Act two.
He: (humming) emptiness... Tum ti tum, the sun ain't gonna shine anymore...
Silence
"It" is a breeze. Dry Leaves of eucalyptus precede the entrance of "It" and the atmosphere is infused with doom jazz music.
He: Contemplation isn't a conclusion. It isn't a pretty walk on a paradise beach. Paradise isn't tantric masturbation at a crotchless knickers club. Real life is cricklewood not Hollywood. The aim of contemplation is above clarity and beyond reasoning. Contemplation is immensely practical and realistic. Contemplation can't be described in a simple phrase: "It is the space in which the still small voice abides" ...
"It" disturbs the cloud which "He" consists of. Breaking him into several whispy fronds and dispersing him hither and thither. Only music prevents the atmosphere from disintegrating entirely and irrevocably. The walker brothers tune "the sun ain't gonna shine anymore" remixed in a doom jazz and glitzch version is the spontaneous form which "it" has mutated into.
He: I didn't convince myself, I can't think... Why am i drifting apart...?
Truth and Beauty approach.
Beauty: Where is she?
He: She's not there.
Beauty: Don't be sad.
He: (Disdainful) I am not sad.
Beauty: You look sad, it's so beautiful to be unhappy.
He: It's tame!!
Beauty: Don't be tame. Come together.
He: someone take these leaves away.
Beauty: You should kiss her joy as she flies.
He: Like a moth. Or a crow.
Truth and beauty gather the cloud back into the shape of "He" and waft him into shape.
"It" produces an undefinable roar, soft and muted like gun fire in a snow storm.
He: I'm without her.
Beauty: Rest please.
He: I feel a lack of definition and balance.
Beauty: You miss her.
He: Yes.
Truth sweeps leaves. "It" fades away. Beauty washes the feet of "He" with her beautiful pre-raphealite hair.
He: There was such a storm today. That's why it was so extremely sticky yesterday. I'm glad she wasn't walking in the rain tonight. Didn't we say? Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning. Yeah, it was a hell of a storm. Enough to blow us all away.
Beauty: Darkness has descended.
Truth: (Sweeping leaves) It's the first time we've had any darkness for days.
Beauty: The Lightning.
He: The Lightning used the power up.
Truth: The children will bring it back. They'll be home in a few hours.
"He" rains gently. Raindrops go pit, pat, onto the dry leaves below sounding for all the world like tears.
Beauty: It's not dark yet.
Truth: But it's getting there.
He falls asleep, covering the stage in dark mist.
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