Lifting out of adventures: To what heights. But then again: why not remaining inside that adventure; adventure as always

How is it possible to be absolutely AWED by what comes into my visionary field?

Am I somebody who doubts my own resources?

Probably not-yet, and yet I can be accustomed to lots I look for a way-out on.

I into an interpretation that interests me.

I have few things to sell,

(off a cloth)

Mostly-- chocolets and wrist watches

How dependable are your wrist watches?

How dependable are my chocolets.

Sweet is more testable than time, I'd think

I'm only half way into opinions

When was the last time you looked out a window?

I'd cover my cap with burned out metaphorical systems

It shows--

That's why my friends are choosy

You too?

Sure, it's a buyers market

I can provide a gloss on that

I ducked

My ideas didn't get throught?

It all depends what happened to the aim

The angle of aim

I didn't know aim had an angle--

You thought it had an object

Well, thought about that

Here's proof of purchase

See? Just in time

Sweetened by one of my favorite projectiles

A chocolet in space--

Aren't we all--

And a half-time to re-dub my own dialogue, and he did, swallowing hard into the good taste of the occasion

Which one?

You named it, and that was enough for me, and big enough. I moved out fast.


My watches and chocolets, make a not-s0 perpetual combination, but somehow I still believe in my metaphorical tendencies, and in the final analysis a tendency is a free ticket to someplace special. Oh! Now I have a different perception on things.

(Looks at wrist)

It would be convenient to be able to orient oneself in time as well as in space

(Puts on watch, looks at chocolet)

It would be wonderful to start giving oneself little rewards for cashing in on one's inherent tendencies which, after all, don't get closer-- because the closer they get, the quicker they disappear indside the party in question doing the closeness.


What are you looking at?

(Pause, glances at watch, looks up)

It must have been some kind of mirror.

(other leaves)

Somebody there?

(Swallows chocolet)

No, nobody's there. It must have been some kind of mirror

(eats another chocolet)

I wonder if that's good for me?

(Lunchroom, girl leans on counter: man enters)

Can I help you?

I guess it's obvious something has broken down in the realm of human relations


You don't see that?


May I sit?

Of course


That's what I meant when I said-- can I help you.

How was I to know

What did you think I meant

Frankly, you made me feel like an interuder

This is a public place. Anybody can come in

Is anybody welcome?



That means, sure, within limits

I guess

Why do I seem angular in my approach to things

I bet yoiu have good reason

That'll be yours to decide

Please be seated

(He does)

That's better. Now I feel more in control of the situation

Please do

How about coffdee

Can I trust you?

Me or the coffee

I'm not making a distinction, which you might consider an insult. It isn't. It's a reflexive statement. It reflects back on me


You see, I notice that something's broken down in the area of relationships, but I don''t simply project that as an external problem, external to myself. I'm just as implicated


That being the case, I'd like to stand, as it were, on different ground. I'd like to alter the terms of the equasion. So I push-- into something that seems un-natural, but that isn't the aim-- not a kind of exoticism that serves no other purpose. No. The purpose is to change the structure inside which orientation goes on.

--Don't say another word

Why not

(Pause) I read you perfectly


--Don't say another word.

(Fills cup)

I was thinking about filling it to mamoth overflow. Then, thinking about it, it seemed redundent

(She goes, stops, turns back)

Don't say another word.Test touched

This is to remember me by. It's a kiss

I can't count the number of kisses I've received

Are you ready for your first stupidity lesson?

I say nothing. I gratify no expectations. I vibrate on the spot but that of course means I vanish

I echo my own non-entity of a self

I reforge a path into my interious

This is your chance to plug into something big

Oh? Are you aware of me?

I'm putting out feelers

Do I know you or somebody like you?

Whisper my name

I'd have to be understood

If we were understood, I don't think you'd be whispering

What would I be doing.


Here. I'd like to burn you with this hamburger

What's in there

I just told you


You're coming on to me like somebody who can't be believed

It's a matter of choice

OK. I choose to believe it's a hamburger

Open it

I don't have to, since I believe it

Open it anyway


I should be able, one way or another, to complexify your belief system

Is that what I want?

