Nothing, a head

Moving in rhythm

To the slice

Self presented.

All arms

Flying to blur

The too-soon

Coagulate.

Each chair

Each wall

Each window

Decoy-light

To lead home

The deep-body fix

Of no eye.Here's a slice from my plate of experience

I don't even talk about it. It simply floats in front of my eyss and I say here-- Platter served. I'm with you in the watering mouth you thrust towards me.

Only thing is, I twist my body, slightly, to deflect the blow.

I wasn't going to hit anything

Oh too true. only too true

Don't flinch

Did I really? I thought I was "quenching my thirst". But then again, drinks from the same source aren't equally tasty. Guess why.

(Pause) Everything is different

That's not being specific enough. Don't you know they call me Mr Specific? I could lose a lot of things under my own name, but your name interests me more

You don't know it

Then I can chose one of my own

It won't be right

Oh yes it will. Language goes slithering tthrough its own underpass: and when names are named--? They stick

What's mine

(Pause) I'm drinking your image right now. I wait before I spit it back

That gives me an out (To go, but hesitates, then goes)

Well. Here I am. Alone with my memories.

Could be I tripped over another one of my connectives. I'm just a tissue of connectives. (Goes, stops)

There's power in this kind of indecision. Power. Sweetness. . .delacy. Ah, that's my MIND talking.He heard the bus. He heard the bus. And it brought back so many memories it was amazing. Childhood visits to the doctor's office, in which the bus noise and the twitter of birds, combined in a sweet mix, the memory now draining him of all desire, of all will really, of all desire except the desire to collapse. Does that mean collapse into nothingness? He was talking, done with it all. What functioned now was memory and sweetness. A sweetness that disolved, self into absence. A meaningless circle around a kernal that would never grow. What peace.When an angel appeared

I lifted my hat, because above all else I wanted to be polite to angels

Angels know not from politeness

Now I know that. Before I did not

So your hat is not in evidence

Correct

Did the angel stay long?

Yes. It integrated itself within me It's here

It's inside you

Yes

Is it speaking now?

Yes

I believe you should cast it out

Why would I want to do that. An angel is a higher being, and so-- being inhabited by a higher being, I am a higher being

But it isn't yourself, Paul. Being a human being, I would assume your destiny is to realize yourself rather than to escape yourself.

I think you have a rigid idea of self. The truth is, to have an angel inside me, is my ideal. Because where I am, or was, is a void. And still a void.

Grow into it

I am trying. With an angel

That's something from the outside.

My belief system is attacked. Who would have thought I was so dedicated to beauty.

My belief system was under attack

My personal habits were criticised

My taste was questionedTASK OF THEATER

PRESENCE OF PRESENT

CRACK IT OPEN

DISOLVE IT

TWIST IT

STRETCH IT

PUMMEL IT

(never leave it for elsewhere of fiction, adventure, dream)This man sits with his back to something. Whast's behind him he doesn't see

It's not that I'm afraid

Oh, it's not that he's afraid. In order to clarify this, we-- I-- will install a panel.

(It's placed in front of him, between audience and him. Then it's removed, he's turned, back to us)

You think this is trivial. A cheap trick. Or on the other hand, logically obvious. I, on the other hand, don't think so. I think. . .there is and inexhaustable mystery. Let's try it again

(Panel in front of his face, he visibly turns to face us)

You still don't get my point. Now I could continue, repeating this manipulation, until you got my real point, if you ever got it; maybe you wouldn't. But I won't physically carry it out again. I'll just, guide you through it verbally. I said--

I can't see what's in back of me.

Then I placed a screen. And when I removed it, he'd turned around

I can never, see what's in back of me

Mirrors and cameras and such things don't count. Then, I placed a screen, again, not to ullustrate what I'd said, because it didn't. But it should have made something happen, and it did, several things. But your attention might not have been placed properly. Because you were looking for an EVENT to happen. But what happened was on different levels at once.

I can't see what's in back of me

That 'in back of me' stands in for other things. Can you see me?

Yes

Look at me (Done) Can you see me?

