Notice what's on my wrist?
That's a beautiful watch.
Who do you pray to
What kind of religious cerimony do you--
--I don't have any religious observations.
Ah. God plays no part in your life?
Ah, there is no god in your life.
I told you. Certainly not
What a beautiful violin
Do you play it?
I scratch out noise
I'll bet you play better than you--
--No I don't.
I find it hard to believe you don't
I just make terrible noise, which I like doing.
You're just saying that to provoke me
I am not
We'll, let's drop it. You don't have to give me a demonstration
I have no intention of demonstrating anything to you
Of course, if you wanted to play me something I'd enjoy--
I don't want to do anything for you, one way or another
What time is it?
Why, do you expect--
I was being polite, that's all
How were you being polite?
I asked what time it was
I did not.
You certainly did, I heard you
OK. What time IS it?
My watch stopped
You must have gotten yourself some kind of defective watch
It wasn't on purpose
Beauty means more to you than solid workmanship
No it doesn't. How could I know what the workmanship was?
You could have intuited. No. You're not big on intuition
I've done all right in the past
I don't want to hear about it
It's my intuition that--
I don't want to hear about it
I think you want to talk to me about it
No. You want to talk about it
What is it you think I want to talk about
See? You're interested
I am not
You just asked me a question
It was a mistake
It was a mistake, but you couldn't help making it
That's usually the case
OK. But it happened
I think something happened and I hope you want to talk about it
Resisting me now is-- it's too late
It's not too late
Yes it is
Your watch broke.
I have a sense of internal time that doesn't depend on my watch
So do I
Ah, what does your internal time tell you
I haven't checked it out
I'm not interested
If you weren't interested--
--That's it! Noit interested--You'd have left
Why should I leave?
If you weren't interested
I don't leave
Then you're interested
No. I just ignore local irritations
I'm not an irritation
No way I could be an irritation
You're pretending I don't irritate you
You're pretending you can shut me out of your copnsciousness
Could I see that famous watch?
(It's offered, he grabs wrist)
Why did you lie?
(Pulls hand back)
I didn't lie
Your watch is working
It wasn't before
You don't believe me?
The conclusion has to be, when I seized your wrist, I made it
I like that
Forget I said it
No. I like that
There's nothing to like about that. I was just testing your vulnurability
It's not working. Did you lie?
You'll never know
I think I'll have an opinion
But of course, that doesn't interest you
--I'm not interested
That's what I said
I'm glad we agree
You said you weren't interested, I said you weren't interested.
That's an agreement.
If that's your idea of an agreement, you have a funny idea about
That's my idea of an agreement. ***
You didn't hear me out
I was going to--
--I heard you out
Proof. There was a considerable amount of silence that passed
between my last statement and your answer
My answer to what
Take your pick
My answer was :never, Your answer was totally inarticulate
You didn't let me answer
All right, did you ever--
You didn't let me finish
Why should I let you waste my time
Then it's hopeless
Yes. What time is it
Yes, I think so too. Too late
My watch stopped
If God were to come, it would mean time had stopped
--I'm not interested
You have to be interested
Not on my part
Not on my part
--That's vulgar, and so pretentious it's doubly vulgar.
I'm very niave
I'm proud of it
(Sets out chair)
Sit in this
It's an electric chair
I don't want to be electricuted
Do you see any wires?
Then I'm not telling the truth
You might be
There are many things about you I can't--
--I'm sorry I asked
You sit in it
Then why should I?
It's for you
(Pause. Sits, then other sits elsewhere)
Am I electrified?
Time will tell
(Points to watch)
Maybe you were counting on internal time
I wasn't counting on anything
Maybe I'll go
You don't really mean good
Oh, I do--
You like my company
I do not
You like the aggravation
--Nobody like aggravation
Yes, I do, but I don't like its source. I like its results
It's the same thing
Hah! Please go
(Pause, other cloese eyes)
I talk in my sleep
Then you probably aren't asleep
Sorry. I don't want to keep you up
(Pause, closes again)
What a nice day
Well, that's unusual
It's just... nice
Sleep must give you a different perspective
Did I wake you?
Aren't you going to answer?
That would be amazing, if the last words he spoke to me were "what
a nice day". And after that, nothing more was said. Especially
since I have no reason to believe it is a nice day. It's impossible
to say, objectively, whether it's a nice day. It's just a matter
of opinion, In other words it depends, totally, on one's perspecytive.
Now-- what could be my perspective? That's hard to decide. Even
for me, and I'm at the center of my own perspective, b ut I can't
You're not at the center of your perspective, you're at one end
of it. I'm in the center
No. If I'm at one end, you must be at the other end.
No thank you. I'm in the center
That's pretty much what I thought
No you didn't
I'm agreeing with you
Yes I am
You corrected my perspective
You didn't have one
You just said I was at one end of it
I was terribly, terribly wrong about that!
Your mood seems to have altered.
Suddenly. . .you seem human
I've always been very human
You've been difficult
I know, of course, that being human means sometimes, being diffeicult.
I thought you wouldn't have anything else to say. Just as I thought you wouldn't be able to elaborate on a good beginning-- which is the same as a bad beginning seen from the point of view of a genuine elaboration-- which is the point-- the elaboration, regardless of the beginning.
I, exhault in the elaboration of something.
You, exault in the beginnings.
Which ends up being the difference between us, which ends up being
in my favor
You're more philosophical and theoretical, whereas I'm more human
You just said I was more human
No, I said there was a flash of humaness
Ah, you had a momentary change of perspective. It's because you're
sitting in an electric chair
Who controls THAT?
