October 20: ANEMONE
Onstage, undersea backdrop constructed of paper and coloured cellophane. Cardboard fish. Typeface drifts down, accumulates on sea floor. Fish appear static and frozen, unable to swim.
Offstage, Diana Ross`s “Where Did Our Love Go.”
ANEMONE: These tentacles still let light through.
SEA MONSTER: But you should be nearly destroyed. How is that?
Typeface from ruined documents continues to descend—type from spoiled contracts guaranteeing the safety of waters.
October 19: MEAT
DUCK: a migratory bird
MEAT: speaking, desiccated meat
In a landscape, solemn grey.
MEAT: Don’t land on that lake.
DUCK: Why not?
MEAT: It’s not a lake. It’s a poisonous effluent reservoir.
DUCK: How can you tell?
MEAT: I couldn’t at first. At first it looked like water with sky reflected in it. I dipped in an antler, dragged it over the surface. Up close the lake is coated in a residue.
The duck lands near the meat which lies in shreds along the road.
MEAT: No one will pass me around.
DUCK: Did you drink the water?
MEAT: It’s not water.