Thursday Again

I’m working on the staging for a musical stage review called “Atlantica, Pacifica & Trumpland” and I’ve got the first four musical numbers worked out, plus a little dialogue between, which is in iambic pentameter, the style and structure used famously by William Shakespeare, because I like the rhythm and it’s easier for the actors to memorize.

In “Atlantica, Pacifica & Trumpland,” the hero isn’t just one person. It’s the journey itself. But if we’re going classic mythic structure — your Odysseus, your Dorothy, your Frodo — I’d say:

Hugo is the hero.

Here’s why:

He’s the only character who walks through all three lands.
He doesn’t lead by force or title — he leads by presence, listening, and eventually, guidance.
He’s the bridge between data and soul, between rage and redemption.
He’s not flawless — he starts as a barista with big thoughts no one listens to. But he watches, learns, transforms.

He’s the one who says, in Act I:

“We fixed the world in moving parts.
Who needs joy when you can innovate?”

And by Act III, he’s barefoot, carrying a lantern, leading everyone out of the storm.

Hugo’s arc is the arc of awakening.
He doesn’t conquer.
He helps people arrive.

If you want to play a supporting hero, Chelsea’s redemption is powerful too. She starts rigid, skeptical — but she opens. She follows Hugo into the unknown. In a way, she’s the heart’s student.

Act I: Atlantica

Curtain up on Act I: ATLANTICA — the land of policies, profits, and perpetual productivity. The vibe is brisk, intellectual, fast-talking, and slightly stressed. Everyone’s optimized. Even the janitor’s got a think tank side hustle.

“Everything’s a Deal”

(big ensemble opener, lots of tight choreography with briefcases and tablets — think Chicago meets How to Succeed in Business) FULL DANCE ENSEMBLE

[VERSE 1 – LEAD (Chelsea Graph, economic analyst)]
🎶 Wake up at five, review the stats,
Profit reports and housing spats.
Lunch is a merger, dinner’s a bitch—
This country runs like a railroad switch. 🎶

[ENSEMBLE – snapping fingers, spinning chairs]
🎶 Everything’s a deal, a plan, a scheme,
Built on caffeine and a policy dream.
Shake that hand, secure that loan,
Your net worth is your cornerstone! 🎶

[VERSE 2 – Mayor Dot, striding stage left, tablet in hand]
🎶 Zoning laws and climate charts,
We fix the world in moving parts.
We regulate, we speculate—
Who needs joy when you innovate? 🎶

[ENSEMBLE – call-and-response with briefcase flips]
🎶 You got data?
—We got graphs!
You got feelings?
—We cut that in half!
Productivity’s our holy grail—
Your soul can wait, we’ve got emails! 🎶

[BRIDGE – Hugo the barista-philosopher, smooth jazz groove]
🎶 We’re building better, stronger, faster,
But something’s cracking in the plaster…
Beneath the glass and rising steel,
Is there a place to stop and feel? 🎶

[BIG CHORUS – everyone in sync]
🎶 Everything’s a deal, a game, a bid,
Even the dreams we had as a kid.
Optimize, prioritize,
Smile for the market while your spirit dies! 🎶

[CLOSING TAG – solo echo from Hugo]
🎶 …But what if the best deal is to just be real? 🎶

(Blackout. A single red “Trumpland Border Patrol” sign flickers on as Act I ends…) Follow spot on CHELSEA as she wanders downstage.

CHELSEA:
The mood has dropped three points since quarter’s end.
Engagement’s flat. The charts no longer smile.
We face a slope in warmth and in delight—
A loss of joy for every gigabyte.

[She glances toward Hugo, who tends a bonsai on a side-table, and speaks gently to it.]

HUGO:
My bonsai tree will grow in stillness, small and green and wise.
You do not strive, yet always reaching, reaching toward the unseen skies.

CHELSEA (to others):
The numbers warn of soft white light.
There is a weight where once we scaled with ease.
We seek performers, not poetic minds—
Sweet Hugo’s soul no longer fits our lines.

[She gestures. Hugo steps forward quietly, hands tucked behind him.]

CHELSEA:
You warm this space — a candle in the frost.
But warmth alone has value only when it costs.
Your kindness lingers… but it’s out of phase.
We run on time, and you slow down our precious days.