Nobody controls it
It's your chair
It's not my chair.
It's a chair
--Like any other chair?
What makes this chair different from any other chair?
Ah. Nobody answers
Nobody has to.
OK. Nobody has to answer. (Pause)
You'd like a drink
It would be better than sitting here a long time with no conversation
Oh? I thought that was your choice
We have to find a mutual subject
A drink would help
Would we talk about the quality of the drink?
We could drift into other things
(Pause, pours two, presents)
You didn't ask how much or what, or any of the usual details
How does it smell
There's alcohol in it
(She sips, he sips)
What do you do for a living
(Pause, looks away, back)
Nothing at the moment. I think I'd like to. . .travel
That's not doing something for a living
It could be. If I wrote about it
Oh? You mean travel guides?
But I'm afraid mine would be rather peculiar
What do you live on
I have money
I have money too
It's hard to explain
How's it going
Maybe you'd like to see my library
Since you teach
(Goes to door)
It's in here
Don't you want to see?
I can't get up
I don't know why
(He piviots his head to look)
I know why
You can't move. Do you know why? It's something I put into your
What else will happen to me
I'm not sure
I'm a little worried about this
Worrying doesn't help.
As a rule of thumb, it's impossible to avoid worrying.
Sometimes, when the weight of the world is heavy. . .something
. . .under the surface of things. . .moves.
I'd feel more comfortable if I didn't look at you.
Do you mind if I touch you?
Don't say all right
Here, in my hand, is a tooth
Did it grow there?
It's not dangerous. You see, if I apply this hand to your face,
it doesn't bite. Because. . .it's a single tooth
I'm covered with blood
My cheek is, my arm is, my thigh, my chest--
I didn't mean it to hurt.
(Hurting was never the intention, but the blood shows through everything.
--what's the phrase? The singing in the blood, the trill in the
blood? Taut networks in the blood, ringing
But of course the blood is ringing. I can hear it ringing in my
(She has gone to desk or table, opens note)
. . .You have to decide whether you want to accept this invitation
Thank you. I'd rather be struck by lightening
Maybe I should stand over by the window
I'm taking charge
I'm taking charge
See who that is
(She hestitates, he smiles)
I'm here to see the professor
Are you deciding whether or not to let me in? I can see him standing
Yes. He's here
(rota run/ rota traffic)
Otherwise, I might rip into somebody's all too emotionally contorted expression
Otherwise, I might re-descend--
Depths, you see, are my arena
Otherwise, I might turn a sunday afternoon turbulent
--could a dheese cracker satisfy my voracious appetite?
No, no, I eat from one end of the town to the other and believe me
Nothing's left when I finish
Otherwise, when we dance, it's of course, mutual destruction
Here, my hand for a salutation
Plus, my hand for a weight that hurts
Those were secrets, now it's time for the masquerade to re-assert
it's dominant hold
I never do anything else
Oh? I thought you were telling the truth
I dressed it up, I re-collected it's less than colorful patches.
I stitched together a tissue of exageration to come up with something
What. Fill me in
That's just it, there's nothing to fill in. There you stand, prancing
in space, a beautiful hole in nothing. That's where the wind blows
Now I know what to name it
Right. Whenever you name something. It vanishes(Org SA)
OK This is exactly what I meant
Look at that
It's a plate of cheeze crackers
It's an oracle
The cheeze. The crackers
I see that
Eat it first
No, no-- if I eat it, I read it. If you eat it--
--I never read what I eat
You will not believe me when I tell you the truth about myself. The truth about myself is that I have obtained. . . supremem knowledge, and this knowledge radiates from me, to fill each of you, in my presence.
In fact, however, you will not believe me, which means you will not believe in the full extent of your own knowledge and radience.
But this is not wrong or undesirable.
This is a function of the very knowledge and radience you acquire from my presence.
I shall now tear to pieces, an envelop within which. . .
(Goes, tears up. Pause)
I forgot what was in the envelop. But that's OK.
Because it illustrates my real and most secret import.
That needs no intrepretation
(Booth opens. Poem by one inside)Knowledge as an aberant system.
Just suppose. Just suppose, the universe is not something that is, ultimately, knowable.
Do you realy see what I'm saying?
Just suppose, that built into the universe is a quality, or a structure, that renders nul and void the possibility of true understanding.
That the activity of the brain called "thinking' is constitutionally grounded in a process that by definition, can't be isomorphic with the universe as it really is.
The IS a possibility.
In fact-- history, and the continual needs to superceed each new
platuea of science and knowledge-- support that possibility very
strongly: that all knowledge is simply local knowledge.
(Pause. Holds head)
Just a minute
(Goes to drawer, tear up envelop)
Why did you do that?
I don't know
Did you have an intuition?
I can't say that I did
What can you say about what you did--
Theorize about it? Oh please, spare me--!
There's no other option
Of course there is. Look out the window, what do you see?
What's going on ouside.
(Backs up into closed door)
What does that mean, --it's night.
Close you eyes and begin talking
("darkness falls)Is this in any way-- accurate
Let's make this accurate. Let's turn it into reality itself
(To drawer, tears up)
(Curtain rear opens. applause)
I went to the theater. . .(On blackboard, writes "This is
This is my name
(Writes again "This is my knowledge")
This is. . .a degree of accuracy about my life. The interesting thing is-- we SHARE a life.
