November 2 & 3: MINOS
M.: a monster
Lisa: Ariel’s friend
Ariel: A spirit person
Ariel alone in the middle of the stage lit with a white spotlight.
ARIEL: At the vista of yesterday’s liberty I am alone and against the curve.
Stage right M. and Lisa lit with a soft blue spotlight.
LISA: I can neither sleep nor dream. The water spells out my desolation. I prepare myself daily for the artificial and imaginary. My life is an accusation. What is the testimony of this world? I crawl out of the stars each morning and take a hatchet to my soul. Then there is you and your double murmurs. You tell me about Ariel. How Ariel is scared and alone. Pale with anxiety. She makes everything political. I know my inner life dramatizes my outer life.
M.: You have left me alone in this.
LISA: You think you are alone because I am inside myself. The things I see playing over the water. Two white spirits. Air attempting to protect water.
M.: You sound like an echo.
Soft blue light goes out and Lisa lit with a soft blue spotlight is again in centre stage. M. moves across the stage and joins her in the spotlight.
ARIEL: I can hear an echo.
M.: The sound of Lisa leaving.
ARIEL: She lives inside herself. Sees everyone as a monster.
M.: Maybe we are all monsters, but I more than most.
Ariel: We hiccup and dance in sand while it is poisoned all around us. Here in the Pacific water and poison will be the same thing.
M.: I know I switch allegiances and drift towards the material and artificial. We can’t understand or protect the land anymore than the water.
ARIEL: Fate is all you think about.
M.: We all can see numbers rising and you think you can send spirits against it with prayer. You are no different than Lisa who sees the spirits of the air trying to save the water. I accept what will happen. You must accept it too and quit blinding yourself.
ARIEL: This is ridiculous. I do the opposite of what you say. I aim the spirits at the people – to open their eyes to what is coming.
M.: We live with each other like cruel barking planets.
ARIEL: The waves never touch.
M. : And hours in the rain.
ARIEL: Hours alone in the fresh and solemn gallery of the ocean. The tides are red and dense. Crustaceans luminous. My delirious monologues about water. I am guarded when it comes to people but I catalogue the waves. We rampage toward nothing but our ridiculous illusions of foreverness. In this white vestibule called earth I engage with the Pacific, throwing the sediment over my shoulder, washing my arthritic hands in a dead ocean.