You certainly don't want simplicity

Yes I do

Then you wouldn't be arguing with me. Simplicity would mean agreement, rather than contestation

You're right

To late. You already started down a totally different track

(Grabs bag, opens)

Why look at that. It's a hamburger

Didn't you say this would burn me?

Too much time has passed. It's cooled off.I escaped from one birthday party into this birthday party

It must have been a torturous route

Not completely. I'm just holding a head that echos;

Where the hair starts

the brain does space traveling

Look, my feet also; aligned to a mental trajectoryI got tired of addressing envelopes that only said return mail in half seriousness



His thirst quotient. His thirst quotient (repeats

Headless? Effortless?

You too, into the alignment of paranoia

It was perfectly understandable you wanted to drink something. You wanted to move on from this place of residence to another, equally remote from real life.

What power, in fact, do I hold over youI'd rather be under this table than at it

Who's to stop you

People would think I was strange

They do now

Oh come on, they do not

Yes they do


OK; Let's say they do. If I got under this table, they'd read it as if I was trying to escape their opinions about me

I don't think so


I think they'd try to figure out what philosophical or metaphysical point you were trying to make by that act


I think so. I can't guarantee it, but I think so

(Starts, stops)

No. I considered it but it didn't really interest me

(Pause, look at each other. Under table)

This isn't comfortable.

Well, that's the most important thing, isn't itI like working here

Don't make a big mistake. It's true I gave you a job, but I had a hidden motive, which was that I wanted to keep you under observation

It's my own ghost I dredged up

Don't be afraid of this twin

Don't hit me

You're protecting yourself

I am

I am a hit receptor. No. I mean I am a hit projector

Why do you like so much to hit

When I hit, I get a proper reception from you.

What'll it be?

Let's see. What I'd like- - - Notice me rubbing my hands together?

The sky is resting

I try to see that

The table is challenging the idea, look at it's legs

What idea

Think(rattle hit/swells

I almost fell over myself trying to get away from: what

This street fed no vista, but focused, really, on itself

No doors opened easily, I was home,, as a locked out person

before I knew it was happening

that meant, total ease of entry

The door you were afraid to open, opens

So many routes, you chose this one.

My suitcases are locked up, someplace approximately a mile from here

You might want to start fresh

That's always my problem. Should I or shouldn't I

Should you or shouldn't you

You decide for me

It's easy. All you do is step inside. I give you the key. Then you come and go as you please

I've learned my lesson

In retrospect

(pause, goes leans against wall)

Are you accepting the offer?

Yes. I'm accepting all offers


Here's my wife

I see she recovered the suitcases

Yes. It's as if they float, following her wherever she wanders with sufficient effort. But when I see what's happened-- you see, I'm usually distracted, I come forward to relieve her

(takes suitcases)

They weren;'t heavy. Up to now I was managing pretty well

Still, I'd prefer this

Is that it?


Let's go in .

(Door slams. Lights are set around it)The issue is, in fact, how long one can sustain interest in the unresolved that is focused on to the exclusion of the resolved. The door, highlighted, unopened, and perhaps-- unopenable.

Doesn't a whole world suggest itself as a real item,

hovering in this specified, nothing

I myself, might easily imagine myself

passing through this


only to find myself,

where I began.

Here, facing this door as a result of having passed through.

This, not to imply that both sideds are equal

No, rather, that to pass through is to pass through to one's starting point.

In other words, is there a starting point, and perhaps-- nothing further.

Is one placed at the moment, or position, of beginning-- and all journeys in time of space away from that moment of beginning-- pure dream, pure imaginary hypothesis-- which is not to say that nothing is real, because what is real-- indelibly so-- is the moment of initation. Only that. Eternally that. Look, the door opens

(One backs in)

That's strange. I open the door, I walked through, but here I am, ready to open it and walk through.

Something's missing here.


Can't you sense that? Can't you sense something's missing here?

I'll try it once more

(Goes in.

Other door lights up, someone backs in)

Do I know you?


Oh , yes.

(Crosses, embrace)

A story is being told.

A man brings his face close to the one spealing. And the words, disolve into the face that speaks, and so one asks, --is a story being told, or is it rather that the story is just an effect of distance from the face that speaks, equivilance between face and language.

