The Glass Cage

My third submission for ENO's Mini Opera contest. (First one here; second one here)

-

THE GLASS CAGE

A mini opera

~ ~ ~

Darkness. We hear only sounds and voices.

There is the clip-clop of low sensible heels, followed by the blunter sound of loafers.

LADY:

“Had any interesting dreams lately, Doctor?”

MAN:

“Not that I recall. But I’ll let you know if I do.” (chuckles)

“Oh yes, do. Dreams are precious to us here. We keep them under lock and key.”

Lights flicker on. The scene is bathed in a cold blue fluorescent light.

GIRL:

“By lock and key, do you mean ‘shut in a glass cage’?”

In the centre of the room is a wide glass tube. Inside it is a frail-looking girl of about ten years.

LADY:

“Pay no attention to her, Doctor. She will twist the truth to suit her needs.”

GIRL:

“The truth? You took me while I was sleeping and locked me up. Saying I’d infect people's heads."

She moves toward them. Her voice trembles just slightly.

GIRL:

“Are you afraid of me?”

LADY:

“I have dealt with worse than you.”

MAN:

“Why do you say such things to her? She is a child.”

LADY:
“If you knew the havoc she has caused…”

GIRL:

“It’s not my fault.”

MAN:

“I’ve read the reports. But – “

GIRL:

“It’s not my FAULT.”

LADY:

“She knew perfectly well what she did.”

GIRL:

“It’s NOT MY FAULT!”

There is a strange sound in the air as the lights go out suddenly. The scene is cloaked in complete blackness.

From the silence, we hear the child’s anxious breathing emerge.

GIRL:

“Are you still there?”

MAN:

“Where is she? Has she – escaped?”

GIRL:

“I’m here.”

There are successive echoes in the room – “I’m here I’m here I’m here.”

LADY:
“She needs to be stopped.”

GIRL:

“How can you stop me?”

MAN:

“We need to do something. Something. The Department will hear of thi – “

GIRL:

“What will you do?”

LADY:

“There. Did you hear that? …She’s to your left.”

MAN:

“She’s escaped?”

GIRL:

“What will you do??”

LADY:

“There is a procedure to deal with this, Doctor. Do not pa – “

GIRL:
“WHAT WILL YOU DO TO ME????!!”

There is a sound like an alien scream. Then the lights flicker back on. The man and lady scramble to their feet, their knees still weak.

The girl is still in the glass tube.

LADY:

(slowly regaining control) “You see, Doctor, she is not to be trusted.”

MAN:

“Even when she’s caged?”

LADY:

“Especially when she’s caged.”

The man looks uncertainly at the girl child, then at the lady, back and forth. He licks his lips and discreetly wipes his forehead.

MAN:
“I’ve…heard of an…equally dangerous creature. A man.”

LADY:

(slowly turns to face him) “The Sweeper?”

MAN:

“They say that to see him is to lose hope. Like butterflies blown into dust. Shredde…” (swallows) “He had shredded butterflies inked next to his dragon tattoo.”

LADY:

“I’ve only ever seen him in paintings and pictures. Some say he is as ancient as time itself.”

GIRL:

“I’ve seen him.”

LADY:

“Yes. He is your kin, isn’t he?”

GIRL:

“He is neither my kin nor my friend. He is ancient, yet young. Terrible and beautiful. I’ve seen him – in dreams of glass and blue and steel. He comes for you. For all of us.”

MAN:

“Shush, little girl. There's no need to make threats. No one will harm you. Isn't that right?” (looks at the lady for support)

The lady seems not to hear him. Her gaze is transfixed on the girl.

LADY:

“Tell me more.”

She crouches down so she’s at eye level with the girl.

LADY:

“Tell us about him.”

GIRL:

“…It crawls…”

LADY:

“Crawls?”

GIRL:

“His skin. His skin crawls with the dreams of others. Sometimes I see my dreams in there.” (She bites her fingernails for a bit, then stares off into space.) “Pink roller skates… I used to hate them, until he took them away. Then I missed them. Now I see those skates on his left bicep. My first roller skates.”

MAN:

“You sound…older than you look. I mean, you sound different from other children. Is that – “

GIRL:

“That’s what happens when he steals your dreams. (pause) You change.”

MAN:

“Are you still changi – ?”

The lady motions for him to be quiet, but the girl has heard him. She fixes an icy gaze on him.

GIRL:

“Am I changing?”

Silence as they – man and child – face each other down.

GIRL:

“What do you think?”

