A poem

We are so beautiful today,

the day after grace.

Acting with the assurance of love makes every

hour bright enough.

But I can remember a minute more than an hour and your smile

more than yesterday.

So I’ll picture your face instead of tomorrow’s

paralyzed questions.

And maybe, just maybe, the film reels of these lives

will once again run together.

- Casey Splinter

Scenes at the Otago Peninsula, NZ

A Monologue about the Underground

This monologue was originally created by me, but for a play written by an ensemble of 10 people in the playwriting class at IES London- Theatre Studies. All of us are students currently studying in London, riding the Underground everyday. Our assignment was to write a monologue that tells of a person's relationship with "The Tube," another name for the Underground.

Gary: I don't know if I can go back.

I have been going through the motions for, for the past 23 year. You know, in France, they don't even have drivers; it's all computerized. But here, here for forty hours each week I'm just a machine. I wait for the signal and go. Then, at a mark, I stop and I wait, and then I go. And every couple of minutes I press another button.

Most days I'd just dream. I'd think about what you'd make for dinner that night or who the boys would grow up to be. For the whole eight hours I'd just imagine them or I'd think about that holiday in Sicily. (beat) The other drivers did the same thing. You have to think about something more, or something better to get through the day.

I used to pay more attention. When I first started I'd notice everything: all the kids holding their moms' hands, the suits, the girls with too much luggage, the people who seemed alone, the ones calmly waiting - or the ones not waiting anymore.

There were always people not minding that yellow line. They'd be maneuvering around each other and that was the quickest way or the platform was just too crowded, but I never thought-

She didn't look like she was going to-

I didn't see her. For Christ's sake, I didn't see her! It doesn't matter if I couldn't've stopped in time or if it was on purpose or a fucking accident. One moments I was thinking about Michael's football game and then-

Do you know what it looked like? Felt like? God!
Fuck. Don't you get it?

I'm sorry.

- Sara Gosses