This is my hand-- unreadable, until read.
So. It performs tasks.
It's true professor. Your hand's unreadable, but to a certain
extent, your face is readable.
And my actions?
They are readable.
(envelop held up)
Shall I open this?
It says "I love you, I understand you"
Who signed it
It's not signed
I think you wrote it
Something about your expression. I just think so
Maybe you should look into a mirror to check out your own expression
I'm willing to do that.
(Hesitates, goes to mirror)
What do you see?
All the obvious things
Ah, nothing to report?
Report? That's a funny word
Anything to report?
(The darkness falls)Ladies and gentlemen. The truth of the matter
is, this person I face: doesn't like me
That's not true
He thinks he likes me well enough
But he doesn't. This isn't because of anything I have done or shall do. In fact, his dislike is not demonstrable. But it is a fact, because in so stating, I make it a fact.
I re-define, as it were, the only possible grid on which such
things can be measured
To prove I like you, I'm giving you a gift
In fact, what does this prove?
In fact-- is there any way to prove or disprove such things? There
is no such way.
(I like the actors who appear, etc)
Here's the story. I lead you into the next room, and pull back the curtains on the window. You look through the window and see. . . I want to demonstrate my ability to tell time automatically. Mentally. I'll write the time on this piece of paper
(Starts, stops, takes cloth off to reveal clock, and reads it)
Eight-- thirty four
Now I seal this paper in this envelop. I'll attach this envelop to the wall.
(Other is behind, unseen)
Now-- YOU will go and take this piece of paper out of the envelp
You, of course
How did you know I was here?
But you knew before I talked
It must have been a coincidence
This says eight thirty four, which doesn't agree with the clock.
Maybe the clock is wrong. At least, some of the time
Ah, a human clock? Not likely. If it was human, it would be wrong
ALL of the time
I have an idea
I know what you're doing
Then it's as good as if you were doing it yourself
Right. You're correcting what I wrote and making it--
(glances at clock)
Eight thirty six
All we have to do is wait.
(Pause, till clock reads that)
Look! what's written down agrees completely with what shows on the clock. Now comes the harder part--
(tearing up paper)
--translate that into general rules of behavior.Ladies and gentlemen.
Everything is in motion. Therefore I can only, towards the head
itself, re-direct all objects--
Can I sit?
Of course you can sit. But I don't think it stops with sitting.
Or, being seated.
You're correct. I drift to the next opportunity automatically.
But everything surrounding me, gathers me --
May I translate--?
--All of a piece, I totaled myself.
a green hat on a second
surface of an entirely different color.
What waits for me
is more or less
Bright lights from an interiour
matched by morning.
All this could begin a day
I shut down like a trap
I, am that trap
I put my hand to the doorknob that releases the iron myth, the flex of sayable access. Look at this ordinary mouth. Watch as it lifts the light.Magic?
Not quite yet.I shall sit down to my dinner, and you, of all people.
. .shall rejoice with me
The street outside is so full of excited people--
Is it warm out?
Are overcoats being--
No. NO! It's quite cool. It's the anticipation of a coming holiday.
People's faces, flushed with excitment.
And what is the kernal of that excitment? Is it something inside
the people themselves, or is it in the environment through which
they pass, the colored lights, the flags waving in the reflected
brightness-- where are they? What's the name of this city?
I'm unable to name it
I'm unable to say the name
It has a name that can never be pronounced or written
There are certain traditions in which, the never to be pronounced
is the name of a diety. I hardly think, the city to which we make
--Must we? MUST WE?
See what happened?
Already it vanished
I doubt it
It had a certain evocative presence. Invading even this room--
but now it's disappeared completely
(The darkness falls)This is for you
I wouldn't eat it
I made it special
Ah. It's a kind of poison?
Well-- not poison
A kind of emotional poison
I'd better see what effect it has on me
I wouldn't eat it
Try an alternative
Eat it and find out
Well, why not.One reason he had no idea, was that these ideas were PRESSING into his skull, and that PRESSURE-- it was too many ideas-- none of them able to come to fruition-- but was that OK? --or a new lease on life, really, and he was up and about, being totally amazed at the way it added to the RICHNESS of his life.
This fulcrum of possibility--
You name it
It has no name
TRhat stopped our conversation in mid-stream
Could you talk to me about something better?
I had enough realism to last a lifetime
Here, let me hold that part that hurts
Is he self talking, or talking to what's in another place--
These continual substitutions are the fruit of much mental fun
If it was mental fun I was into, then I'd be approximately called
one fun machine after another
Let me leap out where the leap is most appropriate
Me and my overly clean glasses-- wees all that and polishing these
lenses, we get a perspective on things that skew to better be
believed in and of itself
I believe enerything
No-- you believe everything that's outside; what's inside on the
other hand, seems to you so flexible and open to impulsive options--
You can't call it major belief, you can only call it-- random
behavior even though it isn't, of course, behavior, because it's
all inside-- but isn't that behavior also?
Of a sort
Of a sort
I don't think I'm here any more
I was all ready to put out my hand and say something like --glad
to make the acquaintance, but the acquaintance already had his
or her left foot in another realm or catagory completely.
Just a foot
Just the left one
So it could still retrace steps or step
See? Even that's up for grabs
It's just trying to circle onto another pleateau
These pleateaus are like somebody else's rivers, they foam at
I think I'm well under mental control
It's not the mental--
What is it?