Yes

Hum, I didn't notice any difference between when he said it looking at you, and when he said it looking at me.

Hum

Notice, he said hum, just like I did. But there were two possibilities. He could have said hum, looking at me, or looking out front. He chose just one of those possibilitiesHe wanted to sleep. I speak of myself in the third person. He wanted to sleep, as a release into a true world of impulse. Because it is true, that impulses are rhythmically, omnipresent in my body and the systems that traverse my body.

The vast majority of those impulses are not acted upon-- the vast majority are also smothered by my consciousness, they don't come into my awareness. But I know I am, inside, frantically churning in reaction to those multiple impulses.

I can't act them out, I can't know them, but I believe in sleep they are more. . .functional. That's what dreams are. So: he wanted to sleep. To dream. That seemed exciting.

(Goes, sleeps)Nothing seems readable.

This reader, stands in for those who do not read. He reads important books, that are not otherwise read

Nothing.

It's the voice that controls it. Is that agreed? I don't know how to come to real agreement, but I know how to use the voice. Mirror prone.

The darkness falls_____________________________________line, 3 quote (quiet)____________________line into the dark, trucked (traveled) annul into annul (that a compound)(level)_______but the 'truck' of the experience, de-notes____________________________

all un-available

to meal-pivot.

From which runs

The alive rote

Of passing (passage)Think of each moment as a pivot point. Surrounded by 360 degress. From each moment therefore, 360 (more of course) choices are available as "next move".

Normally the next move is determined by linar logic, by one's specific goal or desire, framed of course on the basis of past experience (for that read 'conditioning).

But imagine a next move chosen, rather, as an unexpected, un-motivated next move, nevertheless chosen to be just close enough to logic or coherence to excite possibilities, yet the connection not really evident.

All done intuitively, of course. But not pure chance or arbitrariness. No. The basis of the choice is rather, pregnancy.

Does the next move evoke, powerfully, something in the gap between acts. An undefinable and unplaceable something.

(Door opens, one is outside)

Could I collapse through that door?

Why not walk into the room?

Here, let me try closing the door suddenly with my breath

If you succeed you'll be outside

If I succeed I'll have sucked the entire room into me (Breathes in) I didn't succeed.

(She closes it) Thank me for giving you the opportunity to break through the door in very dramatic fashion

(He opens gently)

Aren't you coming in?

Why bother. I can see everything from here

Yes. But you have a limited perspective (Pause. He looks, and closes. Pause) Now: you have a total perspective.

_________

(Writing so thin, so invisible, it doesn't move the reader off the present moment)

(Doubt)

When I looked at my watch, I doubted the correct time

In order to verrify this, I went to the human clock

He struck me

I took out my portfolio

Papers passed hands

Pianoforte said the expectant official who was in charge of my case

Once on board, the dinner bell shipped out

On the sea again, I rolled to the other side

And I was accurate.

(Sorrow)

I wept tears backwards

Discovering a mirror, my misorientation

I wiped out

The room, now sparkling without me

Voided, and the house remainder put down firm foundations

Sand arrived

Underfoot, a trend decided to go 3-D

I couldn't keep up

What a map to get lost on

It sniffled as it disappeared for real.

(word look)If somebody wanted to escape normal language, normal meaning, everything normal, where would they go?

They'd come to me. I'd help.

How?

That's the wrong question

I'm one of those people. I want to escape everything normal

Rationality?

Yes

Feelings?

Yes

The ability to utter choherent sentences?

Yes

Why?

That's the wrong question (Pause) I feel, confined. Suffocated-- or suffocating.

(Pause) This machine helps.

What is it

I shrug

(Pause, applied) I don't feel different

Not yet. It takes time

How long

Years

How many

Different in different cases. You? I'd guess 30-- 40--

That's too long. (Pause) How do I speed it up.

