Call it whatever you like…

…I never wanted to look for inspiration beyond the text.

The sum being:

The text + my head = the way in…

As I’ve got further along, I’ve gotten closer to the text, and I know more and more of it; and I’m determined to squeeze as much of it as I can without directing the story…

It’s about ensuring each element of the text has the chance to become part of the whole, through the process.

It is not like a recipe. I haven’t been adding things together to create something else:

It’s more like a blocked drain – I’m pulling more things through it to allow for it to flow.

(Adam Sibbald, Director ‘Aleastory; in action’ -30th August, 2009)


scratch stories from paper -tron

making scratch stories from paper…

tales from Ikea, Police cells, rowing boats,the darkest woods,Turkish shops,Heaven.

taking place on see saws, horses, your shoulders and the bath tub.

with artists, mentalists, friends, captains, lovers, criminals.

Rossatron (27th August, 2009)

Playing with ‘alea’

There are now currently THREE ‘alea’-esque elements to this performance:

  1. Me.
  2. Random scene order.
  3. Chance improvisation stimulus.

The first is obvious. I shall skip.

The second? As I have already noted from my observations and self-invited ‘production meetings’ with the director and his shadow director, either side of the specified ‘throughline’ (read: italic/interrogation scenes) there are to be a number of scenes incorporating both improvisation and/or scripted texts/stimulus texts.

Now, in keeping with the ‘alea’ness of the show, the director is proposing the audience get to choose (at random-that is key) in which order these accompanying scenes are played out.

Apparently… the chances of getting the same combination of scenes twice is:


(Please don’t check this out – my maths is awful, hence “apparently”)

It will be interesting to see how the story may change/adapt with the variety of running orders.

THIRDLY (they really are embracing the alea!): During a number of the 6 scenes, the performers are asked to work from textual stimulus: for example, the performers have been – in rehearsal – choosing at random 4 pieces of text, and using:

  • One as their opening sentence
  • One as their motivation
  • One as something that they either HAVE to say, or something they really want to say but can’t…etc
  • and finally One to end the scene on. (this is usually one person – and so the others may have another rule for their remaining text)

These have made for some intriguing conversations, and each, without fail, has espoused a narrative element entirely different to any other.

These texts, also, will be chosen by the audience.

Exciting times! Live-alea!

And they’re off…

I received some notes from the men with their motion camera.

At first I was confused:

“This clearly isn’t related to me? There must be some mistake. Did I give them the wrong ‘me’? This is most embarrassing.”

And yet there are elements of me… words, phrases perhaps – things they have called “themes” that, one might say, resonate from and through me.

I hope this isn’t the beginning of an identity crisis:

Etherial music.
2001:Space Odd style view of earth for first line into montage of image referring to symbols in text such as Heroes and Rain Man for road movie. Speed up sequence of images to very fast “Know why you are here?” flashes into montage crescendo and then cut to black and silence.

Shot of normality, in a cafe. Zoom in from outside into characters. Each one deeper into cafe. Have the same shot which eventually go to each char. have this shot to start each normality sequence. Have at same interval of 2 minutes say. Each screen has the loop at different point 2 mins apart so at that point looks like they’re at the same point. Oh dear I’ve gone cross-eyed.

Time, Scale, Chance, Romance, Values, Alienation
Action is dialogue, thoughts are inner monologue.

Old Man (alienation) she tries to speak to people they ignore her,
Middle Aged Character.
Bumbly ‘Hugh Grant’, tries to chat to woman after confusion at counter, both order same thing at same time, despite success, walks away, lonely

End monologue questions if Bumbly Hugh should make a move.
“Which story down here awaits its start?” comes up on screen
Pull back along track. Previous characters issues resolved, ie Old man is with old woman (wife etc) no longer lonely.

Perhaps I’d better enquire as to whether they have sent me the wrong notes, and that any notations I see that resemble me are purely coincidental.




Some notes from the Director

I’m not sure I get them…. but then who am I to judge the way someone else takes notes?

Anyway… here they are:


Primary notes
These are my 1st notes made when we are talking in the Swiss on the day u were arranging meeting:

Title – words worth the price of language

Section of time. Over lap for each performance working through the scene over a period of time. 10 min. Scene 4 mins at a time. How many performances?

Beds from central



This is what I wrote on the train up to Bradford 2 days after the script

The throughline.

He is being interviewed.
She is missing.
He idolised her.
He drowned her.

