Names and the importance of names.
“I just like sitting”
The hodge podge.
The fat of my belly.
The slop of my arse.
The cough of my lungs.
The smear of my frowning lips.
The sweat on my brow.
The silence of my reaction.
The whites of my eyes.
My failure to disguise-
My disgust.
My rusted dehydrated mind.
My lack of strength.
My confusion.
My rudeness.
Me as a split.
Me being bent and broken.
Me in mayhem.
Me lost in reflection.
The Me,
The My.
The… The wasabi of my thoughts, in my flowing eyes. Chilled, hot tears rush and run and I read out loud upon my face my thoughts and I worry and I fear that everyone can see and they do, they really do. But they cannot meet it, or tackle it head on. No, no not at all. And what would they say.
What would they say these people?
“Don’t worry, or don’t do that, or chin-up, or better yet don’t be sad”.
And I grin my sick grin and I know I can still function for I can, I can and I am.
Ready, willing and able. Oh yes, I function well, I do my best work like this.
But you, this feeling attacks you, and i’ll let it, because my energy here is raw and chaotic and thats my rent, thats my breakage, honest leakage for everyone to deal. Because what could be more real than that? Yes, yes yes you reel.
You recoil in fright and my downcast eyes blink away tears of reality.
The biting cold,
my lost focus.
My innability to hide and mask. My honest heart.
Bleeding salted tears, rippling across my face.
Snarling across my lips.
Blowing from my nose.
Steaming from my neck.
Bulging from my jaw
Biting tension, throbbing from my temples.
The tautness of thoughts, resplendent-
unmistakable in the stretched skin of my cranium.
And this stretch makes all tune in.
The tone, its binary and vibrancy.
The song of suffering.
The focus of the bells of my mind,
ring out in theirs.
Hears and fine tuned hairs shriek.
Mood, feelings, hopes and happiness shredded.
Cure me, guillotine me, have him beheaded.
Smile, don’t worry, its OK.

We’re all learning to live a lost thing.

And names! Who do I want to say this?




Echo: What’s that Duci?
Duci: Its nothing Echo.
Echo: You did it! You found it, a true nothing?
Duci: Oh, no. I was wrong its something. Grit you could call it.
Echo: Grit
Duci: Dust? Or dirt.
Echo: Oh dirt!

Echo: Well you better throw it.
Duci: Dust to dust.
Echo: Dirt to dirt.

Echo: Neither, its grit by my eyes. And for the taste…
(Tastes what Duci threw on the ground)
Echo: Oh yes *spits*, true grit. My teeth know the taste well.
Duci: Its a hard life we lead.
Echo: Life? Lead?
Duci: Indeed.
Echo: So how about… something.
Duci: We do that every day. Always looking for an angle. A something.
Echo: Something to do! Yes!
Duci: Can’t we agree to not encourage one another, we could be the very best of friends if you didn’t always suggest this sort of thing. Do something indeed.
[Echo fidgets]

Echo: Don’t suppose you want to do anything then.
Duci: It doesn’t matter, anything will happen. Its something I don’t like, too specific. Its like getting to the bottom of that dirty business before. Why do we need to know, why do I do it to myself?
Echo: It helps you.
Duci: Helps me? Oh god, now i’m echoing you, this is a mess. I told you something would happen.
Echo: That is something.
Duci: Its all gone to dirt.
Echo: That helps.
Duci: Oh aye, I can finally finish my book: “The finer destinctions”. Grit, dirt and dust a detailed analysis on somethings, that matter.

Echo: All things matter.
Duci: That’s what everyone else thinks. I think its all made up.
Echo: We all know it’s made up of matter!
Duci: Oh god.
Echo: Well if you think so, that’s OK too.
Duci: Oh dear.
Echo: I’m glad you think so!
Duci: Gla… Glad? Glad indeed!
Echo: You’ve said it three times now, I forget what it means, funny how that happens, don’t you think?

Duci: Quite the query Ecco! I think I do. Because I know things are always going. We talked about this. The day things stop doing, when something finally doesn’t happen then I’ll think not. If only you’d give me peace.
Echo: I don’t follow.
Duci: Tabernak!
Echo: Taxi-cab!
Duci: This is fruitless Eco!
Echo: She’ll be apples! And peeled grapes. A quander to you, a right fruit of the forest we’re in for.
[Both Duci and Echo are splashed by a passing car and soaked]

Echo: We’re in the deep end.
Duci: (sarcastically) Har-har.
Echo: Probably for the best, we can’t swim.
Duci: We? I can.
Echo: Can not.
Duci: I, not, can not.
Echo: Nobody speaks like that!
Duci: Hang it, I can.
Echo: Oh… CAN… NOT.
Duci: Not like that.
[Echo is confused and pulls an umbrella out of his sleeve but doesn’t share]