Well, it's definitely not the mental
Once, when I decided to know you--
--don't shut the door so quickly
(Goes. Noise of slam)
I knew I'd be caught and you'd be caught
Flipped over a table that stood in my way. I pivot, and a new
plot of ground, a new territory, even though urban in the extreme,
was mine for all kinds of floral expansion.
Taste this nut
It's shell is a defense mechanism I can't penetrate
Taste the shell
Does that mean swallow it?
Before it vanishes
What would make it vanish?
Are you drunk?
Did I already empty this bottle to this significant degree? Oh
I must be under a rather terrific influence
Don't ask me about it, do a certain amount of self proving
I proved everything to myself, but I didn't like what I found.
That's a usual scenario, I suppose, so if I turn it in a totally
In what way better
It's just. . .better (Into drawer for envelop. Given)
This is for me?
Well, I'll save it
Be careful. In time, it's contents change.
For the better?
Ah. Is this paradise?
Yes and no.
Ah. You're trying to be convincing.
With success?-- No, don't answer. I'm quite sure of the answer.My antenna lifts, into the street
(Points to self)
The quake in the forehead.
I don't see any movement in your forehead
I'm not saying I imagined it, I'm saying-- treat it as a fact
I must be partly responsible.
Yes. But when you say that you're not one hundred percent believeable
When does it change?
Let's give it some time
Oh, that is very upsetting to hear
I have nothing but time
I'm in a similar catagory of course. That's why I feel so. . .bereft of opportunity
(Going to drawer)
What are you looking for
Something to help
I don't think anything will help
Neither do I. That's why this drawer is empty.This public place,
will allow me to think of it in private
Is this, now, private?
Think of it
I can think of it, of course. But I mean, or rather I dream of,
sinking into it in private which means, sinking through it, into
myself, which I can only do in private.
Do it in public
I can't do it in public
I don't know why
Use this to cover your head
It's private. And if you could communicate with me, you'd say "Yes, it's private"> And fortunately, I can imagine your face, shining or not shining, underneath it's cover of privateness. And that, serves me well.
I take a respectful step back from the aura of your silence: and my own head, fills, with a desired emptiness, thanks to your silence.
(Third in takes blanket off)
What was it like
Ah, I'm not answered, I'm cast onto my own shore, as it were, a vast continenent, ready for exploration.
Well, here I am. Would you mind, not leaving please?
(Sits. Pause. Up and out. Struggle to re-establish blanket. Done Re-enter, Sit)
It will be edmotionally moving to me if, once, I am able to see the face behind that barrier
One of a whole slew of fantasies, of course-- it turns out to
be my own.
Your own what
Face, of course
You mean-- this one?I think so, but of course-- I don't see it.
You see it
Are we talking about the same thing?
Of course not.
(She leaves. Blanket off. Other leaves. Alone) This man who
lived someplace OTHER than in his head. This frightened educational
fanatic, who lapsed, after he reached for what he really desired
If you look at me long enough, you're given: lots
I notice you don't return my gaze
Let's say I did over an extended period of time; who burns up,
you or me?
Is this metaphorical burning?
Indeed. What else
I have no idea
Oh please. You PLANTED the idea in my head.
Where in the head
Well, let's say in the center
Where's this center
Doesn't that feel just a little bit stupid, pointing at your own head to indicate the center of something.
(Pause. Other rises and points to OTHER's head, as other closes
Thank you: to give me the opportunity to say something under unusual
Giess what. I removed my hand
You could verify it by opening your eyes
No thank you. The opportunity actually set me on fire, and now
that I'm burning, I burn, and if I burn, changing course is out
of the question for the moment.
I wish this could goi further.
That was your original mistake. Anything begun--
--can of course go further. But it's always a terrible mistake.
Always? I don't believe it.
Do ou see what's in this bread?
There are jewels in this bread
Does that make it difficult to eat this bread?
Yes. But not yes. I understand-- that one can eat, as it were,
around the jewels
There are jewels in this bread.(Leafing through book)
There's something I want to show you
--I don't believe in experience
This isn't experience. This is theoretical.
Ah, just my meat
It's true, I was going to show you something. But on the other
--I said I don't believe in experience
No. This is theoretical. I want to see what happens if you open
the book at random
Give it to me--
I'm glad you don't catagorize this as experience
Give it to me
Then it's theoretical indeed
The passage I wanted to read you is-- ah., It's not here
Well, I lied. It's here, but it no longer seems relevent
Then we'd better ignore it
(Puts on table)
It might amuse you to thumb through this book, and make guesses
as to which page-- no, that doesn't in fact seem very amusing
I told you
I don't valadate experience
The quote I had in mind was relevent to that point of view
--Then it's superfluous
Yes. That was my point.
Since you don't valadate experience, this silence between us--
I experience it, but I don't valadate it.
What does that mean exactly.
Once, when I had an emotionally upsetting experience--
But you started to say something interesting
How did you know it was going to be interesting
The set up was interesting
Then you should be satisfied
But it peeked my curiousity
Ah, if you mean by that that your psychic mechanism is in a state of agitation, I'll say well and good
I leave it at that
So I gather
You see how unnecessary, how beside the point, all that back and
forth concerning that particular book--
--Yes, I've dropped it
But unfortunately, you can't erase what's been inscribed in both
memories-- yours and mine
You tell me how
There's no way
Why do I have the feeling you know a way, but you simply aren't
Oh, I'd tell you if it were possible
Why would you tell me. Why would it seem so important
Well now, suppose I just open the book at random. Let my eyes fall on a passage
No. That doesn't add up to much
(Book in drawer)
Let's not forget where the book is, in case we ever need it for
I don't think we'll forget
The only paradox is--
Doesn't this -- well, to a certain degree--
--Yes, it tends to validate experience
For me, yes. But life is a mix of negative and positive, isn't
it? So I try to counteract that, and usually it works
Ah, in time it'll work. You'll see.
