Fenced in, Fenced out

In Animals, Circus, Drafts, Local projects, Music, proto drafts, Revision, Synopsis on February 17, 2015 at 6:55 am

With two other Romanian professionals settled here, he visited Albi’s magnificent cathedral on Sunday. When they stepped out, there was a beggar at the door. Want to bet he’s from our country, he joked with his friends. They bantered back and forth on the topic, in their language. Not a glance nor a twitch from the beggar. A woman came out of the cathedral and put a coin in the beggar’s outstretched hand. He thanked her in French, then added in Romanian: May God bring blessings on your head.

One of the vignettes culled from yesterday’s treasure trove.

Getting back into the saddle of story: proving difficult. I’ve been here before, in a space where an abundance of riches failed to produce the decisive  spark that ignites the whole thing. All of a sudden, a frenzy takes over. You throw out the false starts, shove aside the yammerings and whimperings. Someone’s voice cuts through and takes over the show.

In the dream, that voice was the one of a local circus artist, busy doing survival-type drudge work. A man came out of his garage across the road. She looked at him, smiled, and started singing in something that was supposed to be Romanian, I guess. The song said: Don’t lock me out, allow me in. She held the note, smile in place, hand extended. A performance, yes? The man answered something but I didn’t hear what he said. I was walking off to something else, at that point.

So: endless clean-up on the finished one. Necessary, but also a way of avoiding the steps required to share the story with others. Plus a huge mishmash of false starts, wooly bits, useless bits, poignant ones, funny ones. A mess in which, as the French saying goes, a mother cat couldn’t find her kittens.

I once wrote speeches for a man who had trained as an engineer. He kept asking me to give him the plan before I produced the speech, until he accepted the fact he’d get the plan once the speech was written. It wasn’t stubbornness or bad faith on my part. Until I’d pieced together the words, torn them apart, and re-assembled them until they sounded right, there was no such thing as a plan to be had. At which point I had to wonder why he needed a plan in the first place.

Synopsis, you say? pfffffffffffffff.

Allez? (I feel like a donkey not inclined to budge, this morning.) Allez. Allez.


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