we RBG

We, RBG
parasites. system .chocolate
Media that combine emitted lights to create the sensation of a range of colors are using the additive color system. Television is the most common use of this. The Additive primaries are red, green, and blue, also known as RBG .Because of the response curves of the three different color receptors in the human eye, these colors are optimal in the sense that the largest range of colors (gamut) visible by humans can be generated by mixing light of these colors. Additive mixing of red and green light, produce shades of yellow or orange. Mixing green and blue produces shades of cyan, and mixing red and blue produces shades of purple and magenta. Mixing equal proportions of the additive primaries results in shades of grey; when all three colors are fully saturated, the result is white. The color space that is generated is called the RGB ("red, green, blue") color space


A self proliferating exercise rooted in the psyche of the urban youth, and inspired from the “gen-x” concepts of the west as reflected in the works of people like Chuck Palahniuk and Douglas Campbell Coupland.
I plan to explore the primary colors RBG that exist somewhere in all of us. We are looking at a cross-section of the society where the demarcator/divide/ blade/ is a mixed bag of emotions like frustration, disgust, anger, fear, insecurity, momentary joy, yearning, ambition.
This is intended to be a participatory approach where the characters and plot would be gradually etched out from all the lives. People come in as an individual entity, with a unique trait; walk into the space with a give and take motive, give a piece of their lives (flesh-out), the fleshing out may be subject to extrapolation/exaggeration to make the product more product-like. Once the product is finished, and looks enough saleable, we walk out of the space the same person that we entered in with, with that unique trait left with us for good, and a piece of out flesh reinstalled in our bodies.

The basic tools used would be a tri-sectional stage(RBG), constant stage presence(physical), blending of the primaries manifested through blend of characters, may be swap, speech in verse with heavy use of human voices as music, delegated lines, abstraction, intended shoddiness, evolution, dynamic process.

We intend to sell consumerism one of its own product back- a ready-to-eat modular/’theatrical’ product meant for instant consumption, but not without the premonition of indigestion.


· You can’t get credit for something that you don’t do.

· Commoditization- is it good or bad?

· Should we fight the dominion of material comforts on us, our lives?

· Element of free-yourself-escape from the present situation to understand the situation/society the way it is seen from the outside, from the point of view of a spectator…

· Is the future a better place?

· Fear of talking about love, loneliness, fear.

· Representational lines:
1. I know where you are coming from.
2. I don’t wanna talk about it!
3. Break this world and put it all around you.
4. Do you know what’s wrong with you?!

· Tagification, consumerism, actor/performer syndrome, commoditization of arts- good or bad, qualities, emotions, dominance


Songs:
Woke up to the noise
The smoke is still in my mouth
Barrels of ash, guns of choice
Fiery tomahawks from the south

In this mess all around
All I see is insanity
Do lend me your eyes to see
Show me what this world can be

Flash back memories
A new episode everyday
My brothers, my folks
Give me wings to fly away

Take this hurt
Take this pain
What comes first-
Hurt or pain?

Take this hurt/, take this/ pain. what comes first/, hurt/ or pain?
A A D A
I am a/live, if that’s/ a joy. Life/ looks like, a fucked up/ ploy.
I stare at the mirror/, it stares back/ at me. I/ have all the answers; it’s the/ques/tions/ I seek.
I am/ scared to live in/ these hollow walls. Kicked back/ the silence, so noisy/ it was.

Humming x 2
A C G A

Faster chorus (matching with your faster composition):
a kind of faster humming chord pattern with more punch, I mean chucks and shit

And/ the moon is rising from the south

and/ the smoke is fighting/ with the cloud.

and the earth/ falls down/ on the/ sky

I never swear/, but/ this ain’t a lie.



