I can’t bring myself to go through with performing Lucky’s Monologue at this point in my life. There is something so enticing, yet disturbing about the speech, and I am in a much too vulnerable, instable place to allow such a text to filter into my psyche.
I also do not like the idea of doing a monologue. It can be that in the end, but I don’t like premeditating it as such.
Somewhere further down the road, I will perform it, I’m sure. But, I think I must wait for a time when more stability is in my life, and I am able to welcome it as a source of balance, rather than a burden that may tip me off the deep end.
Here’s to controlling one’s mental health.
Instead, Beckett’s poem, Neither will be performed in its place. Although the work will not be performed, the words and thoughts in Lucky’s monologue will ride with me as a ghost.
Neither, by Samuel Beckett:
to and fro in shadow from inner to outer shadow
from impenetrable self to impenetrable unself
by way of neither
as between two lit refuges whose doors once
neared gently close, once away turned from
gently part again
beckoned back and forth and turned away
heedless of the way, intent on the one gleam
or the other
unheard footfalls only sound
till at last halt for good, absent for good
from self and other
then no sound
then gently light unfading on that unheeded
(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA. All information is available here.)