(Covers eyes with hands)
Why are you doing that
Just resting my eyes. That was my only subterfuge
I have a lot to learn from you
No. I have a lot to learn from YOU
Yes. It's a contest
For you. But not for me
(Goes for book. Gets. Exits)
At the edge of a significant precipice, unable to jump, I re-structured the life around me. This is, it was said, my belief system.The eye
sits in silence.
A derived God
The twist of psychic self
provocativeness of pose.(Masked)
Does this make you forget who I am?
Does this disconcert you at all? But of course it has to a little bit, but the question is what is the fundimental reality to this little bit
How does it change, to the tinest degree, your belief or my belief?
(Pause, other exits. One left, takes off and looks at mask)
(Puts it away)
I've taken it off
Apparently I'm not heard.
Suppose I were to sit here, trying to see
just how calm, how composed,
I could really be
(Pause. Goes and puts on mask) Nothing is hidden here.
Everything is on the surface.
Everything is visibleI assume you kneel
Nothing of the sort is necessary
I assume you kneel more than once
I have been waiting to enter this arena
Should I re-blindforld?
Now. Again. Should I blindfold you?
But I am blindfolded. Do you mean, putting another blindfold
I have no idea
All right. Do it
Now that I can't see anythng. I can't see anything
My only reason foir being here is to speak.
The city holds no more secrets
When I rode in on the edge of a delerium. . .Your reality is my
Then I won't unpack.
Spin? Me too
The angel who dominated my life, turned human, but I don't believe it.
I thought there were additional secrets
I bought shoes
To get down to earth
Ah, my goals are in another direction
Right under your feet, right under nose, right between your lips
This is hardly believeable
This is hardly a mistake
(Opens, puts on)
Let's see-- walking
I'm only a beginner
What did you buy
Did you have a need for new shoes
Yes I did
I was beginning to be depleated in my stock of shoes
Let me touch
That foot should be. . .put to work.
Let's face it. I'm the most interesting person you ever met
I come in many shapes and sizes
I'm the most interesting person you ever metWhen I die, it'll be a sleep, yes, and enjoyable.
But I want life, (in which) to express the yearning for a connection to the big item.
In life, one can act out the desire to be part of the truth of things.
Death is just-- being there. OK.
But the added thrill of the desire to be there.
In life, one can desire death-life.
In death, one simply .. . achieves. And that doesn't amount to
I told the truth. It's that for which I am punished.
How are you punished?
(Shirt up, scars)
Am I to believe those physical scars were inflicted on you especially
because you told the truth?
No. You're to believe these scars are physical representations
of something else
I don't understand
Then, my friend, you don't believe
Which is a hundred per cent acceptable
I'd simply like to--
--A hundred percent acceptable!
I'd simply like to hear the facts
Ah, the facts. But the facts. . .drift.
Then I'll have no opinion
I'll have no belief.A man lifted his hat to the wind, and these empty gestures refuse to repeat. Someone smiles, and the anseer of escape, answers not.
His need for drink surfaces.
A glass is poured but selfish, selfish, is what a deeper dream
responds.Sinking into the real realm of the self, I almost lost,
alas, not my reason for being, but my taste for that manifestation
of self that depended, vitally, on the world of objects so as
to reflect back upon me their glow-alured separate essences that
were in fact, skin deep.
Here I spin in pure space, yet it was not space, which seems to
depend on it's being for the mututal existence of objects, points
of reference. It was rather, to exist in the pure collapse of
Time, seems to pull me. And as it does so, I do twist
May I attach myself to that twist?
Ah, would you like to call yourself time?
I'd like to be equally transparent
If I was not here, that would be transparent
That's a false definition of transparent
My false antenna functions like a perfect idea
If I didn't know you better--
--You don't know me at all
Could I say "I know myself"? We could not be that exact. Herein lies the confusion that allows something to happen.
What I pivot on, pivots. That's why I say the direction is well placed.
The direction certainly re-lifts, and as I reach into my pocket--
Say no more. I picked up the quickening in the eye.
What changed. Direction? Size?
We can make that choseable, because the side you come down on has so many options, you're at play immediately, unbeknownst.
At the edge of the city, a man about to enter tried to isolate
that special moment of transition, non-city to city, and his head
bled several ideas.
They went to the sky, they cried like children, and the rain that
re-descended seemed to speak the words of an especially occult
These books, these in the window, these are eye books, hooking the eye, that organ which gave, as it were, birth to the several others.
And the river of distinction, to which we all refered as it coursed
its way through the city, that river rose mostly as aroma, tiny
droplets, and the fine thin mist of idea was not "IDEA",
always a coagulate, but something more malleable-- less efficacious--
and more. . .words fail, fortunately.
Thomas had found the point of entry. His first step and he stumb;led--
never to be the hero of the wide boulevards, instead, to be unbroken
from his trace of the truth, untouched by knowledge, in spite
of, or because of, all effort to know.
A dream in which overdoing yawns open to the wide plain, depopulated
of the undone forever.
. . . . .
So Thomas, now in the train towards X Y Z. Those letters alone could flash the correct color, depth and taste. He will never rise against.
