It’s a play. It says the things. Who will say the things?

There comes a time when every producer must, you know, produce. It ain’t an easy thing to do. It involves *cringe* work. And *cringier cringe* organising. Frankie is currently a small ball that sporadically squeaks, “Oh my Steve what have I done?” When pressed on the matter, Frankie screamed, “WHO IS STEVE?!” Subsequently, she returned to a catatonic state. Luckily Margaret has the temperament to not only deal with paperwork, emails, and other businessy things; she somehow manages to tolerate working with a neurotic creative type.

The task: get eight people, mostly strangers on the internet, to be in the same place at the same time, loads of times. Several times a week, in fact. For over a month. To play a tedious game of make believe where the words never change but the hesitation dies. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said.

The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said. The things are said.

The same things are said a lot. It’s the most boring thing in the world… until it isn’t.

We are currently in the process of finalising our cast for Hypnagogism. There do be talent! We will keep you posted 🙂

Side note: does it count as an article to write, “The things are said,” one hundred and seven times?

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