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description of the life of a lighting designer, and their relation to the world on stage. |
The lighting board operator changes the tone once again. Click. A warm tinted glow stretches over the body, the eyes, the heart. Comfort shines through, and the strawberry hue flows through my veins, Glides through my brain, and my soul goes numb with pleasure. Click. A Glacier-blue epidemic freezes over my world, and the blood in my veins stops cold. Comfort disintegrates into fear, and numbing pleasure turns into numbing sorrow. My soul hibernates, and my heart cries. Click. Numbness gives way to greed, and superficial success lingers on the breath that once reeked of strawberry scented roses and luscious locks of tranquility. A landscape of pale, desolate green shrivels into withered white, and all emotion is buried, left for dead. Click. A faint flicker, a match lights, and bright orange erupts over the desolate landscape. Withered up grass goes up into a wildfire of peachy destruction. Once again life burns bright, however malignant, however destructive. At least it’s alive. Appearing from the shadow of the lighting booth, our masked god gazes down on the stage, and with a slight smile, casts down a vast, perpetual darkness with the click of a switch and the turn of a knob. Click. |