You don't

(Exit. One remaining sees gun on plate. Examines, thinks, puts it down)

(beauty)

I looked for rose

Disappearing, a rain of painful sensations

I defended myself and received self-punishment

Turning quickly, I remained in place

Deepening, I lost my bearings

Color, cired out for directionality

A hand offered, disembodied

It's voice, smashed hard

And I held my teeth, using other parts of my body

A cloud walked

Here I have to keep hold of my feet

But they troubled me.

I slept myself awake. (comfortable)

Washed awake,

I de-shone, but internal spaces pause more.

A shoe shine taps attentiove feet

And I sugfer spagetti, slapped by its stop.

Shoes fall off.

Now a cloth leg winds my alarm

And the nose bust relaxes.

So I most drag

Into my skin tent

All very, riding the odds.

"Hello Doctor clock".

Can I count on you

To spagetti me home?"

As you can see

(Internal things were all against me)

Don't try living in a tent.

Tell the real story

Tell the real story, which is of course very hard because in the real story nothing happens.

So I don't think you can tell the real story

(Pause) Once upon a time. . .

Are you blocked suddenly? That's understandable.If I was capable of ingesting the sun into my whole body, I would do so. I would burn in that fashion. But I am incapable of doing so. Is it fear? Maybe. I don't know how to approach eliminating such fear.

The room is perfect

What made me waht to be here?

It's not one hundred percent trfue that I want to be here, I one hundred percent want to be here if it gets so beautiful that there is revelation in that beauty. I am cpnvinced that it is, now, that beautiful. My task, my only task, is manipulating myself so that I can discover that beauty, so that it becomes to me self-evident. Let's start by lying down and closing my eyes. (Does, and surface tilts up to smash to wall)

This isn't in fact what I imagined.The boy was eating goldfish

When the goldfish king appeared.

He said you'd best

Have done with that--

I'll pierce you with my spear

The boy replied I'd rather not

He put his goldfish down

And trundled toward the Goldfish king

To lead him back to town.

The godlfish king said lead the way

I know I can't get lost,

Wherever I'm discovered

I am recognized as boss.

The crown upon my head you see

Disguises very well

The face that seems to follow me

And counts the lies I tell.

Oh goldfish king

Oh goldfish king

You come into my life

At every perfcet moment

And I whisper to my wife,

The goldfish king should frighten you

He shows my hidden side.

I may decide to follow him

And wed a goldfish bride.

We rested at a cottage deep

Within a sea of grass.

The goldfish king said wipe my face

Until it glows like brass.

I did as I was ordered

And reflected in his scales

I saw my own what's called a face

And grined as hard as nails.

My teeth began to tremble from

The force of such a grin.

I knocked upon the cottage door

And cried please let me in.

But on the other side from whence

I made that forceful knock,

The goldfish king said, very clear

A pebble's in your sock.

I bent my head to verify

And banged it on the door.

The goldfish king said bother!

I can't take this anymore!

He siezed his spear and turned the house

Completely inside out

And dove into the river that

He'd talked to much about.

The sun was nearly settled in

It's shadow for the night

Which made the goldfish sparkle as

They swam with all their might.

The boy who tried to swallow them

Admittedly was me.

I didn't mind that what I swallowed

Then had swallowed me.

Oh Goldfish king'Oh goldfish king

You come into my life

At every perfect moment

And I whisper to my wife.

The Goldfish king should frighten you

He shows my hidden side

I may decide to follow him

And wed a goldfish bride.

How interesting of you to relate a poem

Oh? I didn't mean it to be interesting, I meant it to frighten.

Why?

I wanted to turn a key in a lock, and the only way I know how to do that is by frightening. Don't you think it works?

I wouldn't know about such things. I'm too busy with my own practicing

What do you practice?

The piano

I see(Pause) I could offer you a job

Doing what?

Playing the piano as accompanyment

To what?

I plan to make a career out of frightening people. You could play the piano to set the mood.

I don't think I know how to play anything frightening

Oh no, it would be a contrast. It could be the opposite

Oh yes, I could do that

(Pause) Let me see your hands (Look) Yes, those are good hands for playing the piano

Thank you (Pause, hands to his face. Kiss)

When Mary gave a kiss to Phil

It wrinkled up his pants

It felt as if the legs inside

Began to do a dance.

