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
That's why my friends are choosy
Sure, it's a buyers market
I can provide a gloss on that
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
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.
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?
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
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
That's better. Now I feel more in control of the situation
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
(Pause) I read you perfectly
--Don't say another word.
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
I don't have to, since I believe it
Open it anyway
I should be able, one way or another, to complexify your belief
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
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
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
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
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 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
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
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
(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
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
Other door lights up, someone backs in)
Do I know you?
Oh , yes.
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
A stone falls to the
bottom of a pond.
A water echo cries 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
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.
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?
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
Concluding whether you're performing well or poorly. It's up
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
I wasn't thinking-- thought. I was thinking the activity that
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)
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
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
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.
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
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.