"From the moment absurdity is recognized, it becomes a passion, the most harrowing of all." -Albert Camus
Nothing to be done.
But behind this veil of gentleness and peace,
Night is charging and will burst upon us...
Pop! That's how it is.
When you least expect it!
That's how it is
on this bitch of an earth...
Nothing to be done.
Let us not speak ill of our generation,
it is not any unhappier than its predecessors.
Let us not speak well of it either.
Let us not speak of it at all.
We are all born mad,
some of us remain so.
Nothing to be done.
What'll we do?
We always find something
to give the impression that we exist.
Nothing to be done.
Words... words... words... speak!
You don't know if you are unhappy or not?
It's not my fault, Sir!
I was afraid, Sir!
[Of] the whip? - Yes, Sir.
[Of] the roar? - Yes, Sir.
A great calm descends.
Nothing to be done.
Dance, misery!
I hear something...
Perhaps it's the Heart?
- silence -
Perhaps it has stopped?
Nothing to be done.
I'm seeking. Help me! I'm seeking!
When you seek, you hear.
That prevents you from thinking!
[But] we are in no danger of thinking
[And] you can't help looking...
There is no lack of void.
Nothing to be done.
Don't touch me!
Don't question me!
Don't speak to me!
Look at me will you?
Look at me...
... stay with me?
They all change... only we can't.
Nobody ever recognizes us.
Nothing to be done.
[Well then] let's go!
We can't!
Why not?
We're waiting for Godot!
Ah! Yes!
Nothing to be done.
Absurd drama is one of the most fascinating kinds of theatre I have ever come across. No two people sitting in the audience of the same play see the same things. One could call this a blackout poem where all the words (except that in the square brackets) are from Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.
The intention is to not derive meaning from the play but to express the emotions that it evoked.
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