The bus is her words
The others are the cops

Unsure of the moon. Use parts of it but remove the word the moon.



Wills production notes

Play on lack of knowledge. If they can’t make a reversal then keep things from him.  Play with who is there.

Divided company.

Poker props can only HD 5 props and have to choose with whom to swap out

Can the lack of knowledge lead to deeper relationships with the characters?

Write during the process.

Loads of bouncy balls thrown on stage with words written on.

Primary notes
These are my 1st notes made when we are talking in the Swiss on the day u were arranging meeting:

Title – words worth the price of language

Section of time. Over lap for each performance working through the scene over a period of time. 10 min. Scene 4 mins at a time. How many performances?

Beds from central

Food for thought.

“Your text, as a metaphor, is essentially a bowl of overcooked spaghetti.

Which is difficult to unravel each individual string, beacuse its so soft, bits break apart; some are stuck together and some are burnt.

But…. at the end of the day: it’s food.”

Chris Cavalier; Shadow Director, Aleastory ‘Performance’ (August 19th, 2009, Globe Bar.)

The outer limits of the Intertext…

The Sign, Cosmicomics, Page 35

The outer limits of the intertext?

‘I realize that, though I recalled its general outline, its overall appearance, still something about it eluded me, I mean if I tried to break it down into its various elements, I couldn’t remember whether, between one part and the other, it went like this or that. I needed it there in front of me, to study, to consult, but instead it was still far away, I didn’t yet know how far, because I had made it precisely in order to know the time it would take me to see it again, and until I had found it once more, I wouldn’t know. Now, however, it wasn’t my motive in making it that mattered to me, but how it was made, and I started inventing hypotheses about this how, and theories according to which a certain sign had to be perforce in a certain way, or else, proceeding by exclusion, I tried to eliminate all the less probably types of sign to arrive at the right one, but all these imaginary signs vanished inevitably because that first sign was missing as a term of comparison. As I wracked my brain like this (while the galaxy went on turning watchfully in its bed of soft emptiness and the atoms burned and radiated) I realized I had lost by now even that confused notion of my sign, and I succeeded in conceiving only interchangeable fragments of signs, that is, smaller signs within the large one, and every change of these signs-within-the-sign changed the sign itself into a completely different one; in short; I had completely forgotten what my sign was like and, try as I might, it wouldn’t come back to my mind.’ (Calvino, I. (2009) The Complete Cosmicomics: The Sign, p35)

Whilst the outer edges of the ‘intertext’ remain untraced – undiscovered, unexplored; like the far reaches of our Universe – I think it is safe to say the full extent of language and all its associative combinations, and the vast locker of potential discourse that may be enumberated from a fully mapped semiotic system, will remain just that little distance beyond my reach.

Just like my ancestor, whose intergalactic escapades have influenced me so much over the years, I too find myself lost; floating amidst a gaseous planet of signs – texts, stories and other such paraphernalia – unable to recall any one true sign – the true sign – that may unlock the mysteries of the many…many more.

Performance; So far…


So far:

Central character: “Italic”

è In interview situation/interrogation.

Looking to create 6 scenes – split ‘inter-rogation’ into 6 sections/episodes. They’re asking him (Italic) about “this girl” – she has, perhaps, gone missing…or something more sinister.

However, it turns out that he only met her at a bus stop, and ‘invented’ the whole relationship in his mind.

Format of the show -> “Inter-rogation” is the throughline – never changes; always the same in terms of order and performance: scripted/blocked.  The chance scenes segment the throughline.

Audience choose the order of the segmenting scenes: they roll a die to indicate which scenes will be used and in what order.

“Scenes” -> Poppy’s “Dialogue”?

3 very small questions.

  1. How have you ‘read’ me?

Mary: I read it as though it were an ‘abstract’ play… I read it like Sarah Kane!

Thoughts: Stereotyping is something I  have never been too concerned with. I’ve always been different – unique, ecclectic – at school I would have been one of those ‘nomadic’ types, whom floats from friendship group to friendship group, momentarily slotting in like I’d forever belonged or had never been absent; before jumping ship to (p)resume an affinity with another, completely disparate, body of people.

But reading me? Suddenly the light is shone upon me…I’m under the microscope in a way I have never been before, not simply ‘read’ to be enjoyed, nor to indulge someone’s need for a ‘good story’.

