10.10.12
There was a play here for a bit that I wrote a while ago, but it was very political – more so than I really wanted it to be, and it was more didactic and hectoring than a play that I want to write. So I have removed it, which is not an act of censorship, but an autonomous authorial decision. Fortunately no theatre company ever contacted me about performing it anyway.
Hopefully in the next few years, if I get my quills out and work hard on my quartos and get my quatrains running on my toy train tracks, I might have a reasonable play produced by about 2018. Maybe you’d like to come and watch it? Please don’t rustle the popcorn too loudly; I am no Keith Jarrett but if I am lurking about backstage I might get a bit fussy over my own oeuvre. You know what primadonnas some of we writers can be.
11.10.12
Oh dear; it seems I forgot to delete the subsidiary notes below, which have sort of perhaps formed something half interesting and aleatory. Anyway, this blog is now totally finished, so I shall see you in realspace. I demand a literary Golden Age, parsed with parsley and sage. Ciao main!
Devereuxmatthew's Blog 
Subsidiary note: a way that the play could be expanded and made more interesting is that the lines generated by the autocue for Vladimir and Oestrogen are from plays written by European playwrights that have passed out of copyright (I don’t know what this is – fifty years?) whose lines are then randomly translated into different languages; the neon signs at the side of the stage would then need to be triggered so that they provided the information not only on what language the line was translated into, but also what the play was (and act/scene and so on) and who wrote it.
In large part the visual dynamics for this have been inspired by some of the reports I have seen of work by the Tonnelgroep Amsterdam (I have not yet seen any of their work in the flesh).
Apologies for typo: that should be Toneelgroep Amsterdam.
http://www.toneelgroepamsterdam.nl/
Final note: throughout the play, Vladimir and Oestrogen are separated by a wall in the middle of the stage. At the end of the play, they discover that the wall was imaginary after all, and the play ends with them in the pose of Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss” – which is where the curtains fall apart.