Joseph Coelho 1st Draft
Senseless Project
Draft 1
May 25th 2006
Awakening.
On the day I was censored, Sven and I weren’t talking. We’d slept that night in the same bed, even rolled over a few times into each others arms, but by morning, the previous nights argument, reasserted itself, and we went through our wake up routines in unchartered silence. I found it much easier to bury myself in work that day, avoiding all my usual excuses for not immediately logging in like extended coffee break, or checking for the umpteenth time if Vradia our four year old was comfortably submersed in her play pod. As Sven donned his grease smeared overalls and tool box we caught each others eye’s but neither of us smiled. Thee door hummed shut, and I returned to my query answering. Bee team were sent in to Censor me at 12:38pm, they found me by my work pod, and engaged me with little trouble using a Spike net, imagine a net laced with needles filled with a paralysing serum. All Subjects listed for censoring are paralysed rather than knocked out, to keep thee brain conscious, an aware brain is of little use for their needs. I remember the pain as a thousand tine hair like needs pierced my skin and pumped me with the hot pink serum, and then weightlessness, as if my body had simply dropped away from me like a fallen robe on a bathroom floor. Vradia was simply taken in her pod, she had no idea she was being abducted, that was the last time I saw her. With my brain awake in my paralysed body, I was fully aware of every humility they put me through, the rough hands that scratched over my body, the harsh grunts of men deprived of any humanity, the fetid stench of vehicles filled with countless numbers of overweight sweating men. My body soiled, bruised, swollen is eventually fed naked into the body pipes, a network of vacuum tubes that spread over the TNA like a fibrous cancer all ending in one place. the body pits are lakes of Censored individuals waiting in their paralysed conscious states, to either be crushed, by the weight of more subjects, dumped daily upon them or be scooped in unforgiving metallic claws and taken for brain extraction. I was lucky after being flung through the vacuum tubes and landing in the tangle body pits, I was quickly picked up, and carried for miles under a black sky by a metal arm whose source could not be fathomed, until I was lowered with surprising care into a recline leather chair. Blood poured from several wounds a massive bruise reached from the flesh on my back across my front and down my left leg, several of my fingers broken, three toes missing, skin torn from beneath my jaw. Physically I was a mess. A short skinny man prods at my body with thick rubber gloves covering large knuckled hands, his teeth are spotless and he smells faintly of a new born baby. He lowers a flashing blue bar from the blackness of the ceiling, three bright flashes strike through my body, and a list of data Is beamed straight into his pupil from a side armature hanging over his face like a broken pair of sun glasses. He grunts to himself, “Bodies good, we’ll do a surgical removal” I later learn the importance of this distinction. Many of those censored find their bodies mangled beyond reckoning when they reach their final destination, you see the TNA are predominantly concerned with the brain, the key to deviant behaviour, and with the numbers they process, bodies are expendable, they will always have enough like me who get through their machine line process with relatively little damage, i.e. in a state that warrants a surgical removal of the brain, leaving the body intact and replacing the brain with an A.I. unit and ten using it for labour. The alternative to this is a ‘kwik extraction’ where the skull is simply cleaved open and the brain sucked out, by a machine that looks like it should be shelling nuts. A surgical removal is actually performed by a doctor, and followed by reconstructive surgery to give the body form as damn near to perfect as anyone could wish for. My brain and body were successfully separated. My brain confined to a nutrient solution filled bath, and my body sold to the Rent district. A brain deprived of its body goes through some funny turns, one could call it a forced evolution process, you see at first you grieve your lost, go crazy confined to your thoughts, trapped within your fears, but the amazing human brain soon learns that this is no way to get on, and once it is finally realised that it’s a case of ‘put up’ or ‘shut-up’ things get a lot easier, no less lonely but easier. Four years passed with my brain becoming accustomed to its solitary confinement, whilst my body became any fantasy that it’s A.I. Unit saw fit for Maximum profit. Unbeknown to me, all this time, Sven was searching from me, and of course our daughter Vradia. My body had just finished another 18 hour shift of servicing the desires of the free tax classes, she was tired, but lacked the emotion to express it, hurting, but didn’t see the point of easing her pain, expecting another child, but simply did not care. It was in this state that Sven found her or should I say, the physical semblance of me, broke down at her feet and wept, told that A.I. filled body all the things he’d wished he’d said on that night when stubbornness kept us from making up, revealed all the things I needed to hear, and looked at those lifeless eyes, with the hope of a missing daughter, the love of an estranged lover, and tears of a man who has lost everything. And somehow, I heard him, some miracle enabled my floating brain to connect to the body it had lost four years back, gave me the power to override the cold workings of the binary thinking A.I. and reach a hand out to my husband and hold his face, cry for our missing daughter, and say every word that should never have been left, unspoken.
