November 16, 2008
Seconds trickled into minutes and stuttered into hours: apparently deliberating, uncertain of their footing. Like some poorly conceived farce with doors opening stage left and right, heralding new characters, each more contrived than the last. You, as audience, remain baffled - trying desperately to remember what it is youíre supposed to be doing here. Surely you canít be expected to clap? The stories are tragic in their comedy. Days rush on without you. Weeks lapping at their heels. And you remain. Stock-still. Waiting for your cue. As expectation turns to hope you realise youíve forgotten why it is youíre waiting.