from GROOVES OF GLORY
Originally published in Grooves of Glory: Three Performance Texts by Alan Brunton (Wellington: Bumper Books, 2004): 55-58.
Three travellers are stranded here, waiting for transport. Stuck in this backwater, they pass the time by inventing fantastical tales about their travels, including interplanetary transmission. They create an anthology of scenes of the imagination, each story taking off from this reality into the out of this world. Each carries a briefcase. They exist by waiting, in this backwater.
J enters, rings the bell; goes to the piano and begins a tune. A enters; rings the bell, drinks from the Thermos, opens his briefcase, shuffles manuscripts, reads …
S opens her briefcase. Takes second brick to the temple.
P is for Paramour O is for Original E is for Entry M is for Mono
which I was—until there was you
S closes briefcase, and exits.
Coming into my cells like words dripping from spoons, dear fluid, that’s how I thought of you—as close as the breath that comes between us, in the no-man’s-land you rule from a lactic throne I hardly dare approach except in sharp and expensive threads, like coming into the opera, into the blue cinema of your dream, your throne of stones on the beach, the lido of the libido
S returns with case.
Let’s make life up, play with me as you play with yourself, play with wantonness because it’s like everyday phenomena are almost too small for me to use
S turns on the fan.
S places third brick on the temple, then turns fan off.
Say what you like, we are sailing in a hydroponic universe, gliding on seas of eternity, leaving Real Time in her semilunar boat, 2 hot lips to caress, magnet to pirates, finger smiths, cracksmen—and how beautiful she looks
S spoons honey.
She stands on the burning deck in silk as the world flames, oh fire and smoky days of fall and inspiration, dripping into me as I said from spoons, like honey, the honey that cleans you out with the fire, the honey of the Upanishads …
So excuse me, if I invite myself into your eyes, eyes filled with sparkles, pulses racing from the edge of the universe, the possibility we will come together at the peak of performance, consonance of hearts, cardiovascular contraction and expansion, like magic, we will burn the candle at both ends and darkness will disappear into your eyes, those mysterious oceans, where have you been, what have your eyes seen?
S returns with case and fourth brick.
© Alan Brunton