LORCA Tamara Wilder
GADGET Ashley Hickman
KID Billy Sy

Director: Zita Zutic
Dramaturg: Steph Ward
Scenographer: Meagan Miller-McKeever
Stage Manager: Sian Anderson

Nearest tube: Chalk Farm
Bus stops nearby include: 31,168,C11
Meeting Point: Ushers will meet you at the front door of the pub and guide you to the performance space.

Tuesday 12th June – 14.30 (preview)
Wednesday 13th June – 15.00 & 19.00*
Thursday 14th June – 15.00 & 20.00
The Washington Public House

Booking Details:

To book your free place to any of the Festival events please e-mail bookings@unchartedfestival.co.uk or phone 02075593999.

For more information visit our website at www.unchartedfestival.co.uk.

Or, Please visit our Facebook home at http://cssd.facebook.com/event.php?eid=2417737010

The thing is, I’m not really from anywhere. I don’t really belong anywhere, specific.

1. victor on December 30th, 2006

born in
boston, ma (
usa), raised in
caracas,
venezuela. studied in milano, worked and lived around
europe for 4-5 years, went back to
caracas to feel it as a foreign city, moving to
london in the coming days.

i have this very new weird but growing idea that belonging has to do or can be represented as being able to have a dialogue, a conversation with the place, and some intimate feeling of comradery with the surroundings. like when you can go back to a place and say “hi [place]” in a very friendly, intimate way to it and feel welcomed back. or like in movies, when you can walk on a place and have a voice over with your thoughts not about that place, but told to that place as in a conversation, then that’s a sign of, if not belonging, of being accepted, having something settled, or just being a part of it. (crazy ideas they hunt me, this might be just one of them).

used to travel a lot (work and pleasure) and for a while the place that felt more like home, that known place where everything is where it is supposed to be, was the tempo class seat on an air france plane.

1. Birdy on December 31st, 2006

I am a military brat. I was born in Landstuhl
Germany, but lived there for less than a year. I’ve lived all over the US–Boston and
Westfield, Massachusettes (opposite ends of the state), Ramstein, GR,
Washington DC,
Flagstaff, Arizona,
San Antonio and Austin Texas,
Albuquerque, New Mexico.

One the first days of University everyone asked where everyone’s from. I’d always say no where and everywhere. I have no hometown. Heck even my name feels alien and unfamiliar–which is why I use Birdy. My given name doesn’t feel like it’s really my name.

I would give my knitting needles for a sense of belonging.

graybo on December 30th, 2006

I have a friend, born in
Cambodia, evacuated as a boat perosn, who lived in
Chichester, then
London and then
Rouen. In the
UK, he is a foreigner, viewed by many as a threat. In
France, he is in a minority that tends to keep itself to itself and he doesn’t feel comfortable or integrated with the wider community. Back “home”, in
Cambodia, he is viewed as a westerner, different – he speaks strangely, dresses differently, acts oddly, has money (although he is very poor by European standards). He tells me that he has no home.

Adrian on January 3rd, 2007

I do like being a Londoner, although it’s a transient city that everyone keeps leaving.

In any event, most of us are bound to think there is something distinctly unwholesome about anybody seemingly anxious to disown their own racial and cultural heritage in order to acquire a spurious identity elsewhere. Flattering as it is to the chosen host community when so many seem anxious to join, it does not alter the basic incongruity of the situation. Better a happy duck any day than an imitation swan.

Guests

Invited strangers can never be more than guests in your home; and when they are not invited you will quite properly feel yourself to be invaded, whatever their own ideas about ‘belongingness’.

http://www.freewebs.com/tears01/youcannevergohome.htmYou can never go home
By Isis

It has been years since the change
I’m no longer the klutzy little girl everyone remembers
I can’t believe its been so long
I can still hear them call my name.I know I will never be ready to face them
but sooner or later I have to
why of all times does it have to be now

My hair was once blonde
now it is back- the sign of what I’ve become
I am no longer carefree
more or less because things now need me to stand strong
if I feel there is no second chance
that is why I must

As I walk up the stairs
I can hear laughing
tonight in the sixth anniversary of my change
sighing I wait till I know I won’t pass out
I mean that would be great
we’ve just gone through those changes
not to mention the trials
for me to klutz out in front of them.

I can see Rini
the inners and the outers
a lot must have changed while I was gone
gripping the handle I take a deep breath

Pulling it open-everyone stares at me
Now I remember a saying
‘you can never go home’

Passing Death

I passed death the other day
He was out jogging
When I ran down to the store
He waved, as usual

I saw him last week
At the post office on 3rd
But I managed to avoid
Being seen and having to chat

This morning
At the doughnut shop
He made a joke over coffee
It wasn’t that funny
But you know,
I laughed anyway

Talk of escape

Of quiet

Of becoming desert 

Of all the purple

A desperate plea for quiet

Too much dust, not enough answers

No talk of text yet, we’ll have to wait till morning.

Apart from..

“There’s a brie on the loose! It isn’t safe…we’ll be cheese!”                                             

                                                         “Billy rolls better ’cause he’s the roundest.” 

<Scene>

Looked out of windows and fought over fruit,

 Decided we wouldn’t make good mothers,

 Let grandma go out the window,

Pushed buttons under doors,

Wrote snobby e-mails to old daemons,

Recited Wuthering Heights,

Bitched about the Rap industry,

Made Love to jumpers,

Loved our hair,

Searched for the TV Guide….

and eventually, we hid under a quilt and listened to the cars outside.

<Scene.>

Peter A Dawhins

Echos sound a far off place.. to me this is what I am;

A book, a picture, my mothers eyes, my fathers smile

Misplaced I stand waiting for my own revival,

An empty space, an empty face,

Should I return? To what? Where is my Fate?

It echoes back-  unchanged.