"Well I thought that the most dreadful thing that could happen to anybody,
would be not to be allowed to sleep so that just as you’re dropping off there’d
be a ‘Dong’ and you’d have to keep awake...Samuel Beckett in preparation
for writing Happy Days.
The opening pic below is not "Twilight" British actor Robert Pattinson
looking at his vampire mother. This "Everyday Sunday" Morrissey
video locates on a British beach resort that's seen happier days.
Life's a beach and then you die. But not before your "Happy Days"
The female driver in the video is Billie Whitelaw who I saw at The Old Vic
in Beckett's "Happy Days" in 1970's London. I hopped a plane across
the English Channel from Paris to London, was greeted by a nasty airport attendant as if he were expecting me and had no idea what I was going to
do in London. I saw an advert for a Beckett play at the Old Vic. I'd heard
of Beckett's Waiting For Godot but hadn't seen it. So I bought a ticket
because I liked the name of the star. Billie Whitelaw as Winnie with head sticking up out of the beach sands of time was captivating. I was affected
by the strangeness of the play.
Naturally I went to the bar next door, had two beers and while walking
down underground stairs wound up at the bottom having briefly passed
out for the first time in my life. I can't blame Beckett or the beer. The combination along with a full pack had cut off my circulation. I wound up gong to free British clinic looking like An American Werewolf In London
and then to a free British dentist with busted teeth.
The stunning Ms. Whitelaw died in 2014. I've had the Morrissey video
on this page since at least that time. It was only in 2016 that I recognized
her in the video and that she just happened to be a very close simulacra
to a post 911 former girlfriend. Just my imagination? No, my imagination isn't up to the task of processing half the strangeness that happens to me everyday including Sunday. Only after seeing the play again in 2017 in Brooklyn with Diane Weist did I realize what the title and the play meant.
I never personally heard the startling wake up "dong" sound of the play. Instead
I heard sharp hammer base note effects from the direction of my ceiling. I thought it
was the neighbors. It wasn't my imagination or the neighbors. It started in 2003 with
a clear pained male voice saying, "somebody help me." That happened once.
Then came the base note heavy hammer effects, then an electronically distorted siren-
like human scream lasting for years.
It sounded like an air-raid siren coupled with a distorted human scream from hell.
Both combined to completely sleep deprived me for months. It wasn't delusion,
hallucination or insomnia. Famous last words. Air-raid siren? Something like the
opening lines from Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow: "A screaming came across
the sky. It has happened before but there is nothing to compare it to now regarding
V-2 German rockets screaming across London breaking the sound barrier during the
WWII Blitz. Yes it happened before and since. Like the distorted screaming effects
I heard 2003 - 2005. In both cases the delivery system was beyond ominous.
2003's version of V-2 became a shitstorm of "V2k" from an overhead distance that I
thought to be psychosis. I was wrong. At no time did I think the FSB NSA or demons
from hell were coming to get me.
The "Dong" sound isn't a storytelling device to keep the audience from dosing.
Or maybe it is. Sharp sudden click sounds were used to similar effect in
"The Old Woman" with Barichnikov and Willem Dafoe and in "Constellations" with
Back To "Reality":
On my last day at work in 2005 a 6' 4" black on the fat side co-worker
made a point of always preaching and telling me what I would find
among what he called "daytime people." Slackers, stoners, crazies, homeless, unemployed, students, or like me, retired. Slackers, crazies
and stoners aren't adequate terms for what I found. I looked at the world and the world looked b-ack. Ack ack ack!
It's as if I had the extreme audacity to retire after working seventy hour weeks at two
jobs for twenty years with nothing but time and age to show for it. I went from
70 hour work weeks to zero. The result wasn't from overwork or any kind of non-
combat PTSD. It wasn't induced by any internet troll sausage factory version of
government mind control. Nor was it the result of drugs, beer, Beckett plays, dementia or delusion.
My attempt at describing the unnerving Zoolander human++ types so common nowadays
sounds straight out of a zombie movie or something from a demented central casting call
for a sub-class of Marvel unitards. Except the above two plus marks after the word human are completely applicable but I'm not sure what they equal. If anything.