28 February, 2005
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we made good progress, said breadroll, if i remember correctly.
excellent progress, said block of wood.
but how do we proceed, said sponge. is there a plan?
a memo, said breadroll.
o, said block of wood, only a memo, is it?
yes, said sponge, budget is tight.
that’s a shame, said breadroll.
i know, said sponge, but what can you do? my heads are tied in this respect.
breadroll suggested to go and find somebody with an even tighter budget and make fun at his (or her) expense to make things worse fro him (or her), however, such person was nowhere to be seen.
tight pants, would they do? no, they would not.
25 February, 2005
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i hardly slept a wink last night, said sponge, waking up every blink and odd split second.
that’s the way it goes, i suppose, said breadroll.
defonightly, said block of wood.
did we agree on that kind of lingo, said sponge, and what’s this said business anyway, it’s pretty obvious that we’re saying something, isn’t it, as people can hear us. very well, i believe.
they can’t, said breadroll, it all printed. if lines could natter…
— pause —.
you got a point there, said sponge. any way: mary had a little man. can i pick your brains on that?
mary had a little can, and in this can a tiny man…
too complex, too complicated, said sponge, usually people’s heads’ hurt when it’s too complex. or indeed too complicated.
we don’t want heads to hurt, said block of wood.
who wants that. hurting heads. head hurt all the time: on buses, in meetings, on men cycling doen the road, on women, too, although they tend to exaggerate.
we manage to do without, said breadroll, that’s just us, mind you.
he repeatedthe line until block of wood took over (with a new line).
another day mastered.
too complex, said sponge.
23 February, 2005
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this poetry thing could work, said sponge and whistled covering silence, it could work you know, mary had a little van, but what does she do with it, a van, there must be something.
this went on for a while; perhaps sponge did find a second verse but nobody listened and the lights were off.
22 February, 2005
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those stories, said block of wood.
i know, said breadroll.
i think so too, said sponge.
we know, said breadroll and block of wood: unisono.
we should come up with something livelier, said sponge, something happy, cheerful.
yes, said block of wood, positive.
something poetic, said breadroll, like mary had a little pram or so.
this is it, said sponge, this is our idea. we should have a meeting and minutes and stuff.
a breadcrust and a washed-out bottle of beer lingered on, the rest had gone home — a long time ago. this was the impression last night had given and this morning supported.
we should do something with poetry, said sponge, should set the leftovers in a more favourable light.
that would do good, said breadroll.
should we bother entertaining, said sponge.
let’s go, said breadroll.
otherwise, a few blocks down the road a man had mounted his bicycle and was about to take off when he remembered he had forgotten his coat. that would have been a bit of a chill factor, he said. for a second he regretted not having to have anyone to tell the funny incident when he almost took off without his coat ut remembered in time. he cycled on then.
18 February, 2005
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they want us to be more lyrical, said sponge, more lyrical they said, would you believe.
gosh (flabbergasted).
good golly (gobsmacked).
now, said sponge, which is who? which expression of astonishment should be attributed to which character, as in character of the story, as opposed to character in an alphabetical context.
and now?
we have three stories but do we have a plot?
we should have a tribunal. or a inquiry. or both.
in which order?
11 February, 2005
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a small drop of coffee had been left on the table. hardly recognisable its excistence had never been acknowledged but it was there — until sponge wiped it away (apparently utterly unaware of his doing).
feedback — asked for and provided:
we only ever have tea, said block of wood.
i was not aware of what i was doing, said sponge, you know what i’m saying.
you know yourself, said breadroll.
10 February, 2005
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they felt slightly bad this morning, somewhat rotten, for not having prepared anything: breadroll, sponge and block of wood.
however, everybody felt the same way and eventually they ended up hugging each other.
9 February, 2005
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this is a flat day, even the ceiling does not rise to any decent level and remains too low to accomodate the three as scheduled.
cloth, pitta and matchstick have been commissioned to perform instead under the low ceiling, however, don’t do much good.
a shame but who cares.
8 February, 2005
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the need for a plot was apparent —— according to sponge that is.
a man entered the stage, dropped a newspaper, picked it up, left. no symbolic act, just mere clumsiness.
the man had react to the wrong keyword beside the wrong stage. he apologised and disappeared. that was it.
they subsequently said their bit and finished up.
we need a plot if this is to be going to work out – for us and for our visitors, said sponge.
do you have to have the first word all the time, said breadroll.
i don’t, said sponge.
you do, said breadroll.
god i hate that, said sponge, we need a plot.
go get sat on, said breadroll.
is it still there, said sponge.
naturally, said breadroll, they don’t clean up.
and i have a meeting today, said sponge.
you’re not serious, said breadroll.
i am, said sponge, can’t wait.
so i believe, said breadroll, but the room is not available.
that was the brief summary of a short dialog on the fact that the three were locked out. essential maintenance, it was said but who would believe that for a minute.
