Monologue I'm reading at St. Paul's University over the weekend, very dramatic..I hope to have an audio or film of it at least..They had some high def Camera's taping fancing the zits on my forehead! Mind my cues.
Written by : Mehdi Hamdad, Matthieu Proulx and Reshma Saeed
Played by: Joël Benoit.
**Angry**Listen! Listen! Do you hear them? The atomic, chemical, psycho-social, political and public bombs are falling. Bombs. Bombs. Nothing but bombs! Allah! IMAX! Do you remember of our imaginary children populating the earth before we died, our teeth dug deep into dirty soil while we swallowed our pride to stay alive? But listen! Who is being destructive? YHWH or Satan? Man or demon? Who is being destructive? Assimilation! Colonization! Industrialisation! Ghettoization! Destruction! How many times will the Temple fall before we rise up against evil? How many times shall we pillage our way into the Holy City before the bombs fall… Did you hear them? Aren’t the echoes and the big bangs loud enough so that we can cease these silly genocidal wars who only exploit the poor and the pawns so that the king can sit on a shinier thrown? Your generic manipulations, your white latex gloves, your cathode tubes, your catholic lies… all part of an eclipse and fanatic light generated by the cries of lonely children, traumatised by the fresh blood that have become everyday art of our busy streets. Their cries… the mothers, the brothers, the sisters and the fathers…their cries. Is the sound of a machine gun not like an alarm warning us of an inverted change? A world of outrages and outcries, a world of retarding bombs and bad winds that blows constantly and refuses to change. The cries of the warriors are oft times lost in translations. But I hear them, do you? I fear I must leave you before they deafen me! He leaves and the bombs are machine guns sounds are getting louder and finally a final drop of the bomb and a bit of silence. Enters the man again this time in torn clothes. **Calm here**Here, there, everywhere, it starts with a little piece of land, collected loot, and a soldier’s head. There are all these miserable kings that swallow monuments, men and children, for a phallic illogical pleasure other than to wipe out everything that God created under the sun and build their own world. They want to be God! They wanted it! It is they that we must put responsible for the bodies scattered by forgetfulness and the orders of those ‘lil papers that multiply tenfold recipes in proportion of unavoidable profit of the bankers, and the butchers who sell a dead mouse at bargained price, to the fatherland service, **Accent**hasta-la-vista, merci and say hello to the economy. Doped dogs and bodybags, dog eat dog world when one lives for their eyes and their teeth, the mouths are sad and lover’s lane are filled with a mouthful of obscured body bombs that explodes and implodes invisibly. From honest, conscious and responsibility, renovated substances by the interplanetary surface of the colonizing ones in the incorporated earths that live the materialized dreams that lends us competitiveness and enjoys it because we asked ourselves to be de-responsibilized, for not to chose a healthy gesture, of this silly social network of pompous politicians, and the entire practical spirits they define what is hidden in our days, our newspapers, our confessional booths, our eyes are fascism integrated by competitiveness. **Loud and serious**This, this right here, is a story of a billion lonely nights at an unjust war which only generates losers. For frozen feet and hands nailed to the crosses of Good Sirs, those that dictate what to say, what to think, when to sit and when to kneel, what to buy and when to buy it while assuring 100% complete and utter censorship over all that illuminates visibility in the unnoticed aspect of truth that awaits to be defined by a lively one, pushed by a mutual inter-humanitarian aid with other interest in their pocket and in paunch that the dependence of the favoured peoples assimilated in the broken wheels of time…. Instincts, to no longer think about love, to recognize the knowledge and possibility to give, and not to give material things or a forced smile, but to give a ***Calm down***bit of oneself in the name of the Greater Good, in the name of God and all of the saints who fall before Him. **Anger**Materialism promotes forgetfulness, I said materialism promotes forgetfulness and not the forgetfulness of oneself, by which one gives into the world of realization of their own dangerous ideological trenches, rather than the divine impossible dichotomy forgetfulness to exploit… in favour of televised dogmas by the wal-marketing street jobs, forgotten by the existence of dualism and separation that gives birth to the tragic one in the name of beauty versus the beast, of exploiters versus exploited, in the name losers against winners, created against creator. When one leaves the friendly gladiator games of political wrestlers who repeat to us endlessly that we must suffer for peace; **funnyt**it goes into our head, it takes a swing, hops on the Tide, move your dirty laundry and honour your knowledge of repatriated youth at the house of compassionate torrent as an enema to the salty reason, clean our kidneys of our instinct of conscious of the creation and the Other. **Serious*** Separated, we are nothing but a few grass stains on the eternal tombstones where its written RIP Lord, Father; however, together we are the grassy fields which can assure and welcome a healthy and better tomorrow. Only together, we will recognize our liberty to think! And only when we are free to think that we realize, truly realize, ponder, and ask ourselves: is it worth to gain the whole world only to lose our faith in the human spirit?