HUGO (after a pause):
Then I shall go, and bless this place as past.
A kinder world may wait beyond this glass.
You taught me polish, posture, drive, and pace—
But not the peace that fills an empty space.

[He gently sets down a steaming cup beside her, and places his hand briefly on the bonsai pot.]

HUGO (cont’d):
The gears still turn, the graphs may seek the sky—
But I shall follow where the questions lie.

[He turns. Lights above his station dim. The office hums on, indifferent. Only Chelsea watches as he leaves.]

CHELSEA (quietly):
The world you seek… was not in this design.
But if you find it — leave a sign.

[Hugo exits. A soft tone plays — like wind over wires. The first seeds of Act II stir in the wings.]

TRANSITIONAL SCENE: From Atlantica to Trumpland (Full Staging Version)

Setting: A hybrid space — sleek and modern at first, with metallic desks, glowing graphs, and corporate austerity. Gradually overtaken by flickering lights, fog, and rusted-out Americana as Trumpland emerges.

[Lights up: cold white/blue wash over Chelsea Graph at stage left. She stands alone, holding a glowing tablet. Quiet, rhythmic electronic drone underscoring begins — ticking like a metronome.]

CHELSEA (spotlit):
I rise before the sun, to count and chart,
Each figure feeds the hunger of the state.
But numbers now slip through my careful hands—
The data bends, the metrics fall apart.
They do not want the truth, they want a tale,
A villain fit for torches and for flags.

[Enter Hugo from stage right. He moves slowly, holding a crumpled paper. Lights dim slightly to soft gold.]

HUGO (approaching Chelsea):
The headlines twist. The mouths repeat the spin.
They’ve turned the dial to rage and sealed the case.
Their faith is not in facts, but in the flame.
They want a world that feels, not one that thinks.

[A low heartbeat bass begins to rise. Background projections flicker: graphs distorting, newsfeeds scrambling, tweets dissolving into smoke.]

CHELSEA (softly, stepping forward):
Then all we built is scaffold, not a home.
We engineered the gears, but not the grace.
Our logic stands—yet something still has snapped.

[Ambient lights flicker red for the first time. A distant voice chants something unintelligible. Shadows stretch across the stage floor like tendrils.]

[Enter from upstage center: three silhouettes. Red backlight silhouettes Big Dan, Tammy Jean, and a child with a blank flag. They move slowly, boots echoing. Lights shift to amber and rust. Drone deepens.]

TAMMY JEAN (stepping into a side pool of light):
You drew your maps and left us in the dark,
Dismissed our towns with graphs and policy.
But fire remembers what the cold forgets—
And now that fire knocks upon your door.

[Spotlight widens. Big Dan steps in, rolling his shoulders like a boxer.]

BIG DAN (low and strong):
You claimed the truth but choked us with your terms,
Your rules, your rules, your never-ending rules.
You called us names, then wondered why we roar.
Well, now the roar is comin’ for your gates.

[The child steps into a white spotlight, center stage. Everyone freezes as the child speaks.]

CHILD (soft, almost sung):
They said we’re free… but only if we kneel.

[Silence. Chelsea turns slowly toward Hugo. Their hands meet. Music pauses.]

CHELSEA:
Then teach me how to feel, not how to fix.
Let down this wall I built to keep you out.

HUGO:
The wind has changed. The center will not hold.
The storm is close — but still, there is a path.

[The Trumpland figures begin circling Chelsea and Hugo slowly, like wolves around a campfire. A drumbeat begins — hollow, tribal, mechanical. Red lighting pulses with the beat.]

[“TRUMPLAND WELCOMES YOU” flickers to life overhead in a busted neon marquee. One final alarm ping sounds, off-kilter.]

[Suddenly, the movement freezes. A voiceover, disembodied and echoing, as the lights narrow to blood-orange slits across the floor.]

VOICEOVER/NARRATOR (offstage):
When structure cracks, the shadows rise to feast.
When reason sleeps, then tyrants come to call.
From boardroom calm to chaos in the streets—
You’ve left the realm of order… welcome all.

[Blackout. A deep, distorted American anthem motif plays in reverse as the first chords of Trumpland’s opening number begin behind the curtain.]