She opens her mouth then, and long wet things, terrible and deep blue, start to crawl out. The man and lady flinch; they press their hand to their lips to stop from crying out, or throwing up.

LADY:

(trying to compose herself) “Stay calm. She does this occasionally. Makes you see things.”

There is the sound of crying. It seems to come from the girl, even though her eyes are cold and the oozing blue things undulate like grotesque anemone from her mouth.

MAN:
“Come now, child; stop it, there’s a dear…”

LADY:

“She won’t hear you. She’s too far gone.”

MAN:

“Child, please. Stop crying.” (Cringes, turns to the lady) “Does she make you hear things as well?”

Despite its pitiful mewling, the girl’s wailing is becoming more unbearable as it swells in volume. Especially as her eyes remains free of emotion.

It seems as if the wails are coming from the squirming deep blue things. In between the mewls, one can almost hear words, phrases. Like a toddler’s garbled speak or an old man’s toothless pleas, each one more disturbing than the next.

LADY:

“Enough! You will cease this right now.”

MAN:

(clamping hands to ears) “Child. STOP!”

The lady goes up to the glass and slams her fist against the surface – once, twice. She is becoming quite enraged; her composure is melting away.

LADY:

“You listen to me, you little harlot. I can have you put down and dissolved right now, hear? I can – (slam) do away with you (slam) before you’re halfway through your pathetic (slam) little bag of horror tricks!”

The wailing reaches a shrill pitch. The man and lady are forced to clasp their ears tightly. Then there is the sound of shattering glass, and everything goes black.

Now the cries, instead of emanating from one place, is everywhere. Every corner of the room seems to have a hurt or abandoned baby, a terrible helpless squirming thing, a ghostly kitten… And in the midst of it all, the girl’s voice.

GIRL:

(in a sing-song voice)

“I am him and he is me

I am what your eyes can see

I’m not what I seem to be

I am him and he is me.”

Slowly the complete dark becomes a velvety dimness, casting just enough light on the girl’s limbs as she walks toward the lady and man. As the faint light grows, we realize she is naked.

GIRL:

(continues)

“They tried to cage me; they were wrong

I ate their minds out all night long

In the end, he is with me

And I with him, forever free.”

A sliver of light falls on her bare arm. Several tattoos snake up her forearm right to her shoulder. One of them is a pair of pink roller skates.

With dreadful realization the two grownups try to rise, to run. But their knees are weak. The man shivers like a great heap of pudding. The woman’s fingers, white with quiet fear, press against the floor.

LADY:

“My chil – my…my dear one.”

She rises to a kneeling position.

LADY:

“Will you spare us?” (tilts her head in appeal for sympathy) “I…I know I was…somewhat harsh. But I provided for you. I…They wanted to put you down. But I fought for you. I alone fought for you.”

The lady holds out her hand, and the girl takes it. They move nearer as if to embrace.

LADY:

“My dear. My darling child.”

The Dreamsweeper’s lips slowly soften into a smile as the icy glaze in her eyes become a warm wetness. A hungry wetness…

Blackness returns. The last thing we hear is screaming, and small sharp teeth tearing into flesh.

 

~ ~ ~

.

They Need To Be Fed

~

THEY NEED TO BE FED

A mini opera

THE CAST

(in order of appearance):

The Cannibal Choir

A dead young man

A government official

A street musician

The Muffin Man

Aminta

____________________________________________________________________

1: Meat!

The night is lit in red and yellow. A choir of singers come forth, gliding angelically in humming in perfect harmony, while one of them recites –

WOMAN:

“On the sixth day, our Maker said:

Let there be war.

Let there be passion.

Let there be dreams and ambition.

Let all of humanity consume one another

Let one man aim to kill the other.

Let the biggest eaters hold

the people’s dreams in their bellies.

Let there be – ”

MAN:

“– MEEAATT!”

The Cannibal Choir breaks into a lively tune over the hearty chords of an old church piano.

CHOIR:

“Which red-blooded lover doesn’t love a pound

of medium-rare over the fire?

Who hasn’t indulged in the flesh fantastic,

Just to stoke their desire?

To immortalise your victory,

It takes the meat of your enemy

Let this be our ode to the glorious flesh

Let this be our tower;

Praise our makers, our warring leaders

For the foes that we devour!”

As they celebrate their dark gods and their joyous feasting, a dead young man wanders into the scene, singing of his murderer. His tragic tune is interspersed with the Cannibal Choir’s.

