In this post we publish material from Divah (P. McCabe). Divah was attracted initially, I think, to idiotplayers.org by posts I made beginning back in Aug 2010 entitled “six rooms.” These pieces were prose explorations based on a short and dense passage from JG Bennett’s Dramatic Universe, Vol. 4. She has written her own exploration along this theme, and we are happy to publish it here. Rooms 1-3 are published in this post. Rooms 4-6 will follow.
Entry Level for new patients / Initiates
This room is over-sized and is relatively “free” in it’s capacity to allow it’s inhabitants to wander the halls and smoking/congregation room, where the inmates can socialize and share their stories of how they came to Be Here. There is a calm atmosphere, brought about by the constant Sedation by the staff to keep everyone “In Check”!
Not much help is given, other than an opportunity to develop a new In-Sight by sharing stories with other patients and maybe learning something about our own condition by comparison.
New faces appear daily and some familiar ones disappear.
The Conveyor~belt move’s continously while behind the multiple cctv~cameras in every corner, a pair of eyes watches…
Somewhere, Someone Is, taking notes…
This room is quiet… too quiet.
I Am alone. Plucked from the other place where at least I had people to share my feelings with.
This is strange, why did they take me away and put me here?
I’m sitting at a table, the only piece of furniture in the room, apart from the chair that I’m sitting on.
There’s a note-pad and pen on the table. They said I should write how I feel…
How I feel about What? Dear God they’re crazier than I am, and they’re the doctors, this is ridiculous, they’re not doing ANYTHING!!!
Am I supposed to cure Myself? How dare they call themselves doctors? They’re supposed to help Me!
I don’t know what’s wrong with Me!
I hear coughing coming from behind the mirror, is this a joke?
I must be getting well, at least they took me out of the main room full of people with all-sorts of dis-eases, that must be a good sign. I’m not as sick as they are. Yes, this must be a place for preparing to Go Home. Those pictures on the wall… those are my clothes but that’s not Me… the mirror… that’s not My reflection … I pick up The Pen.
I open my eyes, sunsine through the window give’s the room a golden glow. This room is different, strangely surreal with it’s red curtains and black marble floor. Cold, yet comforting, seem’s familiar somehow. Soft music playing somewhere, voices whispering… are they talking about Me?
Where Am I? I remember Now. I was writing about an Existence where I was being questioned as to My Identity. Hah… they think I’m stupid. I see their game. I know who I Am, they won’t use me as a Lab-Rat!
Yes, They’ve moved me again, they must have given up, I’m too smart for them.
I’ll go look for the smoking area, see who else Is Here.
That lady seem’s nice, I light up a cigarette, “Where is this place?” I ask her, she look’s at me, bemused.
“You don’t know?, this is the “Changing” room” she say’s.
“‘Changing’ room?”, I ask… “what the hell is That supposed to mean?”
“Well, If You can’t recognize this place very soon, they’ll send You back to the first room and You’ll have to start all over again”.
…crazy woman… I put out my cigarette, I look up, she’s gone! I didn’t see her go past me… she looked familiar though, a lot like me a while back, when I was carefree and happy. There’s a nice painting on the wall of a House, look’s a lot like the house I grew up in.