He flutters, that is his not chosen but certainly arrived, mode
of-- dare we call it urban-- stability. There he stands.It is
an earthquake. Hold onto something solid.
I have decided to divorce myself from the real world. I have decided
to dive into the sweet nectar of the deep self, therein to loose
How does one live through a serious earthquake.
Certain rooms fill me with. . .there are certain rooms, with a
certain decor, a certain atmosphere, a certain decorative modulation
of space and light-- that replaces-- these rooms or the the faint
sensed alure of these rooms not in fact encountered, replace in
my life the absent love, the absent erotic thrill that heretofore,
women alone provided. I lust-- but no, it was never luist in fact;
it was the deepest of romantic yearnings-- all that, reficused
by the romance of these intuited rooms.
I take it this room is not like one of the rooms to which you
Not at all
It doesn't have the requisite atmosphere
It doesn't have the requisit complexity. There are no-- twists
and turns, or not a sufficient number of textures, shapes, light
(Pause) If you divorce yourself from the real world, isn't that
a kind of death
How is it a kind of life
Not a kind of life-- the only possibility for real life
Oh come now, everyone knows the world is a prison
Except, by that definition, life itself might be a kind of prison
No. This game of shadows-- I don't believe in it. The terms of
the game. . .are based on nothing at all. Echos. Rumors, reflections
that become so badly distorted-- but this is not something I agree
to discuss. This is simply my choice
So you just want to disappear into one of your. . .exemplary rooms
If one can be found
I'm sure of you try
Yes. If I try. But I mustn't try too hard
Any excessive effort. . .that sinks one into the current reality,
immediately. So, never try too hard. Just. . .keep alive inside
yourself, the drgree of yearning. The wistfulness. That floats
a life quite successfully, thank you
I don't quite believe it, but this is another earthquake.Thomas
had no hope that the rain would stop, and when it did, he turned
circles of happy expectation. All this, a lie. Not at all.
When a rose in the garden lifted, the other flowers also, in concert--
was it the word? Was it an angle of vision? But the garden was
deserted so Thomas must have been imagining the scene.
Indeed, his feet being on the chair opposite, lifted, and Thomas's
smile, hardly visible, could have been interpreted by his partner
as a lift of the mouth at the edges. The roise of the garden,
buzzes itself into a new and better level of being.
The self same rose, plucked and entered. The jar in which it was
placed, not at all suitable, and what did this mean? What did
this adventurize into the quiyte holy sanctum, well panneled,
well draped, well carpeted, and in the center here now red punctuated,
the bare glass jar, recepticle that offended by its very lack
of disguise.Wait a minute, cried the word disguise-- rising on
its well decorated paws. But a shot rang out. A brain fired once
again. All was peaceful. Roses were well placed, and the breeze
sturred like a memory or a forgotten story, as the efforts of
a previous day coallsed into what was now present and still and
an image, only, that if it moved at all, rose like an air filled
balloon which means, no place to go but. . .up.I'm alone. It's
ok. I don't think I'll be alone for long; because it may be long
but it won't seem to be. Somebody will walk in and say hello.
Dipping into the well of my own thinking: this my hand, holds.
Put the flower back into the vase.
Look at me, onlyYou probably had God in mind when you got down
on your hands and kees in front of me
That was last night. This is this morning
I don't see the difference
Here's the difference
(Down on all fours)
You're right. The effect is totally different
I don't have to. The word that comes to mind immediately is literature
You don't have to stretch toward respectability
I thought I was doing the opposite.
If I say literature, that's like saying shit.
If I say, for instance-- science; that's sweet smelling
Strange. To me science has no smell at all.
Ow! Why did you do that
I think you know, my friend
I'm no longer your friend
--No longer the friend of science? No longer willing to sacrifice
comfort in the name of experimentration?
Don't tempt me
Why don't we try reversing positions
All right. Just as an experiment
Right. Just as an experiment
But that's something, of course. Our agreement that it's inconclusive
By the way--
It's time for lunch
I don't imagine this bread appeals to you
It's too long
Of course, it can be shortened(Two sit, bell)
(Other. rises, fumblesout backwards)
What could be more romantic than the notion of the threshold that
is crossed, when one believes one is simply entering or exiting
from a normal room
(Goes to look)
Strange. Nobody's here.
Why did you shut the door in my face just as I was about to enter
But you were sitting right there
Look at me. Where am I?
Now wait a minute-- sit in that chair.
(Done) See? What I said is 100 % accurate
How do you feel now?
Not quite right
I can't locate it
Your whole body?
This is going to sound strange, but no-- it's as if I were enclosed
in a whole envelope, that went several feet away from my body.
And that whole envelope-- which includes me of course, that whole
envelope feels-- not quite right.
I don't perceive that envelope
You took time to decide to say that
Yes, I did
Is it because you lied?
No. It's just that-- your evelope has no reality for me. But what
you said, made me aware of my own envelope
How is it. How does it feel
Not quite right
Do you know something? To a certain extent, our two envelopes
Yes. I know that
You sense that
Let's stand further away from each other
Right. No change. Because our envelopes got bigger
Here's my contribution--
I can't think what to say
You know. You mean you read my mind?
Oh no. Less than ever do I read your mind
I feel the same way
That's why something feels wrong. Our two envelopes overlap--
yet, we can't read each other's minds
But if the feeling of not-quite-right is shared--
And it is
What is that, then?
