IN THE BEGINNING
C: Now class, who here can tell me what imagery, is?
C: Anyone at all?
Student 1: Isnít that a brand of perfume? Love, freedom, individuality, imagery, Calvin Klein.
C: No, but smelling is a type of imagery. Imagery is like words to describe feelings like smell, so that was almost right. Language that describes a smell is called olfactory imagery. Can anyone tell me what sense visual imagery describes?
Student 2: Ummm... looking at stuff?
C: Fo Shizzle.
Student 1: Ugh. Make him stop. I feel sick.
C: Oh, thatís organic imagery. In addition, sound imagery is called auditory, touch imagery is called tactile, and body imagery is called kinesthetic.
Student 2: I donít get it.
C: Then we will visit imagery THROUGH THE AGES!
Student 1: I feel that sick thing coming back again...
Connie enters, looking sad and hungry.
Con: If only I can diminish this sharp pang of hunger. When was the last time I feasted on the sweet flesh of mammoth? This stonewall cave is empty and I am malnourished. The dying embers of this fire hint of an old flame. The wood is running low. I remember the hunt beneath the lush, jade green trees. My muscles were tired, yet they were full of anticipation to pounce, and kill. The warm crimson blood melting in juxtaposition to the pure, new fallen snow. My spear through its head, innards falling out of the beast. A feast for my now-lost kin and me. A last roar.
A last fall. The only sound left is the wind ripping through and whistling through this barren canyon. I guess I will just have to wait...
T: Ah, what an afternoon in Greece. The chariot has long since grazed the pale sky.
N: I was waiting under the archway, jeered at by the aristocracy. What spite, to be the only Russian in all of Greece.
T: Better to be a foreign noble than a lowly peon of a peasant. Their sour odor could not be masked by a furlong of poppies.
N: Oh maple, you tickle me.
T: Well, sit down old friend. Surely, your bones must ache from the long journey across our native, rocky earth.
N: You grow such wonderful olive trees here. I smell the subtle nip that the oil brings. Those arduous peasants deserve some extra capital from us.
T: Capital?? To them?? I would rather brave a horde of humming wasps with gleaming swords attached to their heads in the deadly, circling rapids then give them any of my wages.
N: Surely, you can last one night without an opulent meal so they can have a monthís worth of bread.
T: I would vomit knowing my sustenance went to those filthy peasants where rabid mutts lick the blood from the butcherís off uneven, rocky pathways.
N: I guess thereís more use convincing Hermes to slow down, to knock down the largest mountain among the silver heralds of Olympus.
C: Yes, I am Zeus! Hail my might or face my wrath!!
T: Want to be Romans, then?
T: How doth thou, my fine page? In your presence, the nightingaleís sing their sweet melody to all the rolling hillsides.
Con: Bloody Hell! I got the plague, I did.
T: Mayhap it is just flu.
Con: Flu! My armís off since this morning .My buboes have been oozing dark pus, festering sores green with rot, dry mouth. Beautiful Mother England fading ever darker.
T: We will rest for today. No need to furnish your skill if you will not last until the end of the week. Wonít you accompany me to the Globe? We will buy a pillow, I am tired.
Connie passes out
Con: Isnít the plague contagious?
T: I read somewhere it was not. Not at all. Now come. I hear them starting, the fifes are sounding to begin. I smell the fresh fruit ripe by the midday sun.
Con: Mayhap I should just lieth here among the dry, orange leaves. My face is wet with perspiration. I am dead
T: Probably should not have shared the ale with her.
Chris Enters looking at feet. Sets down messenger bag and acoustic guitar
C: Oh. Man. I cannot believe she broke up with me. She is the only love I will ever have. Stares pensively ďAnd the plaster dented from your fists in the hall where you had your first kiss. Is deafening and keeping you from sleep. So this is incredible, starving, insatiable... Dashboard Confessional
N: Hey, Geoff, got out of your sepulcher of a room yet?
C: I was sitting on the bathroom floor. I smelled the sickening smell of cheap ammonia, felt a dead wind echo across my severed heartstrings.
N: Wow, that is so deep. I could get lost looking at those endless deep pools that are your eyes.
C: After a restless night, my ovaries hurt. My eyes burn like a thousand burning crosses. Thursday.
N: Last night I was at the Get up Kidís show. The minor notes rang sharp through the small auditorium. What did you do?
C: I was playing guitar on the tan, fine sand yesterday. I saw the sea sparkling like a million diamonds and heard the internal anguish of those watching the sunset alone. The fiery reds never seemed so depressing.
N:You know, there's a place of Ocean Avenue where I used to sit and talk with you...
C: We were both 16 and it felt so right. Sleeping all day.
N: Staying up all night?
C: Staying up all ni-hite.
C: I miss her scent, a sweet vanilla now scattered on my self-knitted Afghan.
N: Why are you so down? Cheer up, emo kid.
C: I am not even real! An emotionless kid named Chris is playing me in an imagery play.
N: Why donít you slit your wrists?
C: I had to sell my razor to pay for these glasses.
C: So you see, the caveman felt hungry, he used organic imagery. When the wind echoed through the dead canyon in the Stone Age, the sound you heard was described through auditory imagery. In Greece, the smell of olive oil to the Russian was described through olfactory imagery. The dogs tasting blood in the streets was described through gustatory imagery. The sweat on the face of the page was described through tactile imagery. The man of a trade in the Elizabethan time described his tired muscles through kinesthetic imagery. Also, the emo kids describing the ocean was visual imagery. You could see, feel, smell, hear, and sense how the scenes went. How the characters felt and what they had seen. Mmm... Imagery.
Student 1: I get it now.
Student 2: I still like the perfume.
C: Class dismissed.