I once saw a production that summed up a true hell of endless repetition. It was a high school play, but exceedingly well acted, or maybe the material was just good. In any case, a group of people find themselves in a room together and can’t make out why they are there and why they can’t get out. It is a stranded island but inside one large room. Over the course of 1 1/2 hours, the occupants of this room bicker and argue themselves back to the beginning of the play.
Another image of hell is the pour guy given a sieve to move a mountain of sand to another spot just ten feet away.
I have a new scenario to add to my hell bank: packing up a house that seems to have a neverending stream of things.
I know, I know, the best part is sorting through and getting rid of stuff. That principle doesn’t seem to be in effect here. It takes 15-20 boxes of packed stuff to produce one not-even-heavy thrift store box (because I won’t get rid of any of my books). I am carrying around my past – my beads, and batts of undyed wool, doll-making supplies, guides to the trees of the sierras…
June 18, 2006 at 11:11 pm
don’t worry, when joss and i moved from bloomsbury to westbourne park we didn’t get rid of anything… why bother when its just across town? we just chucked everything into boxes and hauled them over to the new place. if you’re moving to another country, well, that’s a different matter and definately an opportunity to sort through and get rid of things. p,s, i remember that production of satre’s ‘no exit’… i thought we saw that up at mcgill?