Well, it's a statement
How take the next step
I don't know
I don't know either
(Music. Both turn and hold heads) I can't help thinking, a stort begun and dropped mid-way,
makes no sense in the sense of --why begin
plunging a little more deeply into the relevent matter,
I begin-- glimmer--
to sense that the real fact, the ( involving ) fact in the sense of a desirable self (turbluence ),
is that very fact of stopping mid-way, of letting things finish
half way into the whole plan of things because half way -- escape
routes are illuminated and it's those escape routes that are the
arrived at thing in a story or anything else
But when that same story or anything else is really finished,
those very same escape routes turn re-invisible. So: stay here
Where's my escape route?
Oh, in some other direction, of course
Well then, I'll just stay here to think about it. I mean-- not think, but you know-- something close to that.
I'm under the rule of alien forces.
Here , in this city of gravational anomoly
I'm the anomoly.
I'm the alien factor.
(Strangers entered the city)
When, tilted toward
The whole head
Whirling for balance
Idea plus blast
But blast, stronger
Sending the body
Into the sigh-space
Of the quenched intelligence,
then and only then
Seen like rain
Puddle the whole arena
of the face
and the smile
the mutual control
that feeds on air
with the blind hand
shines.There is nothing that wants to be spoken.
From whence does this speaking roll forward.
There is no life here
that wants, desparetly, to be lived.
So from whence does this life roll forward?
His power was in saying nothing
The darkness falls.
Streets, empty again
and the knives, where are ther knives
(where are the knives, where are the knives)
The knives are in my mental apparatus
Cloaked in a hankerchief of silk
And unable to penetrate
The walls of their long warm container:
Where are the knives.
The steel echo
slicing the brain of a befuddled inquisitor.
So-- air emptied
Extended in space
All torn into black happiness
like a wound
where the heart is most in flower.
I suddenly realized-- to testify to one's inner self, to attest-- revelation of one's feelings and ideas, is only to construct a mask, a barrier.
Better to be totally. . .unforthcoming.
The truth is in that, only. Never in the presentation, which is
always a miss-presentation. Always.
Either one dies and vanishes-- like a sleep forever. Or one lives, in some form, after death . But it now seems as if either alternative is the same. Because this living that is now-- if the living after death is like this, is a sleep indeed. And if the living after death is different, then to this living that is now conceiving this thing-- to this manner of living-- it is like sleep would be-- and inconceivable, just like sleep is named but unexperienceable when one is not asleep. So it is all the same-- no matter what happens. A sleep. Just like this sleep now... which is the thing that is happening, inside us, as something that is not happening. . .in a way that cxan be touched, but this mind.Some places are portals. doors-- this is such a place: a space.
What happens here. . .is concecrated. It opens.
I am: looking for the fountain. But what arrives. . .is not the
fountain. What I need is sustinance, which the present makes,
by its presence, absent.
Certain locations contain, a door into death that is not unpleasant.
It is the door to death that is pleasant or unpleasant, not death
Don't believe this. Don't be convinced by what asks to be convincing.
If this is convincing, this is a barrier. The mind convinced,
is the mind, imprisoned by a barrier, behind which hide real things,
which are never convincing, but are constitutionally illusive.
This door into death. Say more about this portal
There are many.
Barriers-- or doors-- He decided to enter the door to death, without being in death, except the death that was belind him and in him and through him completely;
so it was not entering death, it was being wrapped in death
like a blanketThere is a spot-- there is such a spot, which is a door, I was about to say
a door to death,
but it is not a door to death so much
as, or, co-incidentally--
this spot, this place-- which is one of several or many--
a door, a portal
to the infinite which in a certain guise
is a door to death but there are alternatives,
since it is infinity.
This is here,
such a spot, or place.
So place, is linked to a time,
which is then in the past as one's life moves on, which is to
say loco-motes one.
And when the space was by one, in--
the door may not have been open.
But when one moves on-- later--
the the door may open by you are not there to use it,
but your memory uses it, so the question is then
do you use it if your memory uses it.
A better question is,
since you have been told this place is such a door;
--can you now, while you are in it, move on
so that it can right now
be like a memory
that you can use
even though it is still now.His hope was to enter another dimention
But what issued was the opposite.
The opposite of another dimention?
What could that be?
To implode, possibly, into this dimention
in which he felt himself tentative
and now it was in perminant form,
in infinity itself, like a weight--
but was that not
So. all apples
rounded into their roundness
once and for all
And the bite taken
the forever process;
which fed not
It's not in life
that's not where it's happening.
You think it's happening in life
Where else could it be happening?
It's not happening someplace else
It's happening right here
But not in life
Where is 'here' that isn't in life
and if it isn't, it's someplace else
Well, just shut up and admit I'm right
You mean, give up total power over my mind?
Oh now, I'm powerless. That's the point
Ah, that's the point
Ah that's the point
Ah that's the point.
If it's not in life, I'm not interested
because I'm in life
so what interests me
is what's here, where I am
What's interesting is what's
where you are that you
don't know where you are
Even if I don't know it,
that's in life
Not it isnt
That's un-alterably-- silly
That's un-alterably-- silly
The most interesting thing about you is where you are, that part of where you are that isn't where you think you are.We do not see into the abyss
twist of the twist
in and out of
what is more frightening than a knife
Here's my knife--
a knife.(On cathorni)
Why do you walk like that
When you get old, that's what it feels like. That's the way you walk
Get ready for it! Get used to it. That's what it's going to feel
like-- you too, and if you don't get ready for it, you're going
to be very UN-HAPPY! (laughs)
Get out you knives! Get ready! Get out your knives!!!
