Experiment.

On the verge of stretching out, back bent, willing, uncertain, a bit giddy, feet cold, looking at multi-shadowed hand on the page, insignificant, wondering about whether I am up to my part in the play, wondering whether I can finish half a grapefruit, curled, stomach uncomplainingly empty.

A bite to start the ripp'd peeling, small chunks not large, whiteness underneath detaches, taste of first bitter spray, use your fingertips, peel all before you start, juice all over the page (surprise!), a kiss to suck in runaway juices, pink bubbling waterness in translucent skin, take a piece from left or right (what a mess!), bite the top and open, drops burst one by one between teeth, trickle of sour sweet feeling, another piece, take out seeds with teeth, mission to finish, Indie Arie in my head ("Spread your wings and fly" (butterfly)), hands all sticky, scrape every last bit, scrape scrape scrape. Open up.

Experiment.

Full. Satisfied, pay attention to posture, I as Gloucester am a slave to the times, do not take much action nor utter many words. Evil and good, two sons whose identities remain hidden. Too innocent. Too noble.

Exaggeration, things I've never tried before, watching, a watcher, audience, I think I am too self-conscious. I have an idea of the visibility of emotion, but this belies the subtleties which make acting most real and poignant. The grape is a good tool, a partner, a foundation, regardless of how I act I can still eat, that is natural. I just don't express some of these feelings: noisily, with relish, cherishing... not of late anyways. A good release and experiment. Walking made actions more relaxed, something else to concentrate on. Eating is before the grape enters the mouth too - outer and inner, the mouth, abyss of no departure, playing outside where freedom still reigns, the grape makes the fateful trip. Some people being really serious, no smiles, then cackles and laughs ring out. We are still all playing a game, and it is fun. We are kids, playing with our food. Kissing and licking fruit in innocence, smacking lips, wagging hips. The grape is loathe to detach from its stem.