Here, I am pursued. I am distilled using agents I am unfamiliar with and, according to the makeup of this project, I am a feast for more than one. To get to ‘the bottom of’ me perhaps people resort to what they know – practical associations that will lead to as pragmatic an interpretation as is humanly possible.

We use the tools at our disposal when the ante is upped in order not to be caught lacking; blind sided by ‘misunderstanding’ or under-cut by our own efforts.

She reads me like Sarah Kane: and how does that influence her reading? Was it a reflexive choice on her part, or do I insist on such a program? Am I now, in fact, a part of some niche – a catalogue of writing laden with presumptions; prerequisit formatting; genre, style, tempo, mood, vocabulary, content, theme, ‘craft’?

Or are these niches another version of a reflexive categorisation, simply on a grander scale – the ‘human desire’ for order, genesis, empiricism and rationality?

Another question:

2. When you come to think of design, what are you looking for in a text?

Mary: A feeling of the direction of the piece…what was/is going on…what it might be ‘about’. What strikes me? What’s strong, recurring: links.

Thoughts: I’m reluctant to assume this approach would have been any different had I been of a more ‘traditional’ makeup…

In fact, I immediately consider each of these questions not in how they might open ME up… but how I might in fact open them up.

  • A feeling of the direction of the piece… following the thread of a three-act drama, i.e. an Ibsen text, I assume this to be a temporal activity: the unfolding of narrative functions over a unilaterally contained space/time continuum, where one follows the thread of action to an inevitable and, more importantly, pre-determined conclusion. The ‘direction’ of such a piece is contained within a the ‘concept’ of the narrative – within a realm of ‘reality’ considered acceptable to the unfolding story, and akin to the ‘world’ crafted as such by the author – it would be fair to say, for example, that the culmination of Hedda Gabler will not involve aliens or talking mice. Though I imagine it to be an absurd suggestion…-i’ll say it anyway-…there are probably a limited number of ways said story could’ve been concluded, given narrative/character arc, and the prevailing ouerve of Ibsen. And for me? Well, let us say, without specificity, that there are many crossroads, leading to many more crossroads, eventually, though not exlusively, leading to a multitude of destinations.
  • what was/is going on… needless to say, quite a lot. But, of course, there are usually many things ‘going on’ in a story. Jim Cartwright’s Road springs to mind. And even then, ‘things going on’ doesn’t necessarily have to mean there are many disparate events occurring simultaneously, or even that there is no specified ‘central theme’ carried by a dominant plotline. To return to Hedda Gabler… there is a hell of a lot going on in that play, the details of which I’m sure I needn’t go into; its critical position and occupation/flumoxing of many a theatre student over the years being testament enough. What I will draw your attention to, however, is how the multitude of ‘happenings’ in me becomes relevant when we consider my designer’s next point…
  • ...what it might be about: here the rules are very different. Precisely because I have offered none of the sort. Not that all ‘traditional’ stories demand their reader’s follow directives exclusively indicating how something should be interpreted…but that their tendency to geometric narrative; cause and effect; unilateral narrative space/time: has an internal logic that already goes some way to guiding interpretation or, in the very least, influencing it. Many authors, of course, are protective over their ‘abouts’, and desire the unequivocal interpretation. I, on the other hand, celebrate the vagaries of the ‘abouts’ and, just like the attention to ‘direction’, prefer spaghetti junctions and schitzophrenic tom toms. There may be a lot happening in the self-contained unilateral narrative – a list could possibly be drawn up that would match even my own ecclecticism for events – but it is my disregard for geometric ‘rules’, in favour of narrative parcours (Serres) that again provides the distinction between how the above question interrogates one text, and yet is interrogated by another – my other.
  • what strikes me? What’s strong, recurring: links… This is less of a question, and more of a reflection on why the above is relevant. On every count… the above ‘points’ occupy no other space than the subjectivity of the interpretant, with perhaps ‘reccuring‘ being the only exception (though recurrence may often manifest in metaphor, allusion, and/or subecjtive-association, and thus needn’t be literal repitition). Comprised of fragments, composed haphazardly and without regard for narrative trajectory, cause and effect or geometric structure; what strikes…is strong… recurrs (as above) and links are constitutive of the very model of which, and by which, I am me:

‘It is not just the production of an ‘alternative model’ for texts that is important…nor that the model in question derives from the physics actually developed in the text in question. The specifics model is itself of particular interest. It posits the text as flow and turbulence, of course. But it also produces the text as a turbulent dispersal of little births or emergences…The model in question is hence one of endless repetition of difference, a constant process of ‘bifurcation’ (Serres 1977b, p. 172). Sense itself emerges out of that bifurcation, which also means that sense always appears in the local, ‘here, there, yesterday, tomorrow’ (ibid. p. 181)…the linguistic atoms of the text both resemble and differ from themselves as they appear and disappear in different contexts (Serres 1977b p. 175). The text is both flow and eddy or backwash, pulling its elements forwards in a single direction but also redistributing them backwards into new compounds, vortices, turbulences.‘ (page 16) (Gibson, A. (1996) Towards a postmodern theory of narrative, Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh)

The question:

Do I enforce a particular style of reading?

…thus dissolves. I am both the model of my own ‘narrative space’ and the means by which narrative parcours sets forth one of multiple latent stories.

3. What have you got planned for me?

Mary’s final thoughts….

I want to create an environment, not simply one element…but of many overpowering/strong elements.

I’m saying it’s about the moon…but it’s clearly NOT! – it’s about more than that – but the Moon is a prominent and overpowering theme, that I can use to inform the other themes I want to find.

I want people to feel the frustration of the text in the space. The moon frustrated me, and I want the space to show that frustration:

  • Everything “is” the Moon
  • None of it, is the Moon
  • So what is it [about]?

What is it, indeed, about?


After being rigorously shaken through a ‘design’ based seive, I have returned for further distillation.

To remind ourselves of her first impressions – cue some Cilla Black-esque moment – we recounted somethings she liked to call “key ideas”:

  • Ladders
  • Moon canopy
  • Cheese (smell/taste) – charming
  • Yellow (light)
  • Spritely colours; Disco ball – mind/splash
  • Hamster’s cage! (all jokes aside.)

Perhaps if Picasso were to have a crack at this whip, I’d consist of such imagery and, worse yet, maybe even made of cheese.

Ironic as it seems, I cannot see how each of these “key ideas” have conflated in her mind – or perhaps this is the point. IS there something in the way I am constructed that has prompted, what appears to be, an equally fragmented response?

Is this a necessary part of her process? Or specific to me? Have I led her down this ‘Pick’asso-path?

Perhaps these are questions I need to ask her.

Un-bundle this myth, Claude!

I have been thinking (yes, I do that a lot):

With regard to a ‘strucutralist’ approach to “reading” a text – ala Levi-Strauss – the fragmented text would surely defy such a deconstruction…?

The Interpretations of the text as actualized, or perhaps more simply a ‘single narrative interpretation’, could then be approached as above?

This would, theoretically, indicate that strucutres are “born” of, or recognized in, fields of singularities – flowing nebulas of potential – rhizomatic; organic.

And only when these are present… only when the singularities are combined – aglommerated – can we begin to navigate the fragmented text.

The ‘narrative parcours‘ through a field of singularities: without the journey that is how they remain – isolated; blind; like mini blackholes, consuming themselves and the light that surrounds them, unable to break from the abyss of dis-assocation.

Imagine a house – it has hundreds of rooms, boxes varying in size and shape; boxes with no windows, not content other than the box itself and all the characteristics it carries with it that cannot be seen other than from within. And yet they remain in total darkness, locked doors with effectively nothing beyond them – because we have no way of knowing what may be inside. You open one box, and light floods in – you observe, take it in, and as you continue your narrative journey – a journey that you initiate because if you didn’t, you would simply stand still, and that room would be the beginning and the end of the world for you – an infinite number of doors come into focus, each begging to be opened: you proceed, and the light filled room from whence you came pours forward its luminscence into the emergent room, as you purposefully stride through the doorway into the new space. Now both rooms are lit – they light each other; the light seems to ping between the two in an ecstatic union and you’re confronted now with not simply one room, or even just the promise of a new room: now you have both rooms, in equal effect.

Your journey continues, door after door, room after room, as the incandescent flourishes of interacting light from one room and another – the first, the last, and all those inbetween – seares your mind’s eye. Each interaction is different, and yet seems entirely the same – you have no frame of reference; this is the only journey you have taken, and the only one that summarily exists. If you were to take it again, what might be different?

Who knows.

I have been musing.

Relations between ‘texts’ -things inscribed and which we are able to read – or in a script; between words, characters, locations, moods are mediated: by what? Is it enough to say the human capacity for association?

