Nothing, a head
Moving in rhythm
To the slice
Flying to blur
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
Did I really? I thought I was "quenching my thirst".
But then again, drinks from the same source aren't equally tasty.
(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
(Pause) I'm drinking your image right now. I wait before I spit
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
Did the angel stay long?
Yes. It integrated itself within me It's here
It's inside you
Is it speaking now?
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
(never leave it for elsewhere of fiction, adventure, dream)This
man sits with his back to something. Whast's behind him he doesn't
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?
Look at me (Done) Can you see me?
Hum, I didn't notice any difference between when he said it looking
at you, and when he said it looking at me.
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
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____________________________
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)
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.
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
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.
That's the wrong question
I'm one of those people. I want to escape everything normal
The ability to utter choherent sentences?
That's the wrong question (Pause) I feel, confined. Suffocated--
(Pause) This machine helps.
What is it
(Pause, applied) I don't feel different
Not yet. It takes time
Different in different cases. You? I'd guess 30-- 40--
That's too long. (Pause) How do I speed it up.
(Exit. One remaining sees gun on plate. Examines, thinks, puts
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)
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.
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?
I see(Pause) I could offer you a job
Playing the piano as accompanyment
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
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.