Watched "Bent", with G W and L at the Attic. Beatrice C strutted taut as a dream. Audience sleazy. Mark Richmond played his Berlin playboy with tender-lipped spunk and flashes of frailty. Lim Yu Beng convincing in a general sense, but just a teeny bit not there with his lines I think. Chua Enlai pouted about the rectangular stage, with uncomfortably hollow acoustics, in a flaming burgundy bathrobe. Extras dripped loud spider webs and sequinny lipstick and Ben S, smeared with faux grime, hunkered down among the terrible sinews. Plot moving, but not nearly enough so, and Nazi guards genuinely threatening. The ersatz blood spurted all over us. G and I resolved not to visit such a bazaar of blatant iniquity in the near future, not with the surrounding stares, hair, and scarcity of Aryan display. |

Well... on Monday we met and transported ourselves to the island of Peace and Tranquility, previously Unsettled Death (or somethin like it). Rode on doomed monorail, then made time pass in ways that do not froth readily to mind. Revisited haunted bungalows, posed in manner lewd, and betook our grimy selves to Bedok (place of madding desolation) where J's father drove us to the Hotel with no View of the Sea. Ravened a rather indifferent buffet. The croissants though were redeemingly buttery. Modelled Zimbabwean, Arabian and Turkish bordello chic with towelly ingenuity. Then bridge, bluff and Tarot readings by J the Revealed. I was horrified by mine vessels' suspicious state, but mollified by starry portent. J drew the same. G and W both caught in mire most sticky, but W would suffer stings to his bleeding soul while G has impending immoral sustenance. Then sleep and wakefulness, after a fashion. Tiw's day showered reduced waffles and bedraggledness. Am presently rereading Amphigorey. |