With that further adieu, please welcome to the stage, the beautiful, the Ode to God.
Be close and call me fast, this magic spell you cast. This is lovey-oh-oh-zoo.
When you kiss me, heaven sighs, and though I close my eyes, I sing lovey-oh-oh-zoo.
When you press me to your heart, I'm in a world apart, a world where roses bloom.
And when you speak, angels sing from above, everyday words seem to turn into love songs.
Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be loving on rose.
La-la-la-la...
That was so lame. It's so lame. It's like the lamest, most useless emotion ever.
I mean, which other emotion makes you sing la repeatedly when you're teaching in front of a group of people?
Hello, hello. I'm Fiona Scarlett. Thank you for coming to see my show Unloved Songs, all about the turbulent breakups that I've never had.
Because honestly, love, it's dangerous. People do crazy shit online.
I mean, it makes them throw away their money like to a last year's iPhone, causes them to denounce family, friends, even themselves, and where does it get them?
Dead. I mean, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, dead. Deboeva and Sartra, dead.
Redbuffler and Scarlett O'Hara, fictional, but they had it been alive by now they'd be dead, wouldn't they?
Can I have a show of hands? Just thought I'd put some audience participation. I know you love it.
Show of hands, who's ever been in love? Yeah, great. Dead. Dead, dead, dead.
Anyone with a hand up, I'm so sorry, but give it 80 years. Dead.
Perhaps not the little babies, hopefully not the bugs in the audience.
But yes, because that's the default, isn't it? I mean, we're going to lose that eventually anyway, so why build yourself up with false hope?
I mean, that's what love is. It's just a false fucking hope that everything's going to turn out all Disney when really shit's just doomed.
The shitty part for me, though, is because I don't believe in love, I don't commit. And when you don't commit, you don't get yourself embroiled in steamy love affairs.
And that's when it comes to the inevitable un-broiling, it's an issue because my breakup stories are pretty lacklustre to say the least.
And when you consider yourself an actor, that's shit, because I want to feel that irrational pain, and it makes me put out my eyes with rental fuckers,
and ends with how's the two I am, and then takes him to take me back in three, and just purely so that I can draw in the experience for my next role.
But I think it's a testament to my well-balanced personality, but me and my boys have always parted ways on good terms.
So I thought tonight I'd cheat. I thought I'd present to you three fictional breakup stories that would add far more kudos to my little experiences.
Tonight you are going to meet Josephine, Gwen, and Desdemona, the three women who have loved fucker than I ever will.
I'll give you an example of a typical Fiona Skull breakup. A little bit more audience, but hello. Can you help me out?
We've just come to the end of a six-year, obviously very sexual relationship, and I just need you to inform me that it's over, that we need to break up.
It's not you.
Yeah, yeah, that's fine, that's fine. I mean, I really wasn't that into you anyway. I know it's been a six-year thing, you know.
There ain't no you, Sidney. Sidney's been wondering why, babe. You don't know by now. And there ain't no you, Sidney. Sidney's been wondering why, babe.
It don't matter anyhow when the rooster crows at the break of dawn. Look out your window and overgo. You're the reason I'm traveling on.
But don't think twice, it's all right. Did you want to keep the goldfish because I'm in a posh invited? And it ain't no you, Sidney. Turn it on your light, babe.
That light you never know and it ain't no you, Sidney. Turn it on your light, babe. I'm on the dark side of the road and I wish there was something you would do or say to try to make me change my mind and stay by.
We never did too much talking anyway. So don't think twice, it's all right. Is it too early to change my status to sing along with us?
And it's so long, honey, babe. Where I'm going, I can't tell, but I goodbyes too good a word, babe. So I'll just say very well. I ain't saying you treat me unkind, but you could've done better, but I don't mind.
You just kind of wasted my precious time. So don't think twice, it's all right. And don't think twice, it's all right. And don't think twice, it's all right.
Oh, that stupid Fiona girl.
What's she know about love?
Nothing.
When I love, I love properly none of these selfish, self-love anglophone bullshit. Oh, you have to love yourself before you can love another.
I hate myself. When I love, I love properly none of these selfish, self-love anglophone bullshit.