Joseph Coelho
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Some Feedback/Suggestions
Joseph. I just want to point out a few dramaturgical things to help link all the stories together better. Firstly, thanks for your description of the ‘censored’ process. I am going to ask everyone to incorporate it where necessary.
Just a small comment on that note, I think some of the language and imagery you’ve used in this description verges slightly on the Matrix. It is not a real problem but something we were discussing a while back, coz it happened to me when I first conceptualized the world, blackened skies, vats of brains, metallic claws lifting limp bodies, etc. Rochelle made the suggestion that we should not ignore this if it happens, but instead try to work through it, see where else you can go with some of these images, whilst keeping the core of the ‘censored’ process as is. See where any of that takes you...
Also, toward the end of the script, once your character is ‘censored’, I think it would be good if you added a bit about ‘phantom agency’ in, so that the connection with Sven at the end is clearer to the audience. You could even say that you’ve heard people talk about this phenomenon called ‘phantom agency’ but you’d never experienced it, until that day, or something along those lines. I think the most important part of what I trying to get at, is that you should add the term ‘phantom agency’ in there somewhere, for clarity.
Another thing I would like you to do is to read Adena’s script. She talks of how she is in a relationship with someone, but they are unable to be physically together, because of the ‘state of emergency’ and the new laws etc. As such, I think it might be a good idea for you to add something in, in the beginning, about how you and Sven were together before the laws got strict, and that being physically together is was a privilege you sometimes overlook – in so far as it results in arguments and not saying good bye etc.
One other thing for you to think about is how Sven was actually able to go outside, roam the cities to find the Opitbots body, and even go to work. What does he do? You don’t need to add it in if you don’t want to, but I just think it might be good for you to know the back-story, considering the state of the world etc.
Finally, just make sure you have a final read through before you post, to draft small spelling and grammar mistakes.
Great work.
Liv
a rehearsal edit
Hi Joseph,
Hope all is well. Liv and I have worked through your script in rehearsal and have come up with an edit for your approval. Both of us are really attracted to the material in your piece about the various sensations and memories that your character experiences and the dream-like scape at the end. And a result we have tried to giv a throughline of the matierial in this light, as well cutting most of the material that 'explains' or describes the world in a literary way. Let us know what you think.. thanks for your work so far.
Cheers Rochelle
Suggested draft:
On the day I was censored, Sven and I weren't talking. We'd slept that night in the same bed, even rolled over a few times into eachothers arms, but by morning the previous night's argument had reasserted itself and we went through our wake up routines in unchartered silence.
B -Team were sent in to Censor me a 12.38pm - they found me by my work pod and engaged me with little trouble. All sujects listed for censoring are paralysed rather than knocked out. I remember the pain as a thousand fine hair-like needles pierced my skin, and then weightlessness, as if my body had simply dropped away from me like a fallen robe on a bothroom floor.
I was fully aware of every humility they put me through, the rough hands that scratched over my body, the harsh grunts of men deprived of any humanity, the fetid stench of vehicles filled with overwieght sweating men - I just couldn't FEEL. My body soiled, briused, swollen, I was eventually feed naked into the body pipes. Blood poured from several wounds; a massive bruise reached from somewhere on my back across my front and down my left leg; several of my fingers broken, three toes missing, skin torn from beneath my jaw.
A short skinny man prods at my body with thick rubber gloves covering large knuckled hands, his teeth are spotless and smells faintly of a newborn baby.
Many of those censored find their bodies mangled beyond reckoning when they reach their final destination. You see, the TNA are predominantly concerned with the brain, the key to deviant behaviour, and bodies are expendable, they will always have enough.
My brain and body were successfully separated and my body sold to the Rent district.
A brain deprived of its body goes through some funny turns, one could call it a forced evolution process, you see at first you grieve your loss, go crazy confined to your thoughts, trapped within your fears. But the amazing thing is a human brain soon learns that this is no way to get on. And once it finally realises - it's a case of put-up or shut- up. Things get a lot easier, no less lonely, but easier.
I imagine I have just finished another 18 hour shift serviceing the desires of the tax-free classes. I am tired, but lack the emotional resource to express it - the hurting. I don't see the point of easing her pain, expecting another child - I simply do not have the capacity to care. It is in this state that Sven finds me, or should I say the physical resemblance of me, breaks down at my feet and weeps and me all the things I needed to hear, looking at those lifeless eyes, with the hope of a missing daughter, the love of an estranged lover, and tears of a man who lost everything. And somehow, I hear him, some miracle enables my floating brain to connect to the body it had lost, gives me the power to override the cold working of the AI and reach a hand out to him, to hold his face and say every word that should never been left unspoken.
What a great post, thanks a
What a great post, thanks a lot for the post.
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