A bit of nonsense

Musik: The dulcet tones of my sister's oboe.
Kleiden: This checked dress, another of Vicky's, and black leggings.
Filme: STILL no film watching for me, as I had to revise today *blanche*.
Buchen: Still reading Let The Right One In...The Great Gatsby is on haitus for the moment.

Yesterday I went to see a new adaptation of Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland at the Crucible theatre. It was pretty awesome; an interesting take on the story. I was going to write a review but, as is often the case, I became much more interested in my own work! It reminded me of Carroll's nonsensical style of writing, and inspired me to have a go at it myself. Though, I then thought of another idea I had been playing with - the idea that words themselves only have meaning in context. Following this I decided to begin with conversations of a certain length, and then repeat the same phrases no matter what the situation throughout the rest of the story and see if it still made any sort of sense. The jury's still out on that one.

Madness and (the) Asylum

“Three red crosses…just typical really, if you ask me,”
“I didn’t. Or perhaps I did, but I didn’t require an answer,”
“Require! Well, that’s another thing entirely,”

Mulysa wrinkled her nose distastefully at the smell emanating from the delicate porcelain teapot, handing it carelessly to Sendam who drank the thick violently violet liquid with relish. The two of them sat at the head of the table imperiously; absolutely identical yet entirely opposite. Mulysa’s shocking pink head of hair curled down her back over her lacy, white nightgown and in one hand she clutched a small, beaten-up old teddy bear. Sendam cleared his throat whilst stroking his equally shocking pink beard, totting his tall yellow top hat to a passer-by who happened to catch his eye. Their guests were a rag-tag bunch of perfectly orderly misfits, each flagged by a disgruntled footman with a charming little dove grey waistcoat. It was an altogether splendid affair.

“Did someone say require?” enquired a somewhat distressed looking man to Mulysa’s right. He wore a polka dot one-piece suit, a red curly haired wig and a mess of multi-coloured make-up appeared to have melted down his old, wrinkled face.
“Someone, or indeed…if you require your subject to be a somebody you will be sadly disappointed yet equally gleeful,” Sendam replied.
“I see,” said the clown. Mulysa glanced at him furtively. She did not like the look of him one bit and said as much to Sendam.
“My dear sister…sister dear my!” he chuckled, but did not continue; himself giving the clown a suspicious once-over.

Mulysa was fairly sure that this clown was an imposter, for he didn’t look at all like anyone she would have invited. Come to think of it, she hadn’t invited a single solitary person to this so-called event. It was all Sendam’s doing, the dandy fool.

“I’m afraid that I am quite drunk,” announced an extremely pale woman in a large, extravagant wedding dress; a veil obscuring her face so that Mulysa could only tell that she had jet black hair which contrasted terribly with everything else about her.
“What a shame,” said Sendam politely.

“Goodness! Is that the time?” said the bride.
“Three red crosses…just typical really, if you ask me,” said Sendam.
“I didn’t. Or perhaps I did, but I didn’t require an answer,” Mulysa replied.
“Did someone say require?” said the clown.
“My dear sister…sister dear my,” Sendam sobbed expressively.
“I’m afraid that I am quite drunk!” the bride shrieked.
“Require! Well, that’s another thing entirely,” Sendam was now rolling around on the floor, in an ever growing puddle of his tears.
“What a shame,” Mulysa said, attempting to console him.

The bride and the clown looked at one another.
“Did someone say require?” asked the clown of the bride.
“Goodness! Is that the time?” the bride nodded.
“I see,” the clown shook the brides hand, smiling sinisterly.

Not liking what she saw one bit Mulysa said as much to Sendam.
“My dear sister…sister dear my,” he replied, having recovered himself from his bout of uncontrollable sorrow.
“What a shame,” Mulysa whispered conspiratorially.
“Someone, or indeed…if you require your subject to be a somebody you will be sadly disappointed yet equally gleeful,” Sendam explained his plan slowly and clearly so that Mulysa could understand easily.

She approached the clown, fluttering her long dark eyelashes attractively. She placed her teddy bear onto the table just to his left, upon which his footman placed a saucer of milk in front of it should refreshment be required.

“Three red crosses, just typical really if you ask me,” she told him.
The clown froze as though he had been struck a blow to the head. The bride rushed over to him, for there was now blood pooling out of every crevasse.
“I’m afraid that I am quite drunk!” the bride said fearfully.
“Goodness! Is that the time?” Mulysa said, Sendam appearing at her side. The two of them smirked gleefully at their victim.

The clown breathed his last words out slowly and beautifully.
“I see…,” he exhaled before ceasing all movement and words.

“I didn’t. Or perhaps I did, but I didn’t require an answer,” shouted the bride, as she fled the scene before any further damage could be done.

Mulysa handed the porcelain teapot to her brother, a satisfied smirk upon her face.
“Three red crosses…just typical really, if you ask me.”