Light of my life. Terror of my night._Dark Spots_‘A Question of Now’ - This week we look at Street A
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Light of my life. Terror of my night.
‘What if the past is a currency I can spend?’ I thought. “Oh, good idea for a story.” I really should reach for my phone, but I can’t. I can’t muster the energy. I think to myself, ‘remember, remember that idea.’ I never do. It’s dark. The room is cold. The tip of my nose is a little numb and I need a wee. Not badly. Just enough to irritate. Besides I’d need to be busting to move. I’m stuck. Why is this so hard? I have to push through. I have to escape this darkness. Or do I? I can embrace it. I can become the darkness. Well, no I can’t, I’ve got a meeting with the boss at 9am. The alarm has...
Dark Spots
Dark SpotsBy Heather Ann MartinezAll I could do was stand in the darkness. It was intimidating and cold. I had not invited its presence but only knew it had to come in order for the light to come after. The darkness prevented me from seeing anyone or anything clearly. If I moved to the right or to the left, I would not be welcomed back to this stage. I felt the cold tingling along my hamstring. I wanted to walk off the stage, but I didn’t feel as though I had permission to leave. After all, I worked very hard to get here, to perform this piece. This was the dream that I dreamt when I was a lit...
‘A Question of Now’ - This week we look at Street Art
The cacophonic assault of traffic, thumping music oozing from shops and half heard one-sided phone conversations of passers-by, that provided the aural backdrop of www.onedoor.ccurban white noise to Brenda O’Lox’s podcast, ‘A Question of Now’, was so dense you could almost chew it. “This week I’m taking you on an audio tour of our city streets, to the places where sharp eyed urban dwellers like yourselves may still see glimpses of the efforts of a local artistic icon.” The echoes from concrete stairwells, the footsteps on unkept gritty pavements, and a melange of electronic alerts and warning sounds coalesc...
Somnium
Sophie and Rob sat together on their leather couch, enveloped in each other's arms as they were always every Friday night while grazing on popcorn and flipping through their TV. They were both running on so very little sleep they could barely concentrate on anything, taking in scattered bits of shows and movies that congealed into incomprehensible gibberish. Most times this was romantic and relaxing, resulting in playful kissing and the couple leaving the half-watched program frozen while they made their way to the master bedroom. This time, neither one could think about anything other than wh...