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    Albatross: Theatre, #3
    Albatross: Theatre, #3
    Albatross: Theatre, #3
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    Albatross: Theatre, #3

    By Pasquale Palmieri

    ()

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    About this ebook

    This script is the first original version in Three Acts, staged later on in a Two Acts format.

    An investigation takes place into the idiosyncrasies, dichotomies and dreams of human nature, the alienation affecting modern society and the conflicts between genders, in the search of 'the happy couple'.
    Suddenly gunshots are heard, and the Second Act closes with soldiers running on stage.

    The Third Act opens with a change of scene.
    Only when two unexpected characters walk on stage, does the mystery finally unfold, before a new twist at the very end of the play…

    Reading a Script is a new experience compared to a book or a short story, following the actors' dialogue assisted by short descriptions of scene shifting. The play is in three acts with stage performance length of approx 3 hours, and it should take almost the same amount of time to read it, including a break between act one and two for fixing a drink or a toilet call, as if watching the play in a real theatre (theater).

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPasquale Palmieri
    Release dateJan 29, 2023
    ISBN9798215863343
    Albatross: Theatre, #3
    Author

    Pasquale Palmieri

    Pasquale M. Palmieri Roman by birth and a citizen of the world after having lived in Europe, Canada, USA and now Australia, Pasquale Maria Palmieri (Pasquale M Palmieri) is an idealistic gypsy by definition and a researcher by devotion. He is passionate about human relationships, which are an endless source of information and inspiration for his writings. Pasquale has written several theatre plays, novels, a non-fiction about relationships and is the winner of a literary prize open to English language writers. You can find Pasquale on his website http://www.nofearjustdoit.com/

    Read more from Pasquale Palmieri

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      Book preview

      Albatross - Pasquale Palmieri

      Characters on stage

      Voice

      Hero

      Ronen

      Ayn Rand  (also as Margot)

      Carl Jung

      Esther

      Sciaman

      Sandra

      Marcello

      Margot

      Soldier 1

      Soldier 2

      Chief

      Guth

      Luther

      Characters on screen

      Old Man

      Debbie

      Brenda

      Marcello

      Sandra

      Ayn Rand

      ––––––––

      Scene

      Lounge set in the centre of stage, a sofa, two armchairs and a

      coffee table. Behind, a wall to wall bookcase and two windows at the opposite

      corners, leading into a garden.

      Another armchair with a small light table is on the right corner of the stage next

      to one of the windows. On the opposite corner a desk with a chair.

      A big screen is suspended over the bookcase.

      ACT ONE

      LOUNGE

      The guests arrive. The Hero welcomes them:

      Ronen, Jung, Ayn, Esther.

      They go and sit down. The Hero offers them coffee and biscuits.

      The guests converse softly, they move with a slow motion.

      The atmosphere is calm and relaxed

      ––––––––

      VOICE IN BACKGROUND A few days ago I thought about what would be

      the last image in the eye of a fish eaten by a sea-gull. Suddenly out of the water and swallowed.

      Tonight I thought about what would be the last image I would see before being swallowed by a sea-gull.

      A thought without an image, abstract like the fish's eye, round, incredulous and out of the water.

      The sea-gull is alert, ready for the ambush, on the railing of the jetty. The waves are abstract. Motions of light, reflections.

      The sea-bed can be touched with the eyes. The fish is in view, swimming without a sky.

      Within an instant the fish is quickly out of the water. Peeping out, wide-eyed, at a world never seen before .

      At Luna Park, going up and up...

      Then darkness... Then... the unknown!

      Immortality or the ancient canons.

      The beautiful perceived as beauty, goodness as good.

      Through life without building a house, without leaving footprints after my steps, without knowing where I am going.

      Without aims, without duties, without dependencies nor responsibilities.

      With nothing being right or wrong, no shape, no image, not being a ghost, not being a shadow, not being anything... without definition.

      Without pulling a chariot, or pushing a chariot or being a chariot.

      Light.

      Moving through the air, not moving the air, not being the air.

      With no decisions, no choices, no judgements or evaluations.

      Living each instant as infinite, in every direction, not owning anything, without measuring the space between things

      THE PROJECTION STARTS

      The image of the old man fades in.  The image is that of an old man, with white hair and beard. He is sitting on the same sofa as the one on stage

      OLD MAN What is in the East, and what is in the West?

      The question is still in my mind, a concept quite approximate. We live on a spherical planet. We exist, we perceive. In which direction do we proceed towards East? Every step to the East becomes West on our way. East becomes West at every step.

      Present becomes past. Future becomes present, then past.

      The more I proceed towards the East, the more West I gain behind, while the East remains on the horizon.

      I don't want to live like this any more. I want every instant to be, without turning into a ghost. I want life to be joy, every moment a celebration, filled with pleasure, every instant a choice.

      Every action to be my action. I want to live enjoying being a drop of water and being the sea, outside all schemes, all rules and the academic structures of the sages.

      All that has been said and written is a product of the human mind. Of a man obsessed with power; with an obscene desire to prevail and affirm his own vanity as a superior being; who has created God in his own image; who judges, punishes, kills and suffocates love.

      Humanity is afraid to admit being its own deity not to be burned at the stake. The alibi in the big game of history, where lives are like ants, and years, decades, centuries are like the pages of a book that will be read with the divine approval. The sheep bleat in chorus while donkeys follow the carrots of the ‘Great Ones’ sketching their own destinies. It feels right and cultural.

      Mine will be a hero without knowing it. He doesn't know yet, but he will win despite any grand-finale planned for the history of mankind. A poet against the generals, royals and dictators, industrialists and financiers, priests and prophets, militant sages and puppeteers of the Great Game. He will discover that all philosophical and religious systems are at war with the intent to convert as many as possible and become the dominant power. That they make us introverted to confront ourselves with the established canons and make us cry for our sins, for our mistakes and our miseries.

      They have taught us to believe in a superior being, losing faith in ourselves because of our need to depend upon someone reliable, and feel protected and excused. A parochial and emotional God, made to measure. A partisan God who will protect one army and not the other, one man and not the other. Who abets, rewards and punishes, vain and pompous. How many wars have been fought to convert and educate, to guarantee eternity!

      My hero will discover that he cannot progress for as long as he continues to apply his findings. New orders develop so quickly that man cannot find harmony with what surrounds him, constantly outstretched towards the failure of the past against the future, unable

      to keep up with the pace. Humanity is obsessed with the desire for what it doesn't posses yet, trying to reach for something it will never have: to experience tomorrow, today!

      Everything goes around, with no beginning and no end. We will never arrive because we return, at best, we can only return. With the certainty of instants which vanish as they happen.

      It is only as they happen that we will understand, later, perhaps, looking back. Unable to foresee what they will be. Unable to foresee what they have been. Without initiation to the game, we are unable to comprehend the process through which we carve our futures, attributing the outcome to faith, destiny, fortune or to somebody's fault rather than to our own lack of reflection. Red and blue mountains, scoured by emerald green waters. Mountains to be crossed. Just a speck of our infinitesimal presence. Not just a dilemma of choice but one which reflects us, like a mirror containing the image of whom we would like to be, facing the four Kings who know who we are and who we have been. A choice between will and instinct. Between our desires and ourselves, between our maturity and the want to root and to be loved. The consequences are enormous, trying to balance between erotic attraction, longing for power and the invincible strength of the warrior. It is typical of Nature to say little and hurricanes never last longer than a day. So if not even the Earth and the Sky can persevere, how long could a simple man? Colours can cause blindness when we use our eyes only to look, but if we use them to see, we will see from within. The sage will therefore be concerned with the stomach rather than with the eyes. He knows that the void is full of emptiness. He knows how to fill himself with void because what seems to be essential is useless and empty.

      He uses the colours without using them, so not to be blinded. He feels them and their infinite combinations without looking at them. He takes them in the mouth and sucks them, he blows them, he kisses them, eating without squashing them, with the same lightness of the void, walking along a beach of the Indian Ocean, inventing a sunset with feet grazing sand made of thoughts he hasn't yet had and that will become.

      Wake up then, smell and breathe the air that comes from far away, with no beginning and no end, which is already there, around your nose. Feel it coming-in carrying the colours, the forms and the essences of that void full of void. When you wet your calves in the foam of the ocean, you will fly higher than the birds and further than the horizon, light and empty as the void. You will be the void itself

      SCREEN The image slowly fades to dark. STAGE All dark and spot on the Hero standing

      HERO  It has been like rediscovering and finding myself again. Like a drop plunging into the sea, it loses and finds itself at the

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