So that things can be said that were never intended.
they come true.All this circulation
of opinion inside me
what does it mean
Centering on personal catastrophy
swinging into orbit
all latched onto
intricacies of paradise
How swing this
fist of light
now, chained tio
Power in the distraction
of the void-let
Wept, under the rugI can't handle it. I think I performed certain
actions that, well . . .let's say I can't handle it
Oh Maurice-- did you do something bad?
That's another catagory
That's the only catagory you can't handle
Arriving at this peninsula of my life; which is thrust forward
into the unknown
A story is being told. What circles in the dim distance is lost.A story is being told.
The birds circle
A music of perfume and regret
an d when the fog
a certain hallaujha was endured
that gave breath
to lost effort
sunk into the story
it's absent center
Let me confess. I'm looking for thrills. That alone makes me happy
Searching for thrills? Or acquiring thrills.Now I have a new and
massive insight into your--
--Don't say it
Don't you allow anybody else into your consciousness?
Oh, invitations are ok
--only they don't promise to remain invitations
Could I scan that again?
You probably won't like it if the hand offered in friendship turns
I probably don't like it if I can't see double
How come we seem to be wheeling--
--around a central subject instead of letting the vehicle sputter
forward under its own energyI'm an amazing creature. As soon as
my brain goes to work, I go to work
I never expected to hear you say that
Ladies and gentlemen. The sun rises
Which is irrelevent to our concerns.
What we control is --nothing
The peverse engineer.I have something to teach-- what it is, I don't know.
I make myself. . .available, when I am in the teaching mode--
even though I have, in fact, nothing to teach.
That is to say, I don't know what I'm teaching, but I AM teachingLadies and gentlemen: faced with stares of incomprehension, I decide to make sense, but oh my goodness.
That's been going on for the last fifteen minutes
What's been going on for the last fifteen minutes? Did I miss
something. I better plunge a little deeper to come up with something
Spending time together: wasted.
Imagination into the deep hole
Now I get up to demonstrate, but of course, it's a hover-craft
What's a hover craft?
Please. Give me a chance to explain myself. Chickens never come
home to roost
Doesn't it get exhausting to be so absent to your own sense of
Let's plunge into this to find out what I really hum to, that
is to say what tune, drives at the back of the skull machine
It's no tune
Just because it can't be carried doesn't mean it isn't a tune.
Let me demark something
Is something marked?
--It's about to get, de-marked. That's a sign of health. Mine, or it'sWhat I can't produce, is the desirable egg.
(Holds up egg)
Nothing emerges from this. This does not. . .flower.
And my heart, which was never whole, breaks.
What a reason for a broken heart
(Out, new egg, broken)
What effect does this have on you
Remarkable enough, it brings tears to my eyes
Ah, A magic act
Notice? There are no tears visible. I make you believe in them
simply by my tone of voice
Are you threatening to saw me in half?
No. I don't know how to do that without hurting you
Try. Hurting me--
Go ahead, twist it.
Now. I'm feeling pain. Wouldn't you like to do this in public?
There are people watching us
We're ignoring the performance
(unblindfold one who sits)
What were you able to perceive, though blindfolded
I was able to hear what was happening
What was happening
Oh, I didn't try to organize it. Ah-- that's interesting--
Have you been crying?
Not really. Though it's been alluded to
--Don't believe him. He was crying. Real tears
That's what I thought
Believe it if you like. But it's not true
Now-- for my next trick. I make this book appear
Was the drawer empty?
Yes. Until I made this appear
Do all your tricks involve making things either appear or disappear.
Would you yourself rather do one of those two things than anything
I get to do them, don't I? I appear./ Then I disappear. It takes anywhere from fourty to eighty years.
I prefer ther disappearing parts
(Puts book back)
Why do you prefer the disappearing part
I think-- may I be allowed to offer an opinion?
I think-- it's because there's no love in your life, professor
May I volunteer?
(Pause, offers arm)
Here's my arm
It's already been twisted
This time, when you twist, give me a command. "Love me".
That should be your verbal accompanyment
I don't believe love comes through twisting somebody's arm
Are those real tears?
Of course. I can make something appear out of nothing
Thank you professor
I still don't understand why you prefer the disappearing act,
to its opposite
It'll take a lot of explaining
* * * He, who after experience has faded, returns to the realm in which
the feet were placed.
The agitation as the remark
that launched a thousand faces
into their extreme grimaces
of grief and transformed grief--
building a world of intricate human relationships
that only a detective-magician, in combination,
could psyche out.The empty space of his hunger
that's what he discovered
But so unveiled,
who could come into more real being
Who could cry more than one who did cry--
tears of a particular drift,
that sailed feeling
into a space
stumbling like a child
reversed all the rules
(You have the feeling that it means something-- but you don't
That, giant fascination
That, lift of agression that eats by planting an idea in the very
You can't handle me, is the message I'm trying to get across
But when the right energy rises-- all sinks into the same right/wrong
reason, and song in singing to itself, singable as full song.
Surprise. . .everybody vanished.
what do I have to deal with.
I have to deal with myself in relation to something very different.
I have to deal with myself in relation to. . .leave that blank,
My feeling for you is such
I call it love
I don't see evidence of that
It's an internal thing
(Pause, music rise)
Look at the effort I'm making to externalize this thing. Doesn't this count for anything. Please! Please! Please!