In response to Middle Child and Luke Barnes’ Some Tiny Plays About How Fucked We All Are I have composed a poem (maybe poem should be in inverted commas…). This one off show at the Roundabout in Summerhall used the internet as source material – taking verbatim text (arguments about the numbers of days in the week, instructions on selling knickers online, for example) and performing it. The following poem is composed using words and phrases from the comments on The Guardian’s Edinburgh Fringe 2016 coverage.
along to Summerhall
during the brief interludes between showers
intimate, poignant stories one minute and raccous, filthy anecdotes
passion, a sting wit and foul-mouthed-ness only adds to the comedy value
This is not some sinister class conspiracy.
something intolerant that somebody may take offence to.
always bring welcome glamour and unpredictability
maybe the most common reaction was shock and confusion; sometimes curiosity; occasionally
the doubling up in laughter
Singing ability would be a plus, of course; but not necessary.
the audience were actively involved and not just observing like a flock of mindless believers
power to the people!
it’s the most fun incarnation of Russian roulette there is.
MUCH NEEDED in 2016.
I am an aesthete, you understand. My taste is, if I say so myself, exquisite.
the very best shows will be from middle class progressive left feminists
I’m glad someone is screaming into the void on my behalf.
modern, selfish world.
refreshingly clear and unpretentious
a more creative response to the dire political reality that we are all facing
And it’s much punchier than Chilcott.
That’s a win.
Roundabout at Summerhall