Post by Jack of Blades on Mar 25, 2006 18:09:47 GMT -5
(We open up on Jack of Blades sitting sideways on a locker room bench. It’s blackout so all the camera can see is Jack. He’s smoking a cigar.)
Jack of Blades: There’s only one difference between saints and sinners and that is that saints have a past and sinners have a future. That was Oscar Wilde. Saying that, I mean. And he’s mostly right except for the one exception: Jack of Blades. Moi. I’m a sinner that has no future and a multiple choice past. One of these pasts is entwined with another. Another who feels it necessary to express his view on previous days and has forced me into revealing mine.
I was born and christened Jack Blaine Nolan into an Irish-English family. My earliest memory is of my secular, English mother and my Irish father arguing over whether Catholicism or Christianity should be my faith of choice. Not my own choice of course. My father was dedicated to his beliefs whereas my mother only viewed Christianity as a tradition and a way of getting me into an exclusive primary school for followers of JC.
My parents wanted me to somehow live a life that they were deprived by the fate of hand. Too vapid to be professionals, too opinionated to be in the public sector and too unlucky not to be born with wealth in their hands. My father slaved at a factory where his vocation consisted on him screwing the caps on bottles of toothpaste. My classmates at ‘St. Augustine’s School For The Enlightened’ named me Charlie (from the Chocolate Factory) as my father shared the same profession as his. I would remain sedate and laugh at their comments.
My mother tended and wiped the asses of a wealthy family pretending that she could care about the generic problems that wealth brought about. Her employers owned some sort of inherited wealth although the source of which I am not sure. They treated her as a sub-specie; as if the fact she did not possess a degree from Oxford devalued her humanity.
Their anger only increased by the way of their first child. A year younger than me, he also went to ‘St. Augustine’s for the Sexually Repressed.’ My mother had never revealed my place of education to them that caused for hilarious chaos when they both arrived to pick up their offspring. One in a 1980’s dodge, the other in a Lamborghini.
Speaking of which, my mother’s visits to my school were always met with insults and ridicule. The fact her car spluttered after every 100 yards. Each of them used to take shots at ‘Charlie.’ It was as enjoyable as polo to them. All except one. The heir of an inherited wealth. A lower year student. The child of my mother’s employers.
(End of promo.)
Jack of Blades: There’s only one difference between saints and sinners and that is that saints have a past and sinners have a future. That was Oscar Wilde. Saying that, I mean. And he’s mostly right except for the one exception: Jack of Blades. Moi. I’m a sinner that has no future and a multiple choice past. One of these pasts is entwined with another. Another who feels it necessary to express his view on previous days and has forced me into revealing mine.
I was born and christened Jack Blaine Nolan into an Irish-English family. My earliest memory is of my secular, English mother and my Irish father arguing over whether Catholicism or Christianity should be my faith of choice. Not my own choice of course. My father was dedicated to his beliefs whereas my mother only viewed Christianity as a tradition and a way of getting me into an exclusive primary school for followers of JC.
My parents wanted me to somehow live a life that they were deprived by the fate of hand. Too vapid to be professionals, too opinionated to be in the public sector and too unlucky not to be born with wealth in their hands. My father slaved at a factory where his vocation consisted on him screwing the caps on bottles of toothpaste. My classmates at ‘St. Augustine’s School For The Enlightened’ named me Charlie (from the Chocolate Factory) as my father shared the same profession as his. I would remain sedate and laugh at their comments.
My mother tended and wiped the asses of a wealthy family pretending that she could care about the generic problems that wealth brought about. Her employers owned some sort of inherited wealth although the source of which I am not sure. They treated her as a sub-specie; as if the fact she did not possess a degree from Oxford devalued her humanity.
Their anger only increased by the way of their first child. A year younger than me, he also went to ‘St. Augustine’s for the Sexually Repressed.’ My mother had never revealed my place of education to them that caused for hilarious chaos when they both arrived to pick up their offspring. One in a 1980’s dodge, the other in a Lamborghini.
Speaking of which, my mother’s visits to my school were always met with insults and ridicule. The fact her car spluttered after every 100 yards. Each of them used to take shots at ‘Charlie.’ It was as enjoyable as polo to them. All except one. The heir of an inherited wealth. A lower year student. The child of my mother’s employers.
(End of promo.)
