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2004-01-07 - 5:40 p.m.

Life imitates art

About four years, we saw a production of Tennessee Williams's "Camino Real," a surreal piece about the edge of the waking world, the last outpost of hope on the edge of "terra incognita."

This was a startling play, and the production involved a guy in an egg dude costume running across the stage with streamers at several key points for reasons that completely escaped me.

Most of the play was a subtle tragedy, where each morning the streetcleaners carted off the corpses of reality's victims. And there was some symbolism involving mummy costumes that I forget. And Casanova turned up midplot.

(Camino means street in Spanish. Camino Royale is analogous to the American Main Street of Britian's High Street. Camino Real is the ugly truth beyond that.)


My team is headed to California next week for a couple days of meetings - and the hotel? It's on the Camino Real.

This can't be a good omen.


We huddle together for some dim communal comfort - and that's what passes for love on this terminal stretch of the road that used to be royal.
- Tennessee Williams, "Camino Real."

Scribble to Theo

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