from Falmouth


When you come in, there will be an eruption going on. It will be hot. It will be noisy and then it will end and there will be stillness. You will learn about a pilot. “This is the end”. He is waiting to go home. You will be told how a volcano works by a man in glasses, and the foreign gymnast wants to show you how she erupts, which is darker than you could have expected. I will blow up a balloon and enjoy the air that is propelled onto my face. You will learn that the pilot (you know he’s a pilot, because he’s wearing a pilot’s uniform) will hear a busker, as will you, and that it will change him though it may not change you. More balloons and a science experiment later, I will hum about being empty. Apparently you will laugh, though I never thought it to be funny. Did you know that volcanoes can do stand-up? This one can. And the pilot. Attempting a climax through karaoke, he sings. You narrate this bit, tell us of the knot inside him, of how he wants to get it out: it’s important, but we trust you.

And then it’s time for another eruption, this one with lyrics or poetry, and it’s time for you to go.