Act II: TRUMPLAND

Everything’s paranoid, over-patriotic, and echoing with slogans. The mood is hot, twitchy, and a little too loud. Red floodlights. The sound of distant boots. A man yells, then everyone claps.

Let’s open with a punchy, escalating group number titled:

“Everyone’s the Enemy”

(Marching beat, scattered spotlight flashes, ensemble dressed like shoppers and soldiers all at once — think Les Misérables meets Springtime for Hitler) FULL DANCE ENSEMBLE

[VERSE 1 – Lead: Big Dan, former trucker turned militia captain]
🎶 I used to trust the man next door,
Now I keep my gun by the pantry floor.
My dog don’t bark, he surveils the fence—
‘Cause everything’s suspicious nonsense! 🎶

[ENSEMBLE – stomping, pointing fingers randomly]
🎶 Everyone’s the enemy, don’t let your guard down,
She might be a commie, he’s deep-state clown!
Don’t trust the news, don’t trust the town—
Just trust the voice that screams the loudest sound! 🎶

[VERSE 2 – Tammy Jean, beauty queen turned preacher-influencer]
🎶 They’re poisoning skies and fixing the vote,
Putting microchips in your breakfast oats!
Keep your thoughts on a short, tight leash—
Big Brother’s coming in a Biden disguise, capisce? 🎶

[CHORUS – Full Ensemble]
🎶 So build a wall, then build one more,
Seal your fridge and bolt the door!
Shout your truth till the truth gets tired,
Then burn the books and say you’re inspired! 🎶

[BRIDGE – Creepy whisper-chant under flickering lights]
🎶 Who can you trust?
—Not your friends.
What’s in the wind?
—Global trends.
The deep state sleeps beneath your bed…
(Chant fades into distorted pledge of allegiance…)** 🎶

[BIG FINISH – Everyone sings in forced smiles, waving flags too fast]
🎶 Land of the fear, home of the rage,
Turn the page — but stay in the cage!
We march in time, we shout with pride—
‘Cause if you’re not with us… you’d better hide! 🎶

(Lights cut. Silence. Then — a soft wave sound fades in… and gentle Pacifica light begins to glow.)

TRANSITIONAL SCENE: From Trumpland to Pacifica (Full Staging)

Setting: The wreckage of Trumpland. Flags tattered. Loudspeakers shorted out. Fires burn low. Stage littered with broken signs, gas masks, spent megaphones. The light is raw and tired — reds fading into a tentative dawn.

[Lights up: Big Dan sits alone on a metal crate, holding his hat. The stage is eerily quiet. [FOGGER] smoke drifts. Tammy Jean leans against a wall nearby. The child is asleep under a blanket made from a flag.]

BIG DAN (low, weary):
The storm is done, but left no peace behind.
The shouting stopped… and now I hear the wind.
It speaks not of conquest, but of loss.
A silence built of things we did not know.

TAMMY JEAN (stepping forward):
We scared the world, and thought it made us strong.
But fear, once fed, just feeds itself again.
And we are hollow now, from all the noise.
My voice is hoarse, and I don’t know the tune.

[Enter Hugo, now wearing simpler clothing — a long scarf, bare feet, carrying a lantern. The light inside it pulses softly. He walks slowly, barefoot across the ash-covered stage.]

HUGO (gentle, clear):
The rage has burned. The soil still lives beneath.
The road is not destroyed — it has transformed.
The map you followed ends… but not the way.
Beyond this ruin lies a gentler shore.

[The lights shift from gray-red to a soft blush. The sounds of distant water, wind chimes, and bamboo flutes. A faint birdsong. Big Dan stands slowly.]

BIG DAN:
Is there a place where no one needs to fight?

HUGO:
There is a place where no one needs to win.

TAMMY JEAN (quietly, to the sky):
Then let us walk. And if it is a dream…
I’d rather dream than scream myself to death.

[The child wakes. Takes Hugo’s hand. All five figures — Dan, Tammy, the child, Hugo, and Chelsea (who enters silently) — begin to walk together.]

[The lights brighten gradually as the broken background begins to lift, revealing vines, green terraces, solar panels, small temples, windmills, oceans. Projection of light dancing on water. Peaceful synth pad begins to rise.]

VOICEOVER/NARRATOR (offstage, warm and slow):
When fury fades, and pride lays down its shield,
When warriors grow tired of war and fear—
The Earth will whisper once again:
“You made it. Welcome home.”