The fingers in his pockets

Had an awful time because

They twisted in a tangle that

Was breaking many laws.

The cop who put a stop to that

Was nowhere to be seen

So Phil himself was left alone

To wipe those fingers clean.

And when the job was finished he

Could only hope with pride

A non-participant would be

The next to step inside.

But as the window opened he

Began tio feel a breeze

And Mary jumped upon his back

As violent as you please.

She chose her weapon carefully

--A candy covered rake,

And sweeping up the leaves

She made the ultimate mistake.

She turned them all to fire that

Would burn until the trees

Were empty and were bending down

To beg upon their knees.

Oh trees unbend and straighten up

Is just what Phil exclaimed.

It's Mary who should be the one

That history should have blamed.

But history wasn't anywhere

In sight-- it must have fled,

And Mary and a friendly Phil

Both tucked themselves in bed.

The kisses that they both exchanged

Were somehow upside down

And Mary had the sweetest way

Of making Philip frown.

A frown deserves a kiss of course

And soon the game was up

And Phil and Mary, side by side

Were taken in a truck

Away to where the flowers and

Potatos side by side

Were eaten by the animals

Who's hunger conquored pride.

And when the feast was finished

All the animals sat down

And cried --We'd rather keep our claws,

In case we're stuck in town.

But as at night

The gates were locked

The animals were left

To wander in the woods in which

The human beings slept.

And all alone

They climbed the tree

Of promises well-kept.

And there upon the highest branch

Apparently quite tall,

They started very slowly

The anticipated fall.

Oh Humans falling slowly

Through the kingdom of the kiss

You should have seen

Quite long ago

That something was amiss.

But since you didn't notice that,

Continue, have your fun.

There's miles to go,

and hours to play

Before your day is done.
The only think I can do usefully is sleep

Everything else, begining by effort-- even in the attempt to flow effortlessly-- get's inevitably caught up in habit, or in the directive prods of intention or conditioning, so it ends up invested with the past, which is a kind of corruption.

So sleep is an escape

A cleansing.

You may say I'm wrong. That sleep falls into dreams that are conditioned, trapped by the past, which sends itself forward in disguised shape in the dream.

But even if that happens, it's cleansing. It's a dropping of garbage, emptying out the trash. So one wakes and the trash basket of the mind is empty, for a moment at least.

The task is to proceed from that moment of re-awakenedness without losing its emptiness, without losing that emptiness that comes only after sleep has emptied out its trash in dream.

That's the task.

The preliminary, the condition to make it possible-- that's sleep. So I go to sleep. . .to sleep. To that state.

Sleep. (Shift geers. Now he's dopne something. He's gone)

(Wakes) Where am I?

Am I outside myself? Yes. But before I can stop it happening, I start falling back into myself and going to sleep helped, but not for long.

The imaginary lock, turned, opened-- only the imaginary head? Or the real head also? I throw the word real at my reflection. I throw words at things.

To move nothing. To touch nothing. To let everything remain as-is.

Here was somebody, going through his life, not controlling anything, not talking well, not with a sense of direction but just coming out, sometimes, with phrases which, because of the way they were placed, seemed to have a very oracular significance. What a perfect life. What a wonderful life.

Let's team up.

Hand me a letter!

A story is bring written.

Somebody opens a letter. It's empty-- the envelop is empty.

Someone finds the blank sheet of paper that flutters to the floor (The envelop wasn't empty, there was a blank piece of paper)>

Someone can't escape writing something (what?) on the blank piece of paper-- do we vclaim that in retrospect the envelop wasn't empty?The universe decides to be a cloud.

It feels sick-- and this is the first time that human beings know a cloud could feel sick.

When a cloud feels sick, it is more aware of its physical being than when it feels ok.

An airplane flies through the cloud. This is irrelevent, except to indicate how everything depends on something else to exist.The cabinate was open, and the Mind King collected items, and as his hands slid over these items, several flowers tumbled to the ground. (collect)