A story is being told

The city of language

closes like a fist on the lost traveller

and lost, closed in that fist,

lostness itself becomes a story.

Self reference, but therefore

untrue as a means of

establishing the rules of the city

within which one is lost.

A story is bring told

Bread is being eaten

Nights follow days, which in turn, fall between nights, and neither outdistances the other, so neither

becomes utterly believeable.

Men and women oscilate

as always.

A stone falls to the

bottom of a pond.

A water echo cries help me

Help me

and children re-make

a place marked "X"

shining on the grass.

A story is being told. Little children sit in a circle around the story teller and the circle rises, though the children don't.

Teeth evade answers, as the tongue spins, and the story de-materializes as usual.

Useful elders climb into the circle and make points by pointing at things, and they do materialize as clocks, cars, washing machines and random dirt.

Then a bird enters the circle.

Now the story has real characters, and real adventures, and the sun rises over all that desperate activity, gone to waste

A class of children sat, waiting to be taught lessons concerning things about life.

The man and/or woman teaching these lessons, hesitated.

There was no sudden plunge into available truth

This caused the children unease

Curtains blew in the faint breeze

Nothing else happened

The curtains moved, just slightly.

A name, floated in colored letters outside the window.

The name seemed unrelated to anything thought or imagined or recognized

It was a word, perhaps more than it was a name

But it hovered, visible outside the window, seen faintly through the moving curtains, though no one was in the room to do the seeing

So the word, which existed

Seemed to exist not

It faded

By the end of the day, it was gone

But it had existed.

Can a word be said to have existed, without being known to someone.

This is the question I ask myself. I don't know why this question is of interest to me.

(Other enters)

I can see, it is of no interest to you. I am so very sure it is of no interest to you, I will not even say what I was thinking, I will not explain what idea my thoughts were revolving around. It will remain, my secret

(Pause, other exits)

People are in the streets, but the people in rooms ony imagine the kinds of things that might ben happening.

Store fronts shine with goods that penetrate, image-like, through store windows.

Pedestrians smile, sontemplating things.

Things glow under smiles. Traffic flows, and the hours pass in pre-determined order.

I know about this. By the time I learned to tell time, It had perminant hold on me. I bought a watch and strapped it to my wrist. Thereafter, when I elevated my wrist, I read the time into which I had fallen, and so led by my wrist, I used that part of my body, the hand, to explore the world


Are you ready for me?

Come in

(Rise, shake)


I'm not sure when to let go of your hand

Are you wearing a watch?

Yes I am

I am too

Newspapers continued to arrive, daily, and some of the pages were filled with reports of things that had happened, and other pages were filled with idreas about things. Later in the day, much of this was forgotten, and the newspapers themselves were discarded, or used elsewhere.

Doors opened and closed, but mostly stayed closed, which was a feature of their recognizability.

A door was functioning like a part of the wall.

(Light set to light door)

Nevertheless, it was a door. It might have been opened

A child stood, confronting the door that never opened.

Then his or her attention was called to a door somewhat distant from the first. This door was also closed, but it was easy to open this door. The child watched as someone did so.

Everything that chose to pass from one particular room to another particular room, passed through a certain door. The things that passed through this certain door did not remain in the doorway itself, but passed through to be in one room or another.

Nothing else happened in the doorway itself, and the doorway itself was, during the majority of time, empty.

The child, thinking about this, might have been trying to decide whether its principal function was to function as a door, through which things from both rooms passed when they were moving to the other room, or to be one of the rooms that held things-- until they passed into the other room.

There was a third possibility, which was that the chi;ld was to function as the complex of two rooms and the door between them, and there was a third possibility, which was that the child was to function as an infinite number of such rooms and doors-- containing things, and letting them pass from room to room, through a multitude of doors that made this exchange possible but held nothing within themselves except the moment of passage which happened and was over in the moment of happening

Then the child re-oriented his or her attention back to the door that never opened.

It was hypnotized by that door that never opened, as if illuminated by bright light.People alternated between happiness and unhappiness, which was normal.

Resturants remained open for evening meals, and some were busier than others, inquiry often revealing that resturants especially popular served good food.

Someone wrote a list of favorite dishes on a piece of cardboard.

