Story for performance #920
webcast from Sydney at 08:08PM, 27 Dec 07

It started with two. Then grew by two. And then two more. By addition, replication, duplication, reproduction. By any means necessary. Copy and paste, but analogue, not digital. In other words, the copy is not exact. The process includes inherent imperfections. Two (one plus one), and Two (one plus one), and Two (one plus one) equals Six. Six in total. Six characters, numbered but nameless. Six is more than enough, it is almost a crowd. It’s a party assembled for an occasion, the beginning or the end of something. Hello. How are you? Repeat six times. Ad nauseam is nearby. Fine, thank you. Six individuals or a group of six. Three pairs or two trios. A pair, a trio and a lone outsider. Two duos and two lonesome antipodes. Grouped and gathered. This disjointed affair. Togetherness torn apart. A blaring sextet.

One: Let me introduce you to us Six. I’m first, One.
Two: Hello, I’m Two.
Three: Three here.
Four: 1, 2, 3…Four.
Five: Hey all, uneven Five, and now here’s Six.
Six: I’m last. That’s a lot of us for such a short span of time. If we could all get along we could form a chorus.
Two: And speak as a united voice? I doubt it.
One: Party as germ warfare.
Four: Unhinged.
Six: I see rampant discontinuity.
Five: I wished I hadn’t said anything.
Three: You could have been Jean-Pierre in Nathalie Sarraute’s play The Silence. He doesn’t say anything.
Five: Well, yes, though he does end up speaking up at the very end of the play.
Two: But the mundaneness of what he says almost accentuates his muteness up to that point.
One: I thought we were here to ‘unhinge’ as Four said. Like the Arkestra on its way to Saturn. Instead here we are in a mini literary criticism convention.
Four: Yes to Sun Ra, but I prefer Rahsaan Roland Kirk.
Three: So much for anonymity, our own and the abstract narrative space we are unfolding.
Two: We are but six drifting beats marking time.
Five: I copy.
One: You all follow me, the only point that counts is the original one.
Two: By yourself, you don’t count. Counting to one doesn’t add up.
Three: Trinity.
Four: Quartet. From strings to barber shops to rock, I’m pervasive.
Five: Hot Five.
Six: You’re ancient history.
Five: Satchmo will flush you out with his Swiss Kriss.
One: He did have a bit of a fixation with that laxative.
Four: Purification is a spiritual pursuit.
Three: Nothing wrong with that.

It continued. For much longer. Seemingly never-ending. By addition, replication, duplication, reproduction. By any means necessary. Copy and paste, but analogue, by hand, not digits. In other words, the inexact copy. The process always a bit off. Two follows One, and Three precedes Four, and Six comes after Five. All in a row amounting to Six. Six total. Six numbered voices, but heard through one only. Six is too much, they crowd my mouth. It’s a party for the vocal chords, exercise in schizophonics. You need a six-channel Vocoder. Repeat six times. A chain of effects complete the setup. Six delay units. Or three reverb pairs. Or a pair of flanges, a loop trio and a lone distortion pedal. Tweaked and boosted. All on stage. Sound check tore the roof. Amps a blarin’.

One: Let me introduce you all. I’m Only.
Two: They know us already. Anyway, Only?
Three: He means, solo, single-handed, unique.
Four: As in, Loser.
Five: Don’t let him take his solo.
Six: Let’s mount a wall of noise to squelch him.
Two: And speak as a united voice? I doubt it.
One: A singular individual here with no ‘and’ in his vocabulary.
Four: Unhinged.
Six: I hear a dissonant note.
Five: I wished I had quit the band a long time ago.
Three: We can always fire you.
Five: Well, yes, though apparently I save the day by the end.
Two: But delusions are more dangerous than illusions.
One: I thought we were here to ‘unhinge’ as Four said. Like The Dead C on its way inside your Head. Instead here we are in a derivative noise fest.
Four: Yes to The Dead C, but I prefer Alvin Lucier.
Three: So much for anonymity, our own and the abstract narrative space we are unfolding.
Two: We are but six beats marking time drifting.
Five: I count myself out of the timeline.
One: You all need ‘and’ to place yourselves, I don’t.
Two: And, so what?
Three: Power trio.
Four: Quad.
Five: Five Elements.
Six: You’re ancient history.
Five: I can burn you, fire away.
One: A scourge, after all the suffering it causes, can foster renewal.
Four: Purification is a spiritual pursuit.
Three: Nothing wrong with that.

Adapted for performance by Barbara Campbell from a story by Christof Migone.