Echo: Knock knock.
Duci: Umbrella…
Echo: No you say who’s there, or something like that.
[Duci ducks his head]
Duci: Don’t say that word!
Echo: Knock Kn-what word?
Duci: Umbrella.
Echo: I don’t follow.
Duci: I want the umbrella. And don’t say something to me, or anything for that matter. You said you lost that anyway, that’s mine. You should give it back.
Echo: This old thing? This is mine. Some…one gave it to me.
Duci: Be more specific! I lent it to you, and not I want it back!
Echo: We can share! Its something to do. Like I sometimes say its easier to grit than dirt.
Echo: Or was is dust? Easier to grit than dust? No… No easier to dust grit that dirt. Yes. No. That’s not right. Dirt dusting? No that’s not quite right. Dirts a chimney duster. No. Slim dusty, that can’t be right. Dust is a dirty word. Grit your dust in your dirty? I give up.
Duci: Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Echo: No we didn’t find ash. Ash is supposed to find us. Although you do look pale.
Duci: Pale?
Echo: Yes pale, like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you OK?
Duci: Yes I’m fine.
[Echo raises his eyebrows and blows wind dramatically out of his mouth]

Echo: Fine? Fine. Fine! Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. Oooooooooh! Fine!
Duci: Just stop, would you. How are you?
Echo: I’m fine toooooooooo! Ooooooooh-so-fine. My names fine. Just call me fine.
Duci: “Just fine”, your poor parents.
Echo: Sublime! There’s your humour and merits!
Duci: What’s got you so jovial in this rain anyway?
Echo: Whats there to be sad about, we aren’t here to stay.
Duci: We are for now.
Echo: But not forever. Anyhow-
Echo: Its the see-saw effect, affect as you want.
Duci: What are you talking about?
Echo: Did you not hear me? Shall I… shout?
Duci: I hear you, I didn’t understand.
Echo: Aye, maybe you’d never. What do you demand?
Duci: Go on, share. Tell me more. Go on, go on, go on.
Echo: Shall I tell you something?
Duci: Yes! GO ON.
Echo: Yes! Breakthrough. OK its like this my little Ducky. When you’re down in the dumps, I mean really in the slumps, bottom planted on the pavement, soggy both your rumps. Then I’m here to pick you up, lead by example. Show you life and happiness, your friend, follower and umbrella wielding pal.
Duci: That’s not a see-saw.
Echo: Ah you see though me!
Duci: Har-har.

Echo: You saw through me. [does the hand gesture alone his midriff]
Duci: Forget it.
Echo: Oh come now, sit.
Duci: In the wet?
Echo: Well… yes, why not, it’s not forever.
Duci: I’m more comfortable standing.
[Echo steps one to the right and sits with the umbrella and waits…]

[Duci sighs and joins him, sitting on the wet ground]
Echo: Its nice down here.
Duci: This is some kind of seesaw.
[Duci cringes]
Echo: Ah-hah! High treason, treachery you philanthropist! You cynic! You hypocrite! Not so critical now. That was my aim all along. Get you seated, get you comfortable.
Echo [Aside]: Wait for the intermission and PAH! FIE! Gotcha with the umbrella. And who’s was the murder weapon? Not I? Aye. Not me, He! Ah, he-he! Critic.

Duci: Who are you talking to?
Echo: Myself.
Duci: This is the doldrums.
Echo: Not at all my friend of the dumps. Not at all, where was I?
Duci: Somewhere I’m sure of it.
Echo: Yes, small sweet victories of the see-saw. When you’re sad, i’m happy. When you’re sad i’m happy. When you’re sad… I’m happy. There’s more. ummm—
[Echo waits, thinking… then stands]
Echo: Ah yes!
Duci [uncomfortable, looking up]: Yes?
Echo: When you’re happy, I can be sad.
Duci: That’s a quite a trade off.
Echo [spins]: Yes quite, we’re so close you and I. You understand, we bleed the same blood, we’re part of a model that isn’t in existence. I know that doesn’t help you understand but its real, trust me.
Duci: A model?
Echo: Yes you are.
Duci: Go on.
Echo: Ah! And ego! I falter.
Duci: We’ve been talking again haven’t we.
Echo: The bus will come soon.
Duci: Maybe we could walk to the next stop?
Echo: Risky business!
Duci: Not really.
Echo: Gambler! Sinner! Action man! Fool!
Duci: Shall we.
Echo: Well sure, we have to do… something.
Duci: Indeed.

[They link arms and and begin to walk]
Duci: Do you think we’ll make it?
Echo: Nobody ever has.
Duci: Perhaps we should turn back?
Echo: Not a chance, that’s not how the see-saw works. I hope you’re happy.
Duci: Hope’s a dirty something.
Echo: And we grit it, grit until we’re dust.
Duci: Oh look now you’re all down.
Echo: No i’m not.
Duci: No… the umbrella. You put it down.
Echo: Ah yes. Maybe we’ll meet Ash?
Duci: He’ll be in his canoe if he is.
Echo: My ferry man is he!
Duci: It must be a dirty business.
Echo: He catches em all.
Duci: You young are all the same
Echo: We thought it was the best of games.
Duci: I can’t see where I’m going.
Echo: Close you eyes if you need showing.
Duci: You’re enjoying this.
Echo: There’s no risk for me.
Duci: Eco the waters in my boots.
Echo: So swim!
Duci: I can’t
Echo: Lies! Have you been baptized?
Duci: Ecco don’t play games, find me a raft.
Echo: Make one!
Duci: I can’t!
Echo: Well thisin’t the see-saw game.
Duci: This is real life.
Echo: Really.
Duci: I suppose this is goodbye.
Echo: How dramatic.
Duci: Dramatic is something.
Echo: You think so?
Duci: Do you?
Echo: I do.
Duci: That’s beautiful.
Echo: I’ll follow you.
Duci: Blub-blub-blub
Echo: I hope you know the way.

[They walk off stage]

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