All bets are off. People become predictable in their unpredictability.

Snow produces itself, and the seasons change, preserving a certain stability in time.

I feel myself measuring the present as it passes. That's something I can't hold onto, and I worry, am I doing a bad job?

I think it's just a question of slight internal adjustments

What is

Concluding whether you're performing well or poorly. It's up to you

Time slips by too fast. What adjustments can I make to compensate for that.


I see you don't have any answers.


Maybe you would maintain your silence is my therapy.

Perhaps it's MY therapy

Ah, so perhaps I shouldn't ask.


The question is-- how do I fill my time

Even though it slips by so fast?


I'm afraid so

The walls, stood solidly in place.

The foundations deepened, through time alone

The dust, which moved quietly in the air, sometimes passed into brighter light, and sometimes circulated in relative shadow.

Cleaning the room was a self defeating task, but one had reqular recourse to this task, and the walls deepened into a color that had faded away from a previous color. More vibrant, but not therefore, more inviting to the dust, which circulated in slow patterns that seemed to suggest, --patience.

But the walls of the room had no such vocabulary, and they made no gestures to respond to things in non-verbal form.

Their behaviour was elsewhere, in some other realm that language could handle but clumsily only, from an outside so far from the surface they represented, it could be thought of as music, rather than information.

I've probably told you this, but I'll tell you again


I hear something all the time, like a tone in my ears

Does it change when you turn your head in different directions?



Have you tried?

Yes I have

You must be hearing the inside of your own head

You mean, my ear mechanism?

Possibly. Or probably the blood circulating

--I don't think thought-- whatever activity goes on to produce thought-- I don't think that's hearable

The proof is, you say what you hear doesn't change. And thought changes

I wasn't thinking-- thought. I was thinking the activity that produces thought.

Well, that probably changes also

Why do you say that? Nobody knows anything about that


I'm willing to bet it fluctuates

You have no reason to think that


Well, maybe you're on to something.Connections were established and re-established

Wisdom arrived in packages, but when those packages were ripped opem, wisdom, somehow, fled. Spreading itself through fields so dispursed, it effected nothing.

Re-packaging was not possible.

Wisdom, therefore, suffered from exposure and distribution.

No next time was anticipated.(Box, magicician)?

This is for you. This is for your entertainment.

(Into box, assistant. Box closed, revolved, opened,

assistant still there)

You see?

Contunity exists. Generally, in such situations, when the cabinet is opened, the volunteer has vanished. You are entertained by the unusual. The normal does not similarly entertain.

A break in routine, refreshed

Of course, if that break in routine is great enough tio be named-- catastrophy-- that is not entertaining but upsetting.

So it can be said, entertainment is the proper, minimal degree iof upset.

So, you see why this is entertaining.

Do you really want a job with me?


I've never had an assistant, therefore I'm hesitant

I see

What can you say to make me less hesitant

I'll do whatever you want

Suppose I'm not sure what I want


Maybe I can help by suggesting things

I don't like to be pushed

Why don't you make me disappera

No. I have no interest in that

(assistant exits.

He into box, turns, and with box with it's back to us, he exits and comes around)

Rest assured, there's no back exit from this cabinet. This side is impenetrable.

Well-- physically impenetrable

He waited for morning.

It came

He waited for breakfast

It was toast, first

He waited for a telephone call

It zipped by like an express bus, no stops

He waited for spectacular arrivals

They dressed up, which was depressing

He waited for rain

Sure thing, it came and went

He waited for evening

A distraction that somehow, got well integrated into his emotional habits

He waited for applause

It had holes in it. He looked between his two hands and said--

I clap myself into a coma

He didn't have to wait, anticipation turned into arrival-- how did he pull that off?

Mental effort. It never worked, but it plowed up the territory so whatever wanted to grow

did, and was.

And that means-- something you can count on once and for all.

A child sat facing a window

Two things conested for his or her attention

The activity visible through the window, or the window itself

This choice echoed others.

And the child was, therefore, self-divided

And the space that opened, the space of that division, offered gifts that were often overlooked.

And the child matures, which means, grew into the shape of the world as it was, or is, and the thing that fluttered, was a momentary distraction, overcome alas, so that things that had to be continued, could be continued.