There are some traitors in this world that love beautiful actresses, hateful cowards that steal your love and give you m*** in return. F***, f***. But we think we're in it for love and then we obtain love.
This paru, she took my car, she took my money, she took all of my baguette, and she swept into the night like a bat, never to be seen again.
And she searched the ends of the earth for an almost clementine.
Acola, Jezebel.
Jezebel, Jezebel.
This demon who stole my heart, this angel who sought my tears, it was you.
Jezebel, it was you.
This tears of hope, this joys.
Jezebel, it was you.
Jezebel, it was you.
It was you who stole my heart, this angel who sought my tears, it was you who stole my heart, this angel who sought my tears, it was you.
Jezebel, it was you.
Jezebel, it was you.
Souvenait que l'angoisse finait, sont des êtres vivants, avec des yeux de mort, vibrant encore de passer.
Mon cœur est craimé d'obsession, il va en répétant. Tout enfant de moi n'aime pas ce mot que j'aime.
Ton nom, Jezebel, Jezebel.
Mais l'amour c'est anointi, tout s'est écroulé sur ma vie, et croiseur m'étient dans le bord de mon gueule. Jezebel, mais pour toi, je ferai la tour de la terre.
J'irai jusqu'à l'autre qu'ils ont fait en croyant, ça aurait bien, j'aurais pu.
Jezebel, Jezebel, Jezebel.
On s'est rencontrés cette semaine, mais la semaine prochaine, elle a disparu.
On s'est rencontrés.
Je ne l'entraide pas.
J'ai commencé à me tromper dans la même poche pour me prendre la même galère.
Et elle a commencé à me tromper.
The week two we were drinking together, and by week three we were sleeping together. By week five we had met each other's friends.
By week seventeen we were talking about moving in together, and by week twenty-one we had moved in together.
By week twenty-nine we had met all these families, and her mother told me her birthday present.
It was this scarf with these little bugs and little something, I don't know.
It was disgusting, but I like that she bought it for me.
By week thirty-three we had a dog called La Grand Bouffe.
By week thirty-nine we were thinking of flying to Vegas to get married.
But by week forty-five she had become withdrawn. By week forty-seven we were fighting with Sandy.
By week fifty she was leaving the house early and coming on round.
By week fifty-two she was gone.
By week thirty-nine we were thinking about moving to Vegas.
By week twenty-four we were thinking about getting married.
By week thirty-five we were thinking about moving to Vegas to get married.
And my love for you, and your lost time, to know when you will forget those moments that you will sometimes forget why the heart of the boy doesn't leave me.
Don't leave me, don't leave me.
I will offer you the apple of the flower, a night of peace where you don't like me. I will dig the hole until you take my love, where you will cover your heart with gold and light.
I will make a diamond where love is in the dark, where love is in the dark where you will be.
Don't leave me, don't leave me.
I will make you understand and my sense is that you will understand. I will speak to you of those moments that you will sometimes forget why the heart doesn't leave me.
I will tell you the story of this king, who doesn't see death, who can meet you. Don't leave me, don't leave me.
We often have, yes, I have the fire of the old man, who believed too much.
It seems he was burned in the blazing sun, when the dawn came. And when the evening came, when the sky was green, the red and the black didn't move.
Don't leave me, don't leave me.
I will no longer cry, I will no longer speak, I will hide from you, to look at you, to see and to smile, to listen to you, to sing and to cry.
Let me become the shadow of your shadow, the shadow of your hand, the shadow of your dog.
Don't leave me, don't leave me.
Now it's a classic tale, isn't it the Jilted Wife?
We were never crazy in love, but we followed the time-honoured patterns of dating, marriage, babies.
We dished out our love in steady measures. We worked in partnership on some issues like how to manage the in-laws and clash on how to best raise the kids.
Dish it out, but then he started dishing it out to Janet from the counts, didn't he?
I came home early one day to what sounded like the Royal Australian Ballet rehearsing in our upstairs bedroom.
Funny, I thought. I don't remember the email informing me of the unlikely rehearsal location, but better venture upstairs and check.
Well, there was a certain amount of flexibility in what I discovered, although in choreography I have to say was far more literal than any of the contemporary performances I've seen at the State Theatre in Helsinki.
