So what goes on in my head when I'm watching a play or reading a novel or listening to music? I have next to no idea, but I know something goes on. Today it struck me that it might be interesting to transcribe some rough stuff I jotted before our final performance of As You Like It, just for the sake of trying to capture it before it faded. (I've already forgotten all of Old Adam's lines, having agonised for four weeks or so to inscribe them in memory.)
Anyway, this is what I jotted, in poor handwriting, backstage, insofar as we had a backstage:
from a love that is amiably intense & simple to one that has all the signs of being rich & strange & complex & capable of change & development in the fullness and sprawl of time. Because Rosalind can do strange things and can teach strange things in a complex, strange & transient world sounding suspiciously like our own. Nothing can last. But what there is can shine preciously. In imagination. And in a generosity of feeling for others. Whoever/whomsoever comes into the orbit of Ros will be the better for it. whoever goes into/comes into the Woods will find something of themselves - in losing other somethings.
Odd what passes for thought, eh? (I reckon the first bit is copped almost verbatim from Shapiro's 1599 which I'd been reading just before the show. Always steal from the best.)
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