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The Commute

by Andrew Taylor

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1.
Mo[u]rning 04:19
[Flat 49, Sealock Warehouse, Burt Place on Cardiff Bay, 8.00am the 16th of June 2004] This morning I am mourning, just a morning without you here. The start of another working day, how the fuck can you take this carry on? When my wife is another’s lover. Now we must carry on with this ‘Carry On’ movie. He is her agent provocateur; I am the office girl’s voyeur; All I want is a new employer; all she needs is a good lawyer. There are no more lovers these days, how the fuck can you take this (shitty) carry on. (I’d like to get the milk white skin of the office girl underneath the covers!) Now we must carry on with this ‘Carry On’ movie. Without you here it’s just a morning, this morning I am mourning you.
2.
Commute 05:17
[The driver's seat of the number two bus, heading eastbound on Newport road, 8.45am.] Rain pummels British Leyland windows because we don’t strike anymore. Gloomy faces stare back through glass windows, moth-eaten coach seats and tangerine décor. And that is all… The wheels on the bus go round and round and round down and round and down and fucking round and down and down round and round and round and down and round and down and fucking round and round and round and down and…all fucking day long. Kitchen sink drudgery in the land of poor thuggery, this is England and it owes us nothing more. But it will always take something because we don’t care anymore. Headphones moan overthrown by the dulcet tones of droning engines. This is the final stop.
3.
Dataflow 05:09
When your wife still refuses you, and she’s got no excuses to, When your ego’s covered in bruises, because the dog you bet on looses. When she wants to complicate, hand you the spoon and domesticate, And all you want to do is just master…the art of conversation. There’s a place you can go, Beyond the streams of dataflow, Where your stimulation is an Internet simulation, Your old existence was an imitation. Are you content with the content of your life? Feel contempt for the dissent of your wife? Then come and ascend all the torments of your life, Come and join us on ‘Second Life’. Terms and conditions apply.
4.
[The customer service department of the Motsom and Wells insurance brokerage firm, Newport road in Grangetown Cardiff, 9.05am.] In an open plan office you can hide your financial losses. But in the pokey old kitchenette you can disguise your lunchbox instead. What does the world need with another customer service assistant? Probably nothing…but it’s my job. In an open plan office you must be very cautious. But in the pokey old kitchenette you must not punch your co-worker’s head. Now the boss he wants a word, well you can now be assured there’s gonna be some trouble up ahead. We’re not people we’re simply overheads.
5.
Photocopier 04:26
[Opposite the Konica Minolta Bizhub c450 photocopier, in the customer service department of the Motosom and Wells insurance brokerage firm, Newport road in Grangetown Cardiff, 11.30am.] Our eyes meet sending cheques on the office photocopier, mine to Zurich yours to Bratislava. What is this old pervert after? This old crone is old enough to be my father. The ink is smeared, we’re out of toner, this cheque is smeared, we’re out of toner. The selenium blinds my eyes. Like moons that waned in painted skies. With you I am electro-ecstatic. With you I am chronically asthmatic. Don the ‘Old Spice’ you can’t ignore me when I offer you a tea or coffee. His vicious odor makes my throat scratch and cough, this coffee’s stale that milk’s gone off. You are like ‘Nurofen’ you sooth my aching mind. He is my migraine that makes me sick and blind. This feeling inside you arouse… Would you stop looking down my blouse! I’ll take this to a sexual harassment tribunal if you continue. Would you like to get a drink sometime just me and you?
6.
CEO 03:37
[Inside the office of the acting head of customer service relations and strategical redeployment, in the Motosom and Wells insurance brokerage firm, Newport road in Grangetown Cardiff, 14.30pm.] The CEO wants to upgrade locations; this doesn’t mean you’re fired. We just need to manage expectations, I understand your frustration, but when you think properly it’s a win win situation. It’s a paradigm shift but I am confident you’re gonna rise to the challenge. You know in life there are no accidents. Now don’t be angry don’t think bleak, you’ve still got till the end of the week. Your CV says you’re a team player, but you work well as an individual, But you’re no longer an individual round here
7.
Gary 04:19
