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You are on a train and it is taking you to a destination, but you do not know what that destination is.
If a man is there how will you greet him? He will be a stranger but he has come to meet you.
You are on a train, but the destination keeps changing. You decide to relax. What difference will a change of destination make? Let the train do its own bidding.
You wonder if it is a train you are on. You wonder if you are moving. You wonder why you took this train and not another.
You are not on a train, but if you push a key you can simulate the activity of being on it.
It wasn't exactly rape. For a rape to take place your breath has to feel it's at home, with a sharp sense of its rightful place.
But I wouldn't allow myself to be there, here was always elsewhere. I would step out of my flesh and raise myself to the ceiling. I would hang suspended as if on a trapeze and I wouldn't look down.
Beneath others would enter and exit, I barely noticed.
When they had gone I would lower myself to the ground, hook myself onto my flesh, fastening the clasp on my head, my throat, my chest, my legs.
She drags the stones from far away places though they are heavy and hurt her arms. She brings them to the space. She picks and chooses; most stones don't suit her.
She likes the coloured ones, particularly those that are red. She brings them from places to which she has travelled and arranges them in a circle.
The circle is at the bottom of the garden. You can see it from the top of the house. She spaces out the stones grading them from grey to red.
But THEY will not leave her alone. When her back is turned THEY kick the stones, disrupt the circle. She doesn't know who they are, or what they think they are doing.
It is a mess. They destroy her careful work. She hates what they are doing.
Time takes its course, and the seasons mutate from autumn to winter to spring to summer. The leaves turn from to red to green to red again. She becomes weary of gestures, of rearranging.
Her will blows over, like the surrounding long grass.
The effects of a major trauma can be recast. Some people never lose their willingness to act. They are able to re-enter the play from the back of the stage. As the lights come up, they learn slowly to forget.
What will the ending be: suicide or escape?
When do we start to re-board the beginning?
