Heading towards 90 particle fictions, and lines have been creeping in. Poetry? Or just very short prose paragraphs? What's the weight of a carriage return? And the music? Discuss.
Sense Alive?
A note from the universe:
This is it, folks. Sorry to break it to you, but there ain't no afterlife.
You kind of know that already, but best make it official.
Otherwise, you could squander what you have.
Which is quite a lot, when you look at it.
You've got a reasonably long straw in the scheme of things.
Not that there's a scheme.
You've got food and clothes and shelter and a reasonable vehicle to carry your soul around in.
Not that there's a soul.
Sorry – didn't mean to break that quite so bluntly.
Your reasonable vehicle is all you have.
It's quite a feat of engineering.
Not that there's an engineer.
It's all chanced together quite beautifully, yet you don't half waste it.
So when you ask 'in what sense alive?', I'm nonplussed.
What you feel is all you get.
Try to feel something more constructive.
3/1/2008
David Mercer
Plays: One, 1990
p 111
Comments