(for two performers, paragraph breaks mark the alternation between Chile 1 and Child. Child 1 begins the dialogue.)
Hello. Hi there. Yes, where are we, ah yes, Tuesday. On Tuesday you are writing again and thinking about other types of employment. Ones you'd be willing to do. Okay then. A form of labour might be, say, walking about. Moving along. Being employed in the act of a centred mobility. That will include taking maybe one thing from its place to another place. That's so often how these things work. These things are here in the ground. Take them out of it. Take them to a place where they will be taken to a place to be placed in a place and burnt which is another form of taking from one place to another only this time that taking is taking single things apart from one another as well as apart from their place in the earth. They are taken into the air where they disperse and eventually settle and reform into the ground. This is not entropy. Luckily for you there's not much of a chance of that form of labour. Hello there. Yes. Hiya. So good to finally speak. I think we're getting somewhere. Oh, you want to go out and smoke then. Okay I'll wait here then. Prodigal!
Fuck your living. You two are great friends now, right? So that's okay, but we're not. I feel very alienated. That's my reality. What's your reality? Isn't it great how we can just you know just know you know what you know. Reality questers. Prod prod. What I want from myself... My reality is... That you fuck up... Get it. Through your grey
we deal here with
the problems in products nay production here in my hand is a
Noon is a key reel.
Have you paid handsomely. What're you watching?
Have you done memory yet? We did it and we had to draw a picture of it and it looked like with all these swirling colours over the paper when you crayon so hard that there is a kind of shiny screen of layered colour I drew you. I'm tired of the pain in my heart. I was in a really dark place. It was just a new person to suffer. For I have gone from city to city I pointed the gun straight at him all the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up like glue and you're going to kill me with all my hear I want to leave you with the truth and that is that we are kin you and I exclusion we are all and not all at all we are deluded constantly and produced fuckably lovely and all over the floor our production is the cause and symptom of our violence I never want to hear again in fact I go more and more blind and speak in whispers over the car pool you run at me your mouth a flame of choice and freedom your reality paste a slot gunship bullies past and I am weeping. I am real. I will probably keep this going. Prodz.