She looks like she sleeps in sport shoes.
He is very outthere.
Things that come free are actually not what we wanted,


A recollection of sorts, my mind veers all around and turns back to nowhere, looking at the sequence of events that have been happening in the recent past. They seem to be more than just a passage of time, they tell many stories. There seems to be more to them than just an existential side, as to why they happened, or what would have happened had they not happened?
The characters that make a story can be a story in their own right, themselves. Every day tells a lifetime of a story. We might be different in our intentions at the onset of the day, and might think differently over the prospects of the world changing one day, but our fortunes are inextricably tied together, like it or not.

Turn it down
Music is playing in the air; the air takes it away-its incalescence.
But I can still hear the air, it makes me wonder….
Where is the music?
And do I need to hear it all the time?
May be air was quieter, may be the music didn’t make sense.
Voices haggling for a price of acceptance, eyes looking for an eye to share the view.
One lonely pair of eyes turns away from the concoction, they seek indifference.

“Give me negligence, grant me ignorance!”
“Wash my pride down with those un-caring looks”
“Tell me that I do not deserve a second thought, save the first”
Break me down to bits, so I could see how many pieces constitute my whole.
Let me be the broken-me, and not the compromised-me for this evening.
The floating red in my concepts of white yearns for erasure, yearns for freedom.

Say that you would just like to leave, and say that you don’t want me to question.
Say that I could sit here for as long as you don’t care.
Say that this space is bigger than you and me, bigger than this moment for it will pass but the space will stay.
The mouth might ache, but the smile will stay.
“Smile, lonely one, feel good that you are alone”
“Smile, and say to yourself you still prefer the silence to the sound of music,

Music that lost its sense of time a while back,
in a moment when I looked away and you still thought I was looking.

Turn it down and lose the innocence, now.


I thought you had forgotten the things that I still remember…..I m still alive…..what you left in me was a sense of belonging…a feeling that screams here is the mirror that you see yourself in right here right now, this moment is mine, and it was mine a few hours back too….a look at the branch that could dissolve all the ifs and buts of life into a tainted mix of oblivion and it would slowly all go down the throat like a lump of curiosity. It would all pass, like the night does, and the day will be no surprise either. All of me and all of you would be a hazy concoction that would look see-through if seen with a belief that we are one. Would I catch a mouthful of sky if I throw my arm stretched like desire? If things would pass like the passing train over an aged bridge, would time count the tears? Run over the insouciance, and tread on the grass that would not divide the green from wet or dry. Look so hard that you lose the view. Time-that dries with wax on an undying DNA of heartfelt love in an hour of loneliness, loneliness felt like the way wax feels on drying over dead skin, it could not go any further, it could jus stay unless the skin wished to be reborn as alive.
Perhaps there was nothing to say, perhaps words just escaped the freezing point and melted, slowly drizzled down. There is just a faint remembrance now, like illegible remains of a wiped out blackboard. Telling a story was easy, leave a message and wink like you would never remember, and it was all impossibly real.
Somewhere between the passing of night and the arrival of day, someone died on the street and it all crashed down like a pack of cards. But the sun still rose, no signs of guilt, the sky looked a shade lighter to make up for the added darkness. Slowly I shed a tear and said, Good Morning, it's another day!
This is right through the middle of the eyes that something escapes the brain's intelligence.
It is a grain of belief that belies all logic, and transcends into faith. So for the sleep that missed me by an inch of fortune, better luck next time.

Like it the way you want the flowers to bloom on an unhappy rainy day, they would not have rain gear from the rain, they would be drowned and they would be, surprisingly, happy. Like flowing down of thoughts is the same as dirtying of this page with words. I feel this way and then I turn around and you grow indifferent when I am just born to the innocence, then it rains and everything is back at where it never was, because it never rained before and it was the first time that it rained, but you wouldn't know, for you never saw the rain before the way it always was....a falling-down of drops.....you always saw it as tears, sometimes a dagger for killing of sun, or may be a blanket of clouds....but in the end of the day, it remains an established fact that it is rain which means nothing but an assortment of drops falling form the heavens.....

Digest.