I have edited the text for the sound piece. The first thing I added was narration to implicate the listener as myself, standing in the room listening at the wall. Next I added a memory from my experience in, what was at times, a controlling and manipulating relationship. There is an intersection of the scenarios: the secret observation of my new flatmates fighting in London, the memory of northern ontario, and the unknown baggage that the listener brings to the piece. I intend to repeat the text slowly adding in sounds (i.e. drone sounds) and breaking down the narrative gradually into noise.
Text for a Sound Piece:
Standing cheek pressed to the wall. Listening intently, eyes wide open.
Woman: DON’T TOUCH MY BELONGINGS I SAID DON’T TOUCH MY BELONGINGS.
Man: muffled speech
Woman: (more desperate and repeated) DON’T TOUCH MY BELONGINGS
Man: well you can leave
You: in the dark you run to get a note book and pen
Man: Again Anna? Again? Again?
Sound of a thump or a bang… is that the bed spring squeaking?
Woman: I’m in shock, you just hit me in the face. It’s not just physically… mentally you’re really fucked up
Man: (maintaining the same even monotone, assertive and with a German accent) No Anna there is something seriously wrong with you.
Woman: struggles to argue her point like a trapped animal.
You: Remember how you couldn’t explain it, couldn’t make him see the emotional manipulation. Even now you are not sure exactly how or what happened. Above all he was always right and you were always struggling to know what was real.
Man: I abuse you? You abuse me. Many times Anna. Every time you’re drunk.
Woman: (high voice, hurt, full of need) that’s because you went away.
Man: You are the one scratching and biting
Woman: (deep voice venomous) yeah well you can call the police.
Man: You are telling everyone I’m abusing you… trying to embarrass me in public! You are the one biting and scratching. You broke up with me, three times Anna.
You Move away from the wall, lie back in bed and wait for sleep to claim her captive.
Remember standing in a Tim Horton’s parking lot in North Bay, Ontario – nowhere land. He is yelling into your face, you are standing there taking it. One or two people walk by keeping their distance. The embarrassment. Try to leave because there is no reasoning – but he grabs your shoulder and drags you back shaking you. You notice the pain in your shoulder from the iron grip. How can he profess to care if he doesn’t let up even when you have broken down sobbing, delivering him your vulnerability on a silver plate. He is telling you this to protect you. Now walking back to the mall. We might as well go back if you don’t stop crying. Once the river is released it is reluctant to reaccept the dam.
The moon so far away and small. The nights are cold now. Sometimes I feel like dying he says. Under the covers. You are only warm bodies. He says I feel like dying. He lists the failed suicide attempts. On the bus to Ottawa after a fight he writes in your notebook I wish I were dead. In the tent. On the shore of Lake Superior, almost winter. You don’t want to have sex. Karma will come back and get you some day, he says. You turn back towards him afraid of the power of prophecy.
I saw how you were looking at him
Don’t look in another man’s eyes for too long
Sometimes I wish I were dead
Don’t look in other men’s eyes
Sometimes I wish I were dead, sometimes I wish I were dead,
Sometimes I sometimes I wish I were dead I were, sometimes I wish I were dead
Karma will get you
(The next day you see the Man with a scratch on his cheek taking a bottle of wine from the mini fridge in the kitchen. He makes casual conversation about the upcoming weekend. Days later you still haven’t seen the Woman) – cut this bit?