[ Started 2004. Developed 23.1.05 Finished 25.7.07
First performed at Glencree Summer School. Dublin 2007]
www.randallstephenhall.com/music
We all have stuff.
You have stuff, I have stuff.
We all have . . . stuff.
Some hide it in their pillow case.
Some in a drawer.
Others, around a corner
Or under a bed.
In their head even.
But, it must be said . . .
That, we all have stuff.
Stuff you’re ashamed of.
The stuff of dreams and schemes.
You know . . . “stuff.”
Stuff, stuffed away back in the shadows.
Stuff, nobody knows about . . .
Except you
And, perhaps a few others.
(“We know you pick your nose. We’ve just uploaded the video clip
onto YOU-TUBE.”)
Will you ever be discovered?
Who can tell.
It’s hell isn’t it . . . ?
Having, stuff, that is.
A bit like an overweight elephant.
That no one else can see.
Stuffed into the same room, space or cupboard as you or me.
“Hello.” it says.
“I’m your stuff.”
“I know.” you say.
“I wish you’d go away. (Go on. . . STUFF OFF!)”
“O.K.” says your big yellow invisible friend.
“I’ll be in the room next door.”
“O.K.” you reply.
“Bye.” It waves.
“Bye, (thank God)” you wave back.
“But where did I get all that stuff?”
(cough) . . .
Stuff . . .
Packed away, but it’s still there.
Today, tomorrow, the next day, until when?
Can you re-cycle it?
No? . . . Oh . . . Oh shit . . . stuff.
Uncomfortable things.
Barbed wire mittens
That record
Where your hands have been
from the year dot.
What?
Loud megaphones that shout
Your hurts, desires, yearnings,
ambitions, hatreds.
In the street . . . out loud . . .
To anyone who will listen!
Men and women
Who walk by.
“Jesus!
Who is that guy?”
(Good question. . .)
Stuff . . .
This stuff is scarey,
Embarrasing
Humiliating, soiled, shameful.
If only to the elephant.
(And think of the stuff elphants produce . . .
Even the small ones.)
(It’s still there you know.)
“It hasn’t gone away you know.”
No matter what you do
It won’t go away.
Stuck like glue
to you.
All . . . your . . . stuff
Until your dying day.
Hey, look! (he says pointing)
Your soul with only its underpants on
Boxers, Y-fronts, thong, suspenders . . .
(Whatever works for you.)
But hey, what’s wrong? . . .
You’re telling me you don’t have stuff?
Ah, come on.
We all have stuff
Don’t we?
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