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作曲 : Enda Walsh
welcome to the late night tales story
《in the morning》
written by enda walsh narrated by me Cillian Murphy
they were once made of course these wooden blinds
once brand new wrapped days fling probably
onboard is part of a bigger dream
by a young couple maybe
who made a longish car journey to the outskirts of the city
two awarehouse housing various homewares
on the wooden blinds
so carefully placed in the buddha their car
and removed and carried up to this
i think it must be a flat
i'm not too sure yet but
but the wooden blinds with cares still are attached to the window
and she and he
list of sat on the sofa
a sofa i'm aware of but have not looked at yet
fry know it's lying there
but they sat on the sofa drinking tea and eating her packet of biscuits
instead of these wooden blinds
i want they felt in their stomachs
beneath the sugary mush of tea mixed with biscuits
they must have felt was
pleasure
a pleasure
success
they have lost their luster these blinds but completely but
a few summers have begged them dullum
even from where i'm lying i can see it or maybe just guess it
that from the outside their grain like i am
they are tired like i have been
they have been ignored
like everything else
i try again to think of the faces of the couple
who bought these blinds
who owned this flat
for now i'm sure it's a flat
but
i can't see their faces when i shut my eyes
in the darkness i tried to construct what they looked like again and so drag together eyes and noses with known definition
hair that moves like a cloud on a changeable head
i make some composite of a man and a woman whose features bleed back into black
i said my eyes back open
back onto the wooden blinds
my stomach silence for a moment
not from anything eaten i don't eat
i know that much
flying on the floor is a cream colored carpet i can see that now
and lying here on this carpet i can feel my stomach cherilus soundness with the rest of me with my hand is certainly
what if i done
speaks
but it knows
it talks through the wooden blinds
unspoken it calls me to sit up
to walk around the flash to uncover what it was
to uncover what happened here to look at the sofa
i can't
i won't
because i know chords
i have blood in my hands
i won't look at them
i can feel the blood there
and there is a lot of blood
my fingers
the skin stretched there must be much blood i get dry now the curl over the calf of my shirt
it's wet still the cough
and i'm aware of my clothes and how they are on me
dying the mill crumpled everything else trying at least
but for the wet coughs the coughs in my eyes
i seem to be crying
and i
just yet
but i feel like i should be
and the eyes are asking me to think about what happened last night
for it's morning time and i've woken like this before
in another room
other rooms
the soundness turns and images i can see of me as a shadow
having found my way into the room i shouldn't be in
i sit watching television
sometimes i make myself a cup of coffee depending on the type of coffee that the family buy and always i sit and wait and it seemed
and it seems wrong to open drawers or wardrobes to enter bedrooms even seems disgusting and intrusive definitely and wrong to to steal that coffee to use the electricity to wash whatever is on
but i do
why shouldn't i
i sit andand i sat often on sofas,and is the most still i feel,with nothing on my mind the world is frozen and only the silent moving images of daytime television brightly hitting my eyes but not my mind
the mind is untouched still
turning
imperceptible
to sit in another person's life
to sit surrounded by their things
a world that's invisible to them now
a place grondahl and beneath norma a room ignored as this room was before i sat here and made it something special,to sleep through life
to get so easily the wonder and effort of how your life is pulled around you and how it stays
when all outside is sliding in crashing about to forget with easy indifference the home that you made the room that you made to keep you safe to forget all of this
how many times have i sat
another people selfies and waited to kill them
money
A reckoning i'll bring
a reckoning to the spoiled
do the forgetful
from the carpet i look up and see them on the sofa
there still
i can hear their souls wailing outside
calling me out of this room
out of this flat
back onto the streets
my rest is over
it's morning time
and time to move on
you have been listening to late night tales
music and stories worth staying up for
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