![]() A shout of "One!" indicates the ball should be thrown to first base.Official scorekeepers assign a number from 1 to 9 to each position on the field in order to record the outcome of each play in their own shorthand.We're coming up on the end of the hall.0–9 0 "Oh and. Naturally, you can customise these sounds to fit whatever specifications you like. VISIBLE: It will become louder as you approach the elevator. With echolocation, I can suggest the contours of your surroundings. VISIBLE: I have hundreds of unique applications for the visually impaired. If you do this, if you just take a walk and come back, I will let you sulk for the rest of the day. Just take a walk down the hall and come back.ĭEDE: You won't be by yourself. Would you like a demo?ĭEDE: Well too bad, you’re under my care and you'll do what I say.ĭEDE: Don’t act like one. I'm equipped with a wide variety of navigational features for the visually impaired. VISIBLE: You’ve got it! I'm happy we get to work together Tom. VISIBLE: You must be Thomas or do you prefer Tom? VISIBLE: Please give me just a moment to access your profile. VISIBLE (an American voice, delivery almost human but not quite): Hello, I am visible. And the back of dark skin - the back of dark skin. East of a two century old bascule Bridge in a land built on blood. Near ruined stone mason city in the south east of land built on granite. Enid Blyton, the old Woolwich library and the yearn for a home I grow further and further away from.īELINDA (disappearing into the distance): I come from these people of god…īELINDA (voice returns to the foreground): I come from south of the river Runde. Lovely from afar and dry to touch, the joke of wet British summers, from freezing after school in busy town centres.īELINDA: I come from the remnants of hair gel, braids down to my knees and elbows greased by Vaseline. I have become the brown of autumn leaves. I come from south of the river Thames east of a two century old bascule bridge in a land built on blood and the back of dark skin. Placed my hand on my little excited heart and sang through gritted teeth. I come from these people of God who cradle their faith close to their chest with tired but sturdy arms.īELINDA: Naturalised - naturalisation - naturalisationīELINDA: Natural… lies. A tongue I can never forget but not always speak I come from those. I grow further and further and further and further.įor a home I grow further away from. and elbows greased by Vaseline.īELINDA: Enid Blyton. The remnants of hair gel, braids down to my kneesīELINDA. freezing after school in busy town centres. I have become the brown of autumn leaves, lovely from afar but dry to touch. East of a two century old bascule bridge in a land built on blood and the back of dark skin - the back dark skin.īELINDA: They say ‘naturalised’- naturalisation.īELINDA: I come from south of the River Thames.Įast of a two century old bascule Bridge in a land built on blood and the back of dark skin. near ruined stone mason city in the south east - of land built on graniteīELINDA : Zimbabwe - Zimba - Zimbabwe - ZimbaīELINDA: I come from south of the River Thames. South x South East - by Belinda ZhawiīELINDA ZHAWI: I come from south of the river Runde.īELINDA. VOICE: Feathers they rustle, words fade out, the old world burning, the phoenix - dying. VOICE: And the sun rising above sets fire to the twigs. PHOENIX: You should not be held by me alone. Because for every child trampled upon, yes for every child lost, your heart will die a little too. Let your voice not be silenced and your rage not be dismissed. PHOENIX: Let your tenderness not be mistaken for obedience. And if you love, it will not be in order to possess. Because the dreams I will instil do not speak of conquest. Your wings I moulded with the greatest care. PHOENIX: You see your heart I fashioned from a bit of mine. Show you how to be strong, but not in order to dominate.Īnd if you play the trumpet, it will not be for the battlefield. I will teach you how to smile, but not in service of men. ![]() PHOENIX: You will not turn away your face. PHOENIX (doubled up, like a creature from a myth or legend): My child, my child, you will be born out of the powder that is my ashes and you shall be child of your mother. the Phoenix sings and her words they travel widely over forests burned and oceans smeared.įaint yet clear they travel, only barely to be discerned. Her long neck tilted backwards, her feathers sweet with moisture warmed by the rising sun, she looks down, opens her beak… VOICE: Out of Paradise she flew - her final flight - into the land of men - with eyes that witnessed otherwise, a vision, un-obscured. VOICE (otherworldly): Curled upon the pile of twigs she has laid her body swan-like. The Phoenix's Last Song - by Sami El-Enany
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