[The kitchenette between the customer service and credit control departments, of the Motsom and Wells insurance brokerage firm, Newport road in Grangetown Cardiff, 4.30pm.] When Gary, all tawny teeth and Calvin Kline specs, a mix of designer haircuts and bad breath, The stench of man somewhat masking his allure, caught between the haute couture and sublimely vulgar. Asks me to a drink I think there are no lonelier depths to sink, To go out and not care, or to ponder on lovers unaware in a home with a wife that doesn’t care? Caught between lonely beds and hard liquor dance halls, Internet romance publican’s last call, dreaming of fucking with a hooker in a brothel. Wife that doesn’t know I’m there or violet that does not care?
8.
EDL 03:32
[At the upstairs bar of the O'Neill's public house, St John's street in the high street arcade in Cardiff centre, 7.30pm.] Shouted conversations with a pain in the ass, mixed with Stella versions of a day that runs past. There is no room for blue-sky thinking, just broken smiles and all night drinking. Gary gestures and I see just ahead, there’s an EDL man with a drink at the bar moonshine bouncing of his head. And the boys all say: “poor me, pour me, poor me another drink.” I knock into someone’s drink and before I could think there’s an EDL man with sledgehammers for hands, launches his fists in the direction of my glands. But I bob and weave when the hoodlum cries, and before you could say “saturated fat!” I shove a pork scratching in his eye.
9.
Sirens 03:36
[On the main dance floor of the Oceana night club, Greyfriars road in Cardiff centre, 11.55pm.] Beats hang over dancing stomachs, plummet and hit you in the face, this ain’t a dance floor it’s a race. Disgrace yourself because all tomorrow’s parties are over. Alcopop alchemy with false biochemistry, when the bottom of a glass is all you have, you dance and grab and leer…and advance. With nothing but four four beats and wild romance.
10.
Kebbab 04:44
[At the hotplate counter of Tony's fish, chip, and kebab house, 41-42 Caroline street in Cardiff centre 3.15am.] Reconstituted meat made of canine teeth and baby’s feet, looks bad enough to eat I like to lick it off the tarmac when I throw up in the street. Sweating on a stick, room full pricks, mouth full of tricks licks polystyrene quick. And a salad bar that looked like it’d never seen the sun. Boys and girls drooling at the mouth, you wanna scream you wanna shout at the shit in a tray merchants offering tomato sauce flatbread divergents. Scene unfurling, swirling, that hurling sensation in the pit of your stomach.
11.
Taxi 03:34
[At the central station taxi rank, at the south end of St. Mary's street in Cardiff centre, 3.30am.] Hello fella! Where’s it too? You’re not going to be sick are you? I’m not going there this time of night, you’ll have to pay upfront alright? Town’s gone to shit…the problem with this country is…that seatbelt don’t fasten! Cheer up it may never happen. I’m not a racist but! The wife left me…slut! Coming over here! Stealing our jobs! This country’s going to the dogs! Been down the lap-dancing club, Poles on poles is how immigration goes. Last night I seen a fella stabbed over a fucking kebab Your destination…sir…haven’t you anything smaller?
12.
Penelope 04:26
[Flat 49 Sealock Warehouse, Burt place on Cardiff Bay, 3.45am, 17th June 2004.] Where are we? Where have you been? You never tell me… What don’t I see? We are alone. You haven’t been home, you never come home, don’t want you home.

about

All the streets are grey. And the rows of new-labour-semis; detached from their utopian dream, hold within the lies and lives of professional couples and their adulterous schemes. These middle-ladies and mondeo-gents commute the gauntlets through acid showers, all despondency, broken brollies, and Marks and Spencer’s trousers. Worked to indifference in quadrangle temples of concrete; five floors of utilitarian desk space and an unbroken truth: ‘that there is nothing left in this void but un-boiling kettles, broken photocopiers, and a corporate noose’. One more drink and it’ll be fine, one more drink to feel alive. And then home, where sleep breathes eternal, and a broken shadow gnaws on the un-soiled bed-sheets, and all the streets remain ever grey.

credits

released November 3, 2015

Ulysses - Ali Al-Talib
Penelope - Bryony Doyle
Office Girl - Jessica Cale
Ad Man - Rhys Morris
Bus Driver - Dan Wyn Jones
CEO - Nathan Dearden
Instruments - Andrew Taylor

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Andrew Taylor Cardiff, UK

Andrew is an English composer/performer currently based in Cardiff Wales where he is currently studying for a PhD in composition under Dr Robert Fokkens. His music is currently concerned with exploring ideas such as contemporary modes of communication and power distribution; the use of genre signification; and the idea and practice of song writing. ... more

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