Something ends. The little stage, where once stringed, roughed, and mantled moppets danced, blackens and battens. Even after all have gone home to their kittens and placemats the stage remains. A tableau. Symbolizing what lingers when all the sounds of smiles have faded and all that was once created have returned to their place on the inside. There is meaning in what lingers. Even if all that remains is a goddamn briefcase, packed full of the self-described dregs of one drunk’s mind.
And here we find ourselves at part five, the end of our search for Archibald Crouton. With no real knowledge of the man himself. This isn’t the first time he has left a bare-black stage for the unexpected eye to wonder about. And what meaning do we find this time? Perhaps that is up to each reader to determine. For the holder of the case, it is nursery rhyme. Honest themes about the very real pain of life.
And what do we leave to be found? One last tableau. Two plays painted in such a caring manner it is easy to understand them as the innocent product of an inquisitive mind. A boy, really, skinning his first rabbit.
So, our dear back-out prince, your stage is dark.
Filth: The Writings of Archibald Crouton, Part IV
Filth: The Writings of Archibald Crouton, Part III
Filth: The Writings of Archibald Crouton, Part II
Filth: The Writings of Archibald Crouton, Part I