Written by : Mehdi Hamdad, Matthieu Proulx and Reshma Saeed
Played by: Joël Benoit.
**Angry**Listen! Listen! Do you hear them? The atomic, chemical, psycho-social, political and public bombs are falling. Bombs. Bombs. Nothing but bombs! Allah! IMAX! Do you remember of our imaginary children populating the earth before we died, our teeth dug deep into dirty soil while we swallowed our pride to stay alive? But listen! Who is being destructive? YHWH or Satan? Man or demon? Who is being destructive? Assimilation! Colonization! Industrialisation! Ghettoization! Destruction! How many times will the Temple fall before we rise up against evil? How many times shall we pillage our way into the Holy City before the bombs fall… Did you hear them? Aren’t the echoes and the big bangs loud enough so that we can cease these silly genocidal wars who only exploit the poor and the pawns so that the king can sit on a shinier thrown? Your generic manipulations, your white latex gloves, your cathode tubes, your catholic lies… all part of an eclipse and fanatic light generated by the cries of lonely children, traumatised by the fresh blood that have become everyday art of our busy streets. Their cries… the mothers, the brothers, the sisters and the fathers…their cries. Is the sound of a machine gun not like an alarm warning us of an inverted change? A world of outrages and outcries, a world of retarding bombs and bad winds that blows constantly and refuses to change. The cries of the warriors are oft times lost in translations. But I hear them, do you? I fear I must leave you before they deafen me! He leaves and the bombs are machine guns sounds are getting louder and finally a final drop of the bomb and a bit of silence. Enters the man again this time in torn clothes. **Calm here**Here, there, everywhere, it starts with a little piece of land, collected loot, and a soldier’s head. There are all these miserable kings that swallow monuments, men and children, for a phallic illogical pleasure other than to wipe out everything that God created under the sun and build their own world. They want to be God! They wanted it! It is they that we must put responsible for the bodies scattered by forgetfulness and the orders of those ‘lil papers that multiply tenfold recipes in proportion of unavoidable profit of the bankers, and the butchers who sell a dead mouse at bargained price, to the fatherland service, **Accent**hasta-la-vista, merci and say hello to the economy. Doped dogs and bodybags, dog eat dog world when one lives for their eyes and their teeth, the mouths are sad and lover’s lane are filled with a mouthful of obscured body bombs that explodes and implodes invisibly. From honest, conscious and responsibility, renovated substances by the interplanetary surface of the colonizing ones in the incorporated earths that live the materialized dreams that lends us competitiveness and enjoys it because we asked ourselves to be de-responsibilized, for not to chose a healthy gesture, of this silly social network of pompous politicians, and the entire practical spirits they define what is hidden in our days, our newspapers, our confessional booths, our eyes are fascism integrated by competitiveness. **Loud and serious**This, this right here, is a story of a billion lonely nights at an unjust war which only generates losers. For frozen feet and hands nailed to the crosses of Good Sirs, those that dictate what to say, what to think, when to sit and when to kneel, what to buy and when to buy it while assuring 100% complete and utter censorship over all that illuminates visibility in the unnoticed aspect of truth that awaits to be defined by a lively one, pushed by a mutual inter-humanitarian aid with other interest in their pocket and in paunch that the dependence of the favoured peoples assimilated in the broken wheels of time…. Instincts, to no longer think about love, to recognize the knowledge and possibility to give, and not to give material things or a forced smile, but to give a ***Calm down***bit of oneself in the name of the Greater Good, in the name of God and all of the saints who fall before Him. **Anger**Materialism promotes forgetfulness, I said materialism promotes forgetfulness and not the forgetfulness of oneself, by which one gives into the world of realization of their own dangerous ideological trenches, rather than the divine impossible dichotomy forgetfulness to exploit… in favour of televised dogmas by the wal-marketing street jobs, forgotten by the existence of dualism and separation that gives birth to the tragic one in the name of beauty versus the beast, of exploiters versus exploited, in the name losers against winners, created against creator. When one leaves the friendly gladiator games of political wrestlers who repeat to us endlessly that we must suffer for peace; **funnyt**it goes into our head, it takes a swing, hops on the Tide, move your dirty laundry and honour your knowledge of repatriated youth at the house of compassionate torrent as an enema to the salty reason, clean our kidneys of our instinct of conscious of the creation and the Other. **Serious*** Separated, we are nothing but a few grass stains on the eternal tombstones where its written RIP Lord, Father; however, together we are the grassy fields which can assure and welcome a healthy and better tomorrow. Only together, we will recognize our liberty to think! And only when we are free to think that we realize, truly realize, ponder, and ask ourselves: is it worth to gain the whole world only to lose our faith in the human spirit?
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