Fifth Business
Some acts cannot be unwritten reluctantly our characters whilst theatrically adjacent find haunting the boards beguiling fluffed lines, rictus smiles rejection slips, unforgiving limelight prohibit their precious unveiling. A variety of voices off stage “Rhubarb, Rhubarb!” de facto dim yet persistently, religiously for crying out loud let me in~let me in let me be heard, it’s absurd here I am ready in makeup champing at the bit to shake up the plot We are fifth Business Heartbreak and agony never once leading lady always the understudy… break a leg why don’t you “Five minutes Miss DeLulu!” fuckin bitch has her legs hitched up to her armpits directors cut~the slut sleeping her way up the slippery ladder Each morning I watch a matinee parade across cracked ceiling plasterwork from my bomb site bedsprings a muted chorus of wannabe movie stars dancing on air, Fred Astaire blissfully unawares of incipient personal disaster fate circling, a vulture overhead~waiting always bloody waiting~ usually on tables “Oh you’re in movies what will I have seen you in?” “Yes Sir, no Sir, three bags bloody full Sir” “Oh I don’t recall…did it do well at Cannes?” “well you can stick your Palm d’Or right up your privileged, back stage passage Sir!” working the line in sublime mark crowded, hooky street sunshine anonymous portfolio’d back lot barista flamboyantly practising his petty crime whimsy enjoying the liberty of the unremarked and forgotten. praying for his turn to shine a window of importance rising in influence protagonist chutzpah man leading lady leading man celebrity love interest the story gory in all it’s fabulous detail Me?…I could’ve been a hero, bro Instead I’m fifth business All the while~a damp patch billowing with star cluster mildew reminds me of the downpour of tears in the night sky outside a thundering real life drama set against a burning downtown nowheresville ex~skyline Lebanon~Iran~Palestine Bad breaks, cheapskates, life passing by old, cold an tired a burnt out Robin Reliant lost my map an my mojo somewhere’s a while ago shipped out, freaked out clapped out jalopy, snark~parked unremarked on the side of the road grease streaky blurred misery pavement window~walking homeward loneliness a small walk on part. A widow startled in the headlights her final act~an affair of the heart Run down whilst taking the dog for a shit on a cold damp glory hole evening. Patrol takes the dog home saves little Jimmy’s life drowning down in the hollow She’s Fifth business~alright TV dinner trays of could’ve beens should’ve bloody been me unscripted imaginary glorious opportunities jealously maliciously black hearted envy hidden deep washed down with cold bright falling star tears Cheers
If all the world’s a stage, then for the overwhelming majority, it’s fifth business, as usual…seen increasingly as existing purely to push the plot along.
For a very, very few grandiose shits who live at the apex, sucking the life from the cast and the story.
Celebrated and calibrated by increasing numbers of wannabe morons who’d do anything, tell any lie to clamber their way up the slippery pole, unaware of never having and never to be getting an invite.
Angry? Sure, I’m angry…having watched this escalation over the past thirty years, or so, I’m fucking furious!
Is there any other emotion suitable for this end time play, these damnable theatrics, this scripted nightmare of incestuous moronic bullshit?
Don’t think so…Sea 😘
This couldn’t be more perfect Sea. The word voices and flow were impeccable as always.. great one to read aloud.
I’ve never understood the climbing to fame thing. The need to reach and reach and stretch your neck to try and meet eye to eye with the (self) chosen ones, not something I’ve ever understood.
Perhaps if we throw the world stage a long thunderous applause, we can bring that stinking house down.
Anywho I’m glad the dog got saved. I’ll just be over here with a cuppa recuperating. ☕️