It hurt to see the time together, yes, of course it did, but I knew it was going to happen.
Maybe not with so many fleshy parts on display, but I knew I'd get a similarly confronting position thrust in my face.
I was in my own pages, and he kept dropping her name casually into conversation.
Oh, Janet this, Janet that. Stupid schmuck thought he was keeping things oh so covert, but honestly, he was about as subtle as an erection in speedos.
So in the inevitable Christmas party swung upon us again, I was curious to attend.
Beyond the usual hope that Martin's alcoholic boss would piss his pants during the Chris King Kringle ceremony like he did two years ago.
I wore red, that, yeah? Bright, bold, fire-truck red, prostitute.
More tits and arse than SBS at 1am.
It was a crass move that was transparent as a dress I was wearing, but it made me feel like I had some semblance of control over a situation that was fast-spiralling away from me.
He observes you from where he sits. You, it unwinds you. You lose your wits.
He ignites you with eyes of flame. You, it excites you. You like the game.
And I, in my chair, though I hardly see, I notice each innuendo. And I, in my chair, I'm stricken with fear at seeing the end of something.
He out to win you. He rules with style. You, you continue to coily smile.
He, with his quarry, unhunting ground. You, only sorry that I'm around. And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak, I see just how well he's doing.
And I, in my chair, I'm trying to hide the dread that I feel inside.
He, like a gypsy, he serenades. You, you grow tipsy. Your love cascades. He, his eyes flatter. Your glances touch. You, you now chatter. A bit too much.
And I, in my chair, though I hardly speak, my heart's on the verge of crying. And I, in my chair, my heart understand my love is now changing.
The dolls, the long division of possessions and memories, coordinating the weekend visits with the kids and their school pickups like some exhausted fellow.
They're home with fellow again. Janet used to be a dancer.
You know that saying so close, you either fight or fuck. We were so toxic creatures. We'd fight and fuck and break up and fight and fuck and the whole thing just cycled like some twisted merry-go-round.
I met him when I was 19. He rode a motorbike. He rode right past me one day and he splashed water all over the dress I was wearing and then he nearly broke his face jumping off to say sorry.
Then on, we were in time together for two rollercoaster years. No one can live like that. Part of me hated him so much and he hated me and we took it out on each other in the best, most violent way possible.
We were one and the same. I'd get away all too steep when he did. If he hadn't returned, if he and Eurydice had walked out of Haiti's unscathed, they wouldn't have lasted three months without ripping each other apart with love.
She would have beaten him to death with his look and they would have strangled us up with baby chains. Or worse, they would have lived a married life. I mean honestly, who wants to see Tristan and his older haggling over a wooden souvenir mask and a holiday in Bali?
He'd be like, oh Ruby, I'm Juliette. Do you know our audience? I'm fairly few. It's not what's fated. When you give all of yourself to another person, you cannot exist beyond that one. Great love cannot last.
I know people say what happened at the river that day was the tragedy, but where would Shakespeare be moved about tragedy? I ask you that.
It wasn't tragic. It was freedom. It was an act of violence because true love is fucking violent.
Under here you just take my breath away. Under here the water flows over my head. I can hear the little pigeons.
Under here whispering your most terrible name. Under here they've given me starfish for I. And your head is a big red balloon.
Under here your huge hand is heavy on my chest. Under here your lovely voice retreats. And yeah, you just take my breath away.
Look at my hair. See how it weighs and weighs so under here I have such pretty hair. Silver it is.
And filled with silver bubbles. Under here my blood will be a clap. Under here my dreams are made of water. And yes, you just take my breath away.
Under here my pretty breath is a pile of time with stones. And I cannot breathe.
And tiny little fishes enter me. Under here I am made ready for you. And under here I am washed clean.
And I glow with the greatness of my hate for you.
That's it. That was a far more satisfying breakup story.
Not that I don't want to live any of those lives. I'm fucking sad, aren't I?
That's why my strategy is just to stay away from all of that shit. Because all's fair and love and war would I am a pacifist.
Thank you so much for coming into my show and love songs. Thank you so much to Mark Jones on the piano.
I hope you've enjoyed yourself. You've been a wonderful audience. I don't love you all. Good night.
Thank you.
