I promised julianna a story today. The trouble is, after working out and the excitement of getting my new Mindy Smith CD, getting my brand new long sleeved black SG shirt, and arguing short sighted hippies in the Nader Thread, stories are far from my mind.
So, here is something (hopefully) better for you sweety. The Prelude to my first play, Searching For Julie Wisch. Enjoy!
PRELUDE
A spotlight drops on the NARRATOR. He sits in an airport seat, surrounded by darkness.
He addresses the audience. A storyteller.
NARRATOR
My life... our lives... are ruled with truisms. You know, truisms. Proverbs so true... sayings so simple... they grow clich in use. People roll their eyes when they hear it. Cheesy truisms, I guess.
(pause)
The best of these, the cheesiest, the truest, Im sure youll recognize. It's a proverb so very clich... yet so very true... you can pretty much apply it to any situation. With a few moments reasoning. Top of the list? Best of the best? The cheesiest of all time?
(pause)
That which doesnt kill you, makes you stronger. See, I knew youd know it. Its a cheesy, cheesy clich. But true.
(pause)
And just as true is number two on the list. One even more appropriate for this tale and one I wont leave you in suspense for; You cant go home again.
JULIE ENTERS slowly, behind him... a dream... a vision... a whisper.
NARRATOR (cont'd)
You indeed, cant go home again.
(motions Julie)
This... is Julie Wisch... well, not the real Julie, of course. Just one of my many manifestations of her. Julie... the real one, I mean... Julie and I met when we were five. The cutest little kindergarten romance you could possibly imagine. Like all good romances, it ended in tragedy... by second grade we moved away.
Julie begins play at this point. Dance... movement. Running fingers over the airport chairs. The walls. Exploring.
NARRATOR (contd)
My entire life has revolved around trying to get home again. To her... Home, I say, not in the way four walls makes a shelter from the rain. Or your own pillow makes a hotel bed worth sleeping in.
(pause)
No, by home, I mean home to what was. What's captured in the past. Captured and wrapped so pure... so unadulterated by the weight of being a grown-up... that running your fingers through it would give less resistance than powder on a moths wing.
JULIE plays, distracts him.
NARRATOR (contd)
Ive failed in that trip. I'll never be able to go home again. To her.
JULIE spins, like cotton candy being spun.
NARRATOR (contd)
(motions) Thats Julie Wisch. To be honest, I dont feel any stronger for remembering her. But finding her would kill me.
Julie dances off, leaving him alone.
Lights down.
END PRELUDE
So, here is something (hopefully) better for you sweety. The Prelude to my first play, Searching For Julie Wisch. Enjoy!
PRELUDE
A spotlight drops on the NARRATOR. He sits in an airport seat, surrounded by darkness.
He addresses the audience. A storyteller.
NARRATOR
My life... our lives... are ruled with truisms. You know, truisms. Proverbs so true... sayings so simple... they grow clich in use. People roll their eyes when they hear it. Cheesy truisms, I guess.
(pause)
The best of these, the cheesiest, the truest, Im sure youll recognize. It's a proverb so very clich... yet so very true... you can pretty much apply it to any situation. With a few moments reasoning. Top of the list? Best of the best? The cheesiest of all time?
(pause)
That which doesnt kill you, makes you stronger. See, I knew youd know it. Its a cheesy, cheesy clich. But true.
(pause)
And just as true is number two on the list. One even more appropriate for this tale and one I wont leave you in suspense for; You cant go home again.
JULIE ENTERS slowly, behind him... a dream... a vision... a whisper.
NARRATOR (cont'd)
You indeed, cant go home again.
(motions Julie)
This... is Julie Wisch... well, not the real Julie, of course. Just one of my many manifestations of her. Julie... the real one, I mean... Julie and I met when we were five. The cutest little kindergarten romance you could possibly imagine. Like all good romances, it ended in tragedy... by second grade we moved away.
Julie begins play at this point. Dance... movement. Running fingers over the airport chairs. The walls. Exploring.
NARRATOR (contd)
My entire life has revolved around trying to get home again. To her... Home, I say, not in the way four walls makes a shelter from the rain. Or your own pillow makes a hotel bed worth sleeping in.
(pause)
No, by home, I mean home to what was. What's captured in the past. Captured and wrapped so pure... so unadulterated by the weight of being a grown-up... that running your fingers through it would give less resistance than powder on a moths wing.
JULIE plays, distracts him.
NARRATOR (contd)
Ive failed in that trip. I'll never be able to go home again. To her.
JULIE spins, like cotton candy being spun.
NARRATOR (contd)
(motions) Thats Julie Wisch. To be honest, I dont feel any stronger for remembering her. But finding her would kill me.
Julie dances off, leaving him alone.
Lights down.
END PRELUDE
juliana:
(Julian-nah-nah spins, like a wooden top on freshly-waxed linoleum...)
Thank you.
Thank you.
cassiopeia:
I will get a picture very soon... I promise