Is ‘association’ too base to account for its effects; like pragmatically recording the events of an altercation in a police report ; “one add one equals two! It is clear what has happened hear!” The association is the ‘what’; but can it explain the ‘why’?

Easy enough: ‘Subjectivity’. But a subjectivity based in what? What is it that mediates our subjective experience of the ‘world’ – of ‘events’?

What is it that mediates our subjective experience of the world into intelligeable, and more importantly, (recountable) descrption? And the “whys”, not simply the “whats”?


Do we live, perceive, reflect and experience – as later recollected – in narrative form?

Is it only when we ‘read’ or recount that we enter into narrative discourse, or even the very moment of experience itself; our tiresome need to ‘understand’ – make intelligable?

My mind has been slaving over this: either narrative is a vehicle through which we are able to recount in an associatively and intelligable way – or it is the very glue that holds the fabric of this world together, without which we’d be lost amidst a galaxy of fragments.

A Designer’s seive:

Something like one of those word-association party games, the young lady responsible for Designing Qfwfq threw some first responses at me.

I was, of course, ready to grit and bare the abuse, as anyone would when having their facets pointed out; whether it is ‘your opinion’ or not. Because, as of late, I have begun to understand that there is likely one perception you want to betray, that is often utterly disregarded by the partiality of the observer.

Again, here I am circumventing my point.

Tentatively, I asked a searching question (something along the lines of “So what did you get from me?“):

  • Moon – the moon is constant
  • I like the idea of ladders…
  • “Vile” yellow – Moon – cheese – the smell of cheese – BABY BELLS!
  • “Spritely colours” creating the ‘mind’ – splashes of colours; disco ball
  • “Ringing persists”
  • a potency; colours, smells, ‘ringing’: everything ‘potent’, towards one “mood” or “feeling”.
  • a bust stop!
  • Sharpened pencils + Pet hamsters –> sawdust
  • Recreate a whole hamster’s cage – masses of sawdust and a massive water tank!
  • Hamster running through a ball, through the pipes -> the mind!
  • Moon Canopy with Rope ladders – HUGE.

I’m wondering if this response is symptomatic of the way a designer may read me or, perhaps, if this is simply one of [many different] natural responses to the challenge I pose. What appeared to have happened, on this first reading (which she later clarified was quite literally the case), was that I had passed through an interpretative ‘seive’, with merely an assortment of ‘nuggets’ remaining (the above list).

Prompted questions:

  • Why these nuggets? Is/are there rules of thumb for which aspects of a text may appear more potent upon (first) reading?
  • Did anything influence, outside of myself, the way she read me?
  • Is there such thing as a conscious choice of ‘reading’; “I read it as though it were a dictionary” “- as though it were a collage, images and textures” – “- a linear narrative and a journey from A to B”?

I shall pursue in due course.

Needless to say, I am anxious to note any developments upon further reading.

And apparently, I smell, and probably need a wash.

Cheese? I’m not even sure if I like cheese.

Some (re)contextualising.

Some notes from the ‘First Rehearsal’:

Inter-rogation – Good cop, bad cop

There is perhaps only one voice. Or, there could be hundreds: a chorus of interrogators putting questions to our new-found (literally) protagonist; Italic. In this case, however… there are two. A good cop, and a bad cop…

“Close your eyes” – the man going to a ‘happy place’ during inter-rogation

Such a relevant piece of text; the prisoner willing himself not to crack – to do anything in the face of their piercing questions —- and how interesting it is that this particular piece of text, and the rest that follows, was written entirely out of relation…context…geographic…temporal…perhaps even a different pen in a different book – the weather may have been the same… but probably different. Should I go on?

The Moon: when she was waxing…. – take out “moon” and replaced with “She”!

Re-characterized to fit the emerging story… the Moon, so central to Calvino’s tale is transposed from one context to another: the Moon is now “she” – and “she” is Italic’s Moon. Though it is equally interesting to note that the Moon in Calvino’s story was also the object of a man’s affections: The Deaf One – even their relationship seemed doom to failure.

(NOTE: noting singularities, and ‘deselecting’ others, to fit a concept; throughline; world)

Referring, of course, to the editing of me: they’re essentially cloning the parts of me they want to keep – whether its for ease of manageability, or that some parts appear more ‘relevant’ than others – and reformulating for the purposes of their exploration. I can hardly blame them – sometimes I wonder about myself.

“Why stillness” -> A man can’t sleep – he wakes his wife, much to her irritation!

