Move

2009 - A mystery bomber terrorizes the City of London

First a bomb in Brixton

Then a bomb in Brick Lane

Meanwhile... at a cafe on Compton St...

ALEX
I had an HIV test today - I thought if I was positive I might have something to live for.  Well, wouldn’t it have completed my homosexual journey? Skinny strange young boy - slender furtive ashamed adolescent - trim defiantly liberated young anarchist - steroided shaven-headed hedonist - stocky middle-aged sauna-queen... next should have been gaunt intense redeemed wise old radical - Deceased. Dead at forty-something of AID’S related complications after writing the great gay novel - all proceeds donated to raising public health awareness in a grand final gesture.  Now I have drag myself through the stately homo of England phase all the way to Disco Dinosaur - decaying here in this sad little back street - I know I know - it’s fabulous!  What we marched and chanted for - but I sit watching these over-tanned under-dressed queens staggering back and forth from one overpriced cafe to another, high on their charge-cards without a political thought in their head - and I have to beat back strange tidal waves of homophobia that make me wanna pull out an Uzi just to give ‘em something to fucking fight for. But I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?  The work calls... and Forrest must answer...  How do you do it, dear? How do you keep going?  Making your pretty pictures - striking your pretty poses - and clinging to the quaint belief that Art can Make A Difference...

FORREST
It’s the only thing that survives, Alex... How do we know what we know about the Egyptians?  Their art. We don’t know what the cavemen looked like for sure, but we know their art.

ALEX
Oh, dear, she’s off... Yes, but what difference does it make?  How has the world changed this last thousand years after all this art? What creation has really made a difference?  The invention of the wheel?  The revolution of steam?  The miracle of the mobile phone?  Live saving advances in neurosurgery? Yet still millions die at the hands of their brothers - wiped out and forgotten. Each individual’s ambitions and hopes revealed to be the vanity of an insignificant speck. And what changes?  Nothing.

FORREST
No Alex- Everything. I’m no scientist, but isn’t everything always changing or something?  Growing, decaying, cells replacing? I don’t think things can stay the same even if we want them to.  Isn’t change the point..?  Otherwise why keep going?  And you do keep going, Alex.

ALEX
Do I? Maybe I’m just too ‘sensitive’ for suicide.  Perhaps if I were as tough as you, I could leave limbo and live or die, or replace you with someone lean and callow to keep me fresh - as you replaced me.   

FORREST
‘Tough’...

ALEX
You’re tough as nails, darling.  It is I who has always been the romantic. Romanticizing cynicism - romanticizing nihilism.  You on the other hand have always been ruthlessly creative - ‘No scientist’, Who are you kidding?  Your’ The Dr Mengele of dance - Art uber Alles - Freedom Through Work - Even now  - you’re not listening to a word I say - you’re watching my hands - reading my body language.  Capturing... poaching... Still searching for that perfect gesture that captures existence in all its grace and pain.  You were the same back in the dark ages when we broke up - I’ll bet you remember how I was standing that day?

FORREST
You were sitting - with your cigarette - like you are now but with one leg tucked under you - your spine tall and never looking at me - watching the smoke.  

ALEX
Perfect. Now do you remember why we broke up?

FORREST
Well - didn’t we fall out of love or something?

ALEX
We never fell - in or out of love...  We slipped - we slid - we crawled - and you watched.  You cannibilized our youth and made Art... just as you’re devouring this child you’re with now.  I hope he’s having as much fun as I did - otherwise I might have to feel a little sorry for him - and that would be simply tedious...  Now, more tea, vicar?  Waiter! Zeifendahl!  Look at her - speechless!  You don’t have to say anything dear - you can just keep me company a little longer -  and in return I’ll let you watch my hands...

Stonewall Still Stonewall Still Stonewall Still Stonewall Still Stonewall Still Stonewall Still Stonewall Still