(Stage glows gold. The soft opening notes of “We Don’t Lock the Doors” begin as Act III rolls in. A new world begins.)

Act III: PACIFICA

The stage is filled with gentle motion — people meditating, surfing, coding, gardening, laughing softly. Everything is in harmony. No one’s yelling. There’s a guy making kombucha out of sea foam and sunlight.

This act opens with a big, open-hearted cheerful and friendly welcome number, titled:

“We Don’t Lock the Doors”

(Lush harmonies, acoustic strings, soft drums, handpan maybe — think Hair meets Hadestown, with a little Paul Simon world-fusion flair) FULL DANCE ENSEMBLE

[VERSE 1 – Lead: Mama Lupa, Earth-priestess and emotional support gardener]
🎶 We don’t lock the doors, there’s no need to hide,
The sun sets easy on the oceanside.
We share the harvest, we pass the flame,
We forgot the war — but we remember your name. 🎶

[ENSEMBLE – barefoot and glowing, like a choir of gentle prophets]
🎶 Pacifica, Pacifica, where the wind sings slow,
Where kindness grows in the gardens we sow.
No flags to wave, no borders to fear,
If you made it this far — you belong here. 🎶

[VERSE 2 – Rajiv the Coder-Oracle, dancing in LED robes]
🎶 We don’t do rush, we don’t do shame,
We speak in poems, we play the game.
Tech meets temple, mind meets soul,
Even silence has a sacred role. 🎶

[CHORUS – Whole cast swaying together]
🎶 Pacifica, Pacifica, where the rivers bend,
You start to breathe, you start to mend.
The future hums in a gentle key,
Come sit by the fire — just be. 🎶

[BRIDGE – Starshine, on rollerblades, holding hands with a child and an old monk]
🎶 We’ve all been through it — the noise, the pain,
The storm, the fight, the acid rain.
But now the tide has brought us home —
And here, at last, we’re not alone. 🎶

[BIG FINALE – All characters from Atlantica and Trumpland emerge, stunned but softening]
🎶 Pacifica, Pacifica, the world turns slow,
We sing the song of letting go.
From policy, from fear, from flame—
We step into light and drop the name. 🎶

(Lights shimmer. A soft gong rings. Blackout. Fade up to curtain call ensemble)

we bring the whole cast back for one last, full-hearted song. This is the emotional payoff, the big Broadway hug. Flags are down, fists unclenched, ties loosened, boots kicked off. Atlantica has learned to feel, Trumpland has learned to trust, and everyone’s found some kind of peace.

Here’s the curtain call number, titled:

“We Made It Here Together”

(Big orchestral swells, gospel-tinged chorus, gentle groove — think “You Will Be Found” meets “Let the Sunshine In”)

[VERSE 1 – Chelsea Graph (Atlantica), stepping forward]
🎶 I measured my worth in numbers and goals,
Forgot how to dance, forgot I had a soul.
But a seed broke through my marble floor,
And now I feel… a little more. 🎶

[VERSE 2 – Big Dan (Trumpland), removing his hat]
🎶 I lived behind fences, watched shadows grow,
Shouted real loud so my fear wouldn’t show.
But I found a friend who saw through my rage,
Helped me step down from the war I waged. 🎶

[ENSEMBLE – softly at first, swelling with each line]
🎶 We made it here together,
Through fire, code, and stormy weather.
We lost our way but found the thread,
The road was hard, but here we tread—
Together. 🎶

[BRIDGE – Starshine, floating center stage on rollerblades]
🎶 The map was broken, but the stars still burned,
We took a wrong turn, but the heart returned.
Now we breathe as one, and the world begins—
With music, with love, with soft violins… 🎶

[FINAL CHORUS – full cast, arms around each other, lights rising like sunrise]
🎶 We made it here together,
Not one more wall, not one more tether.
From Trumpland’s fire to Pacifica’s shore,
We don’t want less — we just want more…
More kindness, more songs, more sky to roam—
And someone to say, “Welcome home.” 🎶

(Sustained chord. The cast stands together as lights fade. A single gong rings again.)

CURTAIN

(House lights up)

========================================================================

time to board the Bardo bus for our magical mystery video tour!