DEAD MAN:

“She sees them in flowers

She sees them in dreams

She sees them drowned

In sirens and screams

She has little raw things

that she lured away

with her motherly song

And her hungry ways…”

CHOIR:

“A Beacon of Boldness, An Eater of Dreams

Is the ultimate position

To conquer hearts and to cut off heads

Is the height of great ambition

We line up to slay them and feast on their sins

We share the spoils with our kith and our kin”

DEAD MAN:

“She chews up their shadows

She chews up their skin

She chews up their wishes

Till they’re dry and thin.”

CHOIR:

“Aminta, Aminta! Goddess of the hunt!”

DEAD MAN:

“Aminta, my Aminta! Your teeth are shining bright”

CHOIR:

“Aminta, our lady! You’re a lean and lovely sight”

DEAD MAN & CHOIR:

“Aminta, oh Aminta…Tonight is cannibal night!”

The music ends on a big rolling note. Then the scene drops into darkness.

____________________________________________________________________

2: Do You Know The Muffin Man?

A portly, middle-aged government official is sitting at a coffee shop.

He’s getting up and brushing off crumbs, when a scruffy thirty-something man sitting just beside his table greets him with a raised hand. He tips his hat in return. Then the man (who is a street busker) asks him a strange question.

BUSKER:

“Do you know the Muffin Man

Who lives on Drury Lane?”

OFFICIAL:

“I do not know the Muffin Man.

Though I’ve heard he is insane.”

They both get up from their seats, with the official trying to look nonchalant. The labourer senses his curiosity, however, and jabs him lightly in the arm, continuing –

BUSKER:

“Do you know the things he eats

and what his oven holds?”

OFFICIAL:

“How should I know what’s to his taste?

Jelly, perhaps, and rolls.”

His eyes glaze over a little as he says this – the look on his face says, “Mmmm, jelly rolls.” The labourer jabs him again, harder this time, much to his annoyance.

BUSKER:

“It is not jelly; it is not rolls;

It is the meat-crunch of their bones.

The bones, my friend, the bones he plants

Beneath the earth when he’s alone.

Do you hear his piper’s song

That brings the bacon home?

And how hastily the children come

to meet him in his truck?”

The official’s curiosity is replaced by irritation – and an awareness that his break time is well past. He brusquely brushes the busker off.

OFFICIAL:

“Dear man, I’ve better things to do.

And I do not give a fuck.”

The official leaves. The busker throws up his hands up and says to himself, “Stupid ignorant pouf!”

____________________________________________________________________

3: A Humble Man

A large, hungry-looking man takes her place. His lips glisten in an almost obscene manner. His eyes shine with glints of desperation.

MUFFIN MAN:

“It’s a new day, a good day

To take a child and dance the night away

And breathe the smell of untried flesh

And meat that is red, and raw, and fresh.”

He walks along the road, and comes to a large colourful truck hawking ice cream, cupcakes and lollipops. The melody becomes perky, jaunty.

MUFFIN MAN:

“What else can a humble man ask of you?

I give muffins and candy to those who are good

I give nice, sweet things to those who are my food.

I take no cash from any of you.

All I take is a bit of blood.

A bit of warmth. A bit of this,

A bit of that

From the brains you keep

Beneath your hat.”

He sighs, apparently misunderstood. He takes off his hat and hangs it on the truck.

MUFFIN MAN:

“No one uses hope except when hopeless.

No one sees their dreams except in dreams.

No one needs their souls, or so it seems.

So why

Can’t I

Have some?”

The Muffin Man hops onto his truck and rings his bell. “Muffins, cakes, ice cream! Candy and other sweet things!” he calls. He drives off and his shouts fade away.

____________________________________________________________________

4: Ballad of a Streetwalker

Dusk is falling on the sleepy town. As the crowd thins and people head off home, a lone street musician is playing a sweet, simple tune on his harmonica.

BUSKER:

“Well, the dust settles into the road again

And the cafés are ready to close

And it’s all so sweet and yet destined to die

Like a wonderful, withering rose

I see that young woman has just been kissed

By the man that’s she’s loved for so long

Will they ever get out

Of the trap that’s about

To feed on the young and the strong?”

More harmonica, playing a variation of the opening tune. A young boy passes by and drops some coins at his feet.

BUSKER:

“I say, Child, can you sing me a melody

But don’t sing it so loud they can hear

For they’ll sweep off your spirit

And do bad things to it

Then they’ll feast and grow fat on your fear.”

The young boy’s eyes widen; he decides to move on. The busker nods at him and continues singing.

BUSKER:

“Those who dream fullest

Will disappear soonest

While those who think small will survive

And you think it’s unfair,

But do you really care

As long as you wake up alive?

My time may come later than others.

Well, these skinny arms don’t bear much meat.

For I’m just a street-walker

Whose daydreams grow smaller

With each day I sing on the street.”

He plays a brief closing melody; then puts his harmonica away, gathers up the day’s earnings and leaves.

____________________________________________________________________

5: Lullaby

In the shadows, a lean and beautiful young woman (Aminta) appears. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, dreamy. Her lips glisten like one who is fresh from feeding.

AMINTA:

“Hi-i-i-i-igh

Hi-i-i-i-igh

High on the blood of yesterday

Sweet wishes, sweet sleep."

We see her cradling a child who appears to be slumbering deeply against her chest.

AMINTA:

“Sleep deep, for there are no more

Nightmares to be had

I’ll cradle you close to my chest.

Dreams will not turn bad.”

When she lets the child fall back into bed, the little girl’s face has grown slack and grey.

AMINTA:

“Dreams will be devoured

Digested and drowned

Never to be found.

Babies and boys, women and girls

Men and halflings of the world

Close your eyes and open your hearts!

Red, dripping, beautiful hearts

I love you. All of you.

My love is unconditional

Full and ripe, irrational

I am your dark mother.

Come and I will smother

you softly.”

Aminta is joined by the Muffin Man – who, like her, looks full and sated. He licks his lips and sings with her.

MUFFIN MAN:

“We hunt in the dark,

We hunt in the day.

We hunt the hopes”

[TOGETHER]:

“...That you lock away.

Let them sing, let them breathe

Don’t keep them beneath

Your skin where they’ll die.”

AMINTA:

“What you don’t use”

MUFFIN MAN:

“We will;”

AMINTA:

“What you don’t need,”

MUFFIN MAN:

“We’ll kill.”

[TOGETHER]:

“Precious, dark, sweet.

Feed us with meat.

Precious, dark, sweet

In dreams we will meet

In dreams we will meet.”

Aminta and the Muffin Man clasp hands, grow wispy, and start to levitate. Finally they appear to fade into the air, vague and light as a dream.

____________________________________________________________________

5: They Need To Be Fed

As they melt away, the dead young man reappears. He is with a small, curvy young woman who – like him – has left the mortal coil. Their hands are clasped. They enter the scene like a boy and girl making their first appearance at a debutante ball.

The scene lights up to reveal a ballroom decorated with silver bones. Music swells as the Cannibal Choir appear. The young man and woman begin to waltz.

CHOIR:

“They need to be full

with baskets of meat

And sweet, plump things

Tied up tight and neat”

The chorus of voices grow clearer as four undead people join the waltz. One of them is the fat government official, who looks especially bloody (while the rest merely look grey and drained).

CHOIR:

“They need to be brimming

with blood and bones

till they’re bloated and big

and heavy as stones

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Clothed in your skin

They need to be fed.”

As the song goes on (and grows in volume), more and more people stream in. They all pair up and fall into the dance, waltzing away in this grand purgatory.

CHOIR:

“They must harp on your hopes

They must swallow your dreams

They must be cloaked

in your cries and your screams

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Decorated in death

They need to be fed.

When all else is silent,

When all else is gone

The Devourers of Dreams

Will rise and reign on

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Meat-eaters, dreamsweepers

They need to be fed.”

The dark, shadowy edges of the scene brighten to reveal a dark splendid ballroom. At the top of a grand stairway is Aminta and the Muffin Man, holding hands as they descend upon their ghostly monarchy.

AMINTA & MUFFIN MAN:

“Keep us near or keep us far

Think us alive or think us dead

But remember that we are never full.

When dreams go astray, we Will Be Fed!”

This grand finale sees everyone frozen in mid-dance. Then the lights go off until only dim outlines of the still bodies are left.

In the midst of this suspended scene, the busker comes down the stairway and weaves between the undead waltzing couples.

He strikes up a tune in a reprise of his earlier Ballad.

BUSKER:

“My love,

don’t let others steal your thoughts

Or your sweet, careless, flung-about lives

And watch out for those strangers

Who smell sharply of danger

For their teeth and their hearts are like knives.

So this is the story

An overblown melody

Of music, of meat, and of dreams;

And our lives are too brief

To be singing of grief

So let’s close up and sew up the seams.”

He plays his harmonica one last time. As he reaches the final lingering note, the last few lights go out.

-END-

~

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

Having recently rewatched that fantabulous musical film Across The Universe, I am tempted to muse on a dream I had some three or four years ago. A dream that began in chaos and confusion but ended in a strange, peaceful feeling. And I say strange because I have never felt like that in real life. Yet.

The song began playing about three quarters into that muddled pillow-cradled thought-phantasm. I'm not sure why. I had no particular fixation on it at the time; hadn't even listened to it once that day. But it blew like gentle breeze into my miserably confused psychological opera. There is a wonderful subtle glow of acceptance in those words: "Nothing's gonna change my world." Repeat it, say it again and again, when your hopes and your very self is on the verge of being blown to smithereens like an absinthe glass at the end of a deadshot Colt.

It works.

In the dream I was struck with a semi-realization that I can't, in the conscious realm, put a name on. But I think that all it was saying, was this.

Embrace change, but also embrace what you can't change.

For all things are temporary. (Some Buddhist philosophy for you; if John were alive right now he'd tell it to ya.)

Nothing lasts forever. And everything - joy, pain, sorrow - will pass.

Jai guru deva ohm.

~ ~ ~

Few things are built for eternity. Even Paradise can fall. And it will fall again, and rise again. Such is the way of the great circle.
Serpent 17:19

-

Give Us Your Dreams...

...and we shall do nothing because we are broke. But hey, it's the season for wishing. So wish away.

Here's my own li'l list, a mix of the attainable and the fantastical. Scrolling out in no particular order....


Combat boots
I Fucking Love Boots. They go with almost everything; and I can never have enough of 'em. But being a fairly practical person budget-wise, I've had to settle for just four pairs. I'd like a fifth. And I chose combats because they're so damn sexy, kickass and practical. What other footwear can take you from traipsing the mall to adventuring in the jungle? (Not that I jungle-trek all that often, but still. it'd be nice to have the option...)


Kat von D's Sephora kit
I think Kat von D is one of the world's sexiest women HANDSdown, and I'd love to own anything with her name on it. But especially this lovely perfume kit under the very cool label Sephora. I'm in love with the fragrance description already. I LOVE CINNAMON & MUSK.

alternatively, she can just throw me any of her old junk and accessories that she doesn't want anymore. I'm that eager.

better yet - give me a tattoo. which brings me to...


A trip to LA Ink
There is a reason I'd love to fly to Los Angeles. Not to hobnob with the stars, but to get inked by Kat or one of her posse. awesome shittttt. now that's a gift that lasts!


Better skin
Chronic eczema is a fact of daily life for me, and it's not like I can't handle it. But I'd rather not. It makes me a little neurotic sometimes. And occasionally gets in the way of choosing an outfit. And the great thigh tattoo I'd otherwise so have.

But since no one save God can cure eczema (and since God is a concept I've long given up on), you can also send me a truckload of shea butter and tea tree oil.


A super-GPS
Because I am lousy with directions and it would be so great to just get somewhere without floundering like a lost dying fish. I say 'super' coz the standard GPS only has one route to get someplace, and most of the time takes you in circles when there's an easier shorter way. But there are those with more advanced programming...to compensate for my not-so-advanced brain....


A great leather jacket
by which I mean a fairly basic one but with little awesome details, like chunky zips. Been saving up for this, and if I finally get one sometime next year I'll let y'all know. In the meantime, do mention it to Santa if you meet him.


Sex with Slash
coz, yeah.

and it doesn't have to be full-on sex. Or sex at all. I'm more than happy with just about any type of skin contact. Like having him read to me with his lips pressed against my ear. More Than Happy. totally. hell, he could read me his grocery list. preferably one with some suggestively shaped fruits thrown in.

~
what..? No world peace? Look, I am not only selfish, but honestly so. And honesty is a virtue. So take that.

Bring out the Fa La Las, y'all!! Sing corny songs. Tell people you love them. Wear wacky glittery outfits. Give to the poor. Who knows, you could be among them someday.

-

Lately

i am scattered.

my head is everywhere and nowhere. my thoughts are neurons blown apart from their nucleus like so much dandelion fluff.

i need an anchor. i need a single thought or act to hold my day together. before i lose it altogether.

sometimes i frighten myself. although this is nothing new. i have always been a freak - to myself and to others. some people learn to love me for it (or despite it). some find it charming a few are just scared off. not that i need to care about those.

still, it would be nice to be somewhat normal for a day. (or subnormal. is that an acceptable state of mind?)

let me be grounded, even as i dream.

let my next recollection be more than a shattered memory.

let me stop stumbling.