neck, closing in on his ears. He is notprepared to share the bill. He tells the waitress so, whilst straining to hear the oldest forget stars that have already gone out.
This second character sits with his elbows set square to the table, his fingers interlocked in fron ofhis mouth (he's forgotten his manners too). It is as if he prays not to be remembered as the one who couldn't hold onto things. the fat, flaccid, superior onerests his hands across his ample stomach. His possessions, rows of unused tickets, stretch out in front of him. He is the onnly one to efever utter the word we but he is not talking about the people beside him. this stage is being set to blank out collective loneliness.
The scene will be re-enacted next tuesday. Same day, same time, same actors.