I remember this one… I was in a pub. Ashley Giles was giving his expert opinion on the playability of an Ashes series wicket – I decided to throw him into the action; why not? He would later become the instigator for an entire scene. From what I remember of the whole piece of text, however, there is nothing I can recall about “sleeping” or husband and wives. In fact… I’m sure there were more than 3 people present.

Remove “Moon” – change of subject

A nifty little trick, and actually not one of mine. It’s funny how a story completely morphs when a sole element is changed: the subject, for example.

“Ashley Giles” – expanded to 4 characters – a new scene, as oppose to the continuation of the same.

He pops up again – encore.

“This is how we did it” – One bloke ‘fessing up’ to another at a bus stop. The bus arrives, he gets on  and leaves; weird or real?

“Floating above the city” – Testimony of the Moon/Girl

Again, another transposition. The characters…voices…and emerging stories appear to be consuming the fragments around them, laying claim to possess them – as though they were trying to speak for the first time; or else recapture memories and characteristics that somehow escaped them to leave them naked before the awakening world.

Note: Remove (traces of) the Moon – Opennness… it’s not about ‘replacing’.

Closeing can certainly be restrictive…

“He killed her…

…he killed his moon, and you’ll never know why.”

The words texted to me, not long after meeting a man with the intention of bringing me to life.

On reflection (a digression, I know, but I will return to the opening statement soon…) I considered how I could actually be ‘dead’ in order to thereafter be brought [back?] to life. Was it not the author whom was famously to dig his own proverbial grave the moment his creation was unleashed upon the world? And so prior to being ‘set forth’, it would be easy to assume that I was in fact not yet ‘alive’; apart from, perhaps, in the secret vaults of my creator’s mind. So let us assume, hypothetically, that he who created me has disappeared – I sit, flat as I am, layer upon layer of inscribed ink on white paper – and this man, who wants to ‘bring me to life’, picks me up and begins to read. In his mind’s eye, ear and senses, the man has a vision (I use the term loosely); perhaps one of potential, that sets his creative urges racing as I live and breathe in his thoughts for the duration of this ‘read’ (and perhaps sometime afterwards through his memory), before I’m placed back on to the coffee table fromwhich I was lifted, lifeless, dead; un-imagined, un-engaged, and waiting to be brought to life once more.

Or is my legacy not so momentary? Do I live on, in one way or another, despite my current desertion?

Notions of a Heideggerian ‘Presevation‘ spring to mind, whilst I, in my singular force, remain as the potential that was interpreted in me, merely lacking, in this current moment, a vessel to be preserved and ‘opened’.

Anyway, back to the top of this whim:

I have received this text message. I’m a little confused. I cannot remember any one point within myself that the killing of any Moon occurs, nor this Moon being ominously refered to as a ‘her’. I can only assume that there has occurred an associative fusion of one or more of my elements.

There is no one ‘singularity’ that makes up my repertoire, and that depicts such events, so far as an event can wholly and concretely be depicted – so I began to think about this systematically – referring to my text and attempting to assemble any correlations that would account for this narrative creation.

To begin:

The ‘he’:

Who is this ‘he’? There is Colin… and his social chub? But whom would Colin want to kill and why? Was this murder even motivated?

Perhaps it is the enigmatic fellow who dreams of saving someone at sea?

Or the narrator who tells the story of his love for the Captain’s Wife? Certainly his narrative proximty to the Moon would suggest we have made some ground here…

But then why would he kill the Captain’s wife? Is there motive?

Maybe it’s the poor soul being interrogated about another ‘her’? It is true we, and even I, fail to learn anything of ‘her’ fate by the “end” of my body – perhaps it is she who is dead?

I think I’m working myself into knots here.

At a guess I’d have said the “he” was the interrogated man, the “she” the “her” of the same story, and the Moon as some metaphorical segue into layers of this story that [even] I know nothing about.

Suffice it to say, I may be able to speculate on the first two clauses of the text message, but one final piece still evades me; will perpetually evade me:

“…and you’ll never know why.”

…at least until I see ‘myself’ in action.

Maybe he was right: I am not…fully…alive.

There’s something of a ‘Subject-Object-Subject’ debate to be had here. But we’ll have that another time.

after me!

Recently I bumped in to someone responsible for creating ‘my kind’.

We got talking.

She said she likes working with fragments – they seem to stimulate creativity.

So, of course, I invited her to play with my words.

And it is here, that we shall see the results!

Exciting times: