Sunday, 21 June 2009


Here it is - the final(ish)

In yer one bloody novel
Yer stuck me up a freezing moor
with ice cold brothers
and a knock about lover:
his swarthy, unknown origins
kept under a caustic tongue
with other Gothic undesirables.

Did yer have to put me in this time?
The outside inside of Victorian woman,
ghost paths and scratched windows
where the wildness of my own skin
finds me an unfashionable
counterpart in the male.
Did you have to make him my rock
in death?
And did I have to end up in that
song by Kate Bush?

These eyes carry two skeletal visions:
both severed from our source before we
locked our breathing.
The shaping of industry
is a mirror
that makes devil's imps of us.
He and I bear an interchangable misery.
But we do not speak of it in the now.
The words are not there to cover the

So, partriachs,
Heathcliff performs his own exorcism
unidentified and nightly.
If you strain beyond your
alloted era
to hear clues of this ritual
after midnight you might know
a true lunacy
and one with integrity.
Follow my trail of scattered fragments,
torn from a single dress
hanging from branches tipped by rain-bloodied
along supernature's path
to love without romance.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Lester Burnham (American Beauty) - 1st draft

Lester festered in his memories of how things once were.
Evey morning, for years, the glare of resentment on his wife's face was like blisters behind the eyes.
Her perseverance of perfection was projected on everything static, except him.
He came to realise that he was still who he was and she had become something else.
A frozen soul with motions that crack in clockwork.

And the weeks that seemed like days that passed between he and his daughter, where words were exchanged, but nothing actually said.
He watched and pondered and wilted into the past where nostalgia embraced him warm, familiar hugs and cuddles

He gained and he lost
Remembered and forgot
Until he was who he wanted to be - who he was
But then all was lost
Perhaps, the ripple rings in coagulating pools on imaculate kitchen tiles tells us a sharp truth
You are who you have become and, one way or another, you can't go backwards

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

The Dead That Never Lived That Never Die

Death is a curious thing. An inevitable step into an unknowable territory. The only guarantee in an otherwise unpredictable existence.
But what if death, or more to the point, staying dead was not certain?
What if you were forever forced to return to Earth, reincarnated in the body you died in, never able to reach the ultimate ease of the final relax?
Let us take a moment to remember some of the unhappy souls who have left us time and time again. To name but a few: Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and of course Charles Lee Ray, better known as the “Lakeshore Strangler”, even better known as Chucky the demonic doll.
Through the decades they have been: shot, burned, impaled, drowned, decapitated, blown up and torn apart. On occasion they have even been known to be dragged to the very depths of Hell.
But they always return.
And why?
Some say it’s because evil can never truly be destroyed. Others claim that they must just really love killing people. But I blame the writers, the directors and the producers. How many more times will these poor, defenceless mass murderers be forced to retread old ground? How many more times must they die before they can enjoy the rest that only death delivers? Maybe they will never truely die. Maybe they are cursed to return again and again, each time losing a little more dignity, each time dying for, what always seems like, the final time.
Chucky probably said it best the fifth time he died- “I'll be back, I always come back. But dying is such a bitch.”

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


liking the stuff going up here. i'll comment on each one today.

re: music

lets see how much we get done on the blog this week, but I'm not sure we will require the band until we've worked out the rest of the show.

i expect day 1 to be ideas and development, day 2 to be constructing the show and rehearsals, day 3 to be technicals and rehearsals.

so, at best, they should come in on the final day of rehearsals and then we can brief them on what we want. then they can rehearse in time for the gig itself.

so, what do we know?......

well, i think the guys should rehearse Ghost Town, but cut it a few minutes shorter. i'll edit down the video based on the new version they provide.

They should rehearse "he who would valient be"

There's the ominous intro for Mike Death

And a song of their choosing to play as the audience leaves

...that's a start!

but, regarding other songs- I think we should discuss it together as a cast when we meet on day1


Sunday, 7 June 2009

I did it my way: as personally eulogised by 3 heroines of Victorian literature

Here's the idea. This writing is by no means finished, but it will give you an idea of what I am driving at.

Sound track from brass section: Trumpet? solo of Blake's "Jerusalem"
Spotlight on each ' reader ' at a time. I think 3 guys could potentially do it?
An interesting inconguity?


I was a good girl,
I took slow steps
acquiring friends and privations,
my heart as locked away
as your mad wife.
The friends and foes
make their footsteps through my story.
I come in first person
and you are my last, Rochester,
with your Byronic self-burning.

I plucked your ass to safety
and ran screaming from
torn wedding dresses and
my own conscience.
I should have dumped you,
darling bigamist,
but came back in the end, steadfast, true
to the climbs of my more enduring nature.
But in these times, kid aside,
some say I should have pulled out
yer other eye.


sugar - coated
anti- heroine
subervise in my world
of drawing room romance
and disliked even by
my own author.
Some say I stuck my
pretty nose too far
up other people's petticoat
But let me walk Earth again
and I'll write it large for
'Sun's 3am'
So I made mistakes?
Deal with it.
Find my tombstone
you'll find I
hitched my biggest critic.


In yer one bloody novel
Yer stuck me up a freezing moor
with ice cold brothers
and a knock about lover:
his swarthy, unknown origins
kept under a caustic tongue
with other Gothic undesirables.

Did yer have to put me in this time?
The outside inside of Victorian woman,
ghost paths and scratched windows
where the wildness of my own skin
finds me an unfashionable
couterpart in the male.
Did you have to make him my rock
in death?
And did I have to end up in that
song by Kate Bush?

He Never Brought Me Roses

Music and visuals:

A montage of The Milk Tray Advert

I want you dressed head to toe in black
on a soundtrack of smooth
Come to me on a gleaming steed.
Fast...but not furious.
Run, ride, swim, dive,
make me feel alive!
The deepest waters,
the roughest rapids
over the rocks
under the ice
from each impaasable cravasse
to satin clad and generous pillows
voile panels swaying in the breeze
I wait each night
centres soft and hard
but they broke the mould
And so I wait....

How did you die? Multi - media suggestions
End paraody: The Flake advert, the traditional telephone leading to Vader's obscene phonecall...?

Viv Wiggins 2009

Working title: Zombie news report

Good evening.

This is Edward Simmonds. Rpeorting live from outside the White House, where a remarkable new law has just been passed by the US government. The Equal Rights for Zombies Act has been the hot topic in the press in the lead up to this moment.

It all began during the zombie outbreak of 2012, as I'm sure you will remember. When the entire earth was submerged in The Undead. All of those who suvived headed underground. It was these underground havens that determined scientists proved in 2016 that Zombies were capable of learning. And now after 50 years of turmoil and hardship, we see the first US zombie citizen Graham Blaaar cating his vote for the elections. A momentous step forward to both human and zombie alike.

Robbie Hurst 2009

The Fly

"Something went wrong in the lab today. Contamination."

No further explanation, he grew twitchy, finger nails bitten to the quick. Thick hair on his back.

It wasn't all bad. Christ, he was fit. Rampant. Fun for a while, but I soon needed a break. I heard he was trawling bars, brawling. Ripped some guys wrist off in an arm wrestle. A week later, a rasping phonecall. I gasped when I saw him. Blisters, lesions, spitting up bile. All the time he swore he could fix it. I didn't tell him I was late. The next day, bug eyed pickling things in jars, limbs. He wouldn't see a doctor, not even when his cock dropped off.

I was getting bigger. I pictured it inside curled up like a gub. Friends say get rid. Who wants a kid with wings?

Mike Edwards 2009

Darth Vader: Yoda's Eulogy

Here to pay our respects to late Darth Vader we are.

Enlisted for training in the ways of the force at an early age he did; against better judgement of mine. Escpecially young Vader not immune to youthful mischief. Judgement this brought him, not helped by certain disabilities. Suspect in string of obscene phone calls his heavy breathing make him. Still only just learning, mind tricks only work on weak minded much to cost of poor woman whose knee aches still.

Hard to convince image is nothing, Vader became as he grew older. Dark helmet hard make one look? Think that what made him I know not. Still chancellor seemed to like it. With that he would now show off size of light saber. Insistent he was on red one.

Darth Vader: fiery in life as in death he be. Fucked he now is. Truly and well.

James Fisher 2009

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Afterlife: The Party by James Fisher

(In the afterlife one of the spirits gently blushes while all the others sing to it Happy Death Day to You. At the end of the song they call for a speech).

Now, this is the spirit talking:

I really don't know what to say to this kind surprise other than Thank You. The wandering, solitary nature of my manisfetation might not make me the easiest soul to spend eternity with, but I truly am lucky to be resting with the souls that I do.

One moment I found myself in the company of you fine spirits and just the moment before I was standing face to face with a speedin 10 ton lorry.

As well as the thanks I already give for this party, I would also like to thank those who made it possible for me to be here. I would like to thank my undertaker, I would like to thank the vicar, I would like to thank my gravedigger...

(Chokes up)

I'm sorry, I always do this when I look back. I would also like to thank Madam Rosa who somewhere back there helps me in my contact with the previous world...

Medium (off): Don't mention it.

...and assures those who unfortunately cannot be with us yet. But when one day they do find their way here I may rest assured that they will be assured that I really have been alright.

Thank you.

Revising the current Dead material - suggestions from Claire, James and Viv

Hello Ross n all

We are just having a brainstorm in purgatory here - that place where the dead have not quite decided where they are going yet.

Anyway, we would like to make some suggestions about revising the current material for the show.

We think that Scrooge McDuck is a tad too long and could do with some editing - not loads, but could we look at this again to see what could be removed from the piece. This is based on feedback we had from the audience about the night in June last year. We are at risk of losing the audience if we put a piece that is too long after the length of Ghost Town.

Thinking about Ghost Town, we also think this was tiny bit long and could do with some cropping - say 30 secs or so. Also, no Citizen Kane in the footage? e.g. Rosebud - the most famous death scene in cinema? Think this should defo go in!

We think that the Grim Reaper's scythe needs serious 'blinging up' for the 22nd. Claire to sort.

It might be worth thinking about Charles Manson again and not totally removing it. The video of his poem e.g '...the truth is in your slaughter houses...' etc is particularly poignant. All it needs is some kind of intro into establishing Manson as truth twisiting itself into fiction. Also consider placing this after Autopsy, leading the newsreader's poem into news footage i.e. Manson.

Sweet as.
Ross / Panda - wot yer say? You are The Gaffers on this one.
xx Claire, Viv and The Fisher Man (a.k.a The Assassin)