Notice what's on my wrist?

That's a beautiful watch.


Who do you pray to

I don't

What kind of religious cerimony do you--

--I don't have any religious observations.

Ah. God plays no part in your life?

Certainly not.

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

You did--

I did not.

(Pause, frowns)

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

About nothing

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

Nothing 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?

About what.

(Pulls hand back)

I didn't lie

About what

About anything

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 start working


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

We don't

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 aggrements.

That's my idea of an agreement. ***

Did you--


You didn't hear me out


I was going to--

--I heard you out


You didn't

Proof. There was a considerable amount of silence that passed between my last statement and your answer

My answer to what


Take your pick


That's me.

What is

My answer was :never, Your answer was totally inarticulate

You didn't let me answer

Do it


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

That's desperation

Not on my part

Not on my part

If God--

--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

Explain that


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

You do

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)

Pleasant dreams

I talk in my sleep


Then you probably aren't asleep

Not yet

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


Excuse me?

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 decide.



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

Not really

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

No comment


I know, of course, that being human means sometimes, being diffeicult.


Go on

That's all

(Pause, nods)

I thought.


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?

(Pause. Smiles)

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 it?


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

Like alcohol

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


I teach


Private classes



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 drink

What else will happen to me

I'm not sure

I'm a little worried about this

Don't be

Why not?

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.


(Moves, stops)

Do you mind if I touch you?




all right

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

What is.

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 ears

(She has gone to desk or table, opens note)

. . .You have to decide whether you want to accept this invitation


I don't



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)


(She opens)

I'm here to see the professor


Are you deciding whether or not to let me in? I can see him standing behind you

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


Wind-- hurricane!



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

What is

The cheeze. The crackers

I see that

Read it

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?


(Enter, other)

What's going on ouside.


(Backs up into closed door)

It's night

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)

What next

Show me

(Curtain rear opens. applause)

I went to the theater. . .(On blackboard, writes "This is my name")

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.


Its expressions

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 right now.

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

(Other enters)

Anything to report?

(Mirror hung)

(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?

From talking.

But you knew before I talked

It must have been a coincidence

(Opens envelop)

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

(Looks up)

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.

Re-drawn boundaries,

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

but instead

ends it.

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

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 reference--


--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

It's subjective


(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--

--that's true

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 the mouth

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


Taste this nut

I can't


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 my god--


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 unexpected direction--

This scenario?

It's better

In what way better

It's just. . .better (Into drawer for envelop. Given)

This is for me?

Of course

Well, I'll save it

Be careful. In time, it's contents change.


For the better?


Of course.

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

Not yet

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?

What else.

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 eyes)

Say something

Thank you: to give me the opportunity to say something under unusual external influences

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--

(opens eyes)

--can of course go further. But it's always a terrible mistake.

Always? I don't believe it.

Believe it.


Do ou see what's in this bread?


Name it


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

Jeweled bread

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

(Closes book)

It's true, I was going to show you something. But on the other hand--

--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

(Pause, opens)

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

That's amazing


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.

No comment


Once, when I had an emotionally upsetting experience--


No comment

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 telling me

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

(Looks, chooses)

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 something.

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

A negative

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

This time?

Ah, in time it'll work. You'll see.

(Covers eyes with hands)

You'll see

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

shines me.

All fluid,

a case

in pieces.

The twist of psychic self

seeking availabity,

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

(Pause: calls)

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



A little

Should I re-blindforld?


Please do


Now. Again. Should I blindfold you?

But I am blindfolded. Do you mean, putting another blindfold on top?


What for?

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 reality

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

Are you?

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 much.

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

(Hands up)

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

And belief?

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 collapsedness.

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 book.

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 myself.

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 refer.

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 and shadow,

(Pause) If you divorce yourself from the real world, isn't that a kind of death

The opposite


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

Why not

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.

(get flower(

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

Free associate

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


Inconclusive-- Inconclusive


But that's something, of course. Our agreement that it's inconclusive

By the way--


It's time for lunch

(Music, stagger)

I don't imagine this bread appeals to you

It's too long

Of course, it can be shortened(Two sit, bell)

Come in

(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.

(shuts door)


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


Forgive me

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 overlap

Yes. I know that

You sense that


Let's stand further away from each other


No change

Right. No change. Because our envelopes got bigger

Here's my contribution--


I can't think what to say

I know

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

but then

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

forgettable space

The whole head

Whirling for balance

Idea plus blast

But blast, stronger

Sending the body


Towards columns


All trees


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

And so,


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 gush

All torn into black happiness

like a wound

that hovers

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 itself.

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;

death; infinity;

--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

--that weight--

another dimention.

So. all apples

rounded into their roundness

once and for all

And the bite taken


the forever process;

which fed not

but fed.

It's not in life

that's not where it's happening.

You think it's happening in life

That's wrong

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

That's silly


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

That's silly

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


desires us


not pleasure

pleasure twist

all twist

twist of the twist


in and out of




This knife

what is more frightening than a knife

Here's my knife--

it's called

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!!!

Language proliferates.

So that things can be said that were never intended.

And then

they come true.All this circulation

of opinion inside me

what does it mean

Centering on personal catastrophy

That pearl

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

that circled

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

I bet

--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 terribly agressive

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 direction?

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--

(Offers arm)

Go ahead, twist it.

(Carefully, done)

Now. I'm feeling pain. Wouldn't you like to do this in public?

There are people watching us

I know


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 else

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?

Of course

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

Bravo professor

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

where feeling

stumbling like a child

reversed all the rules

(You have the feeling that it means something-- but you don't know what)

That, giant fascination

That, lift of agression that eats by planting an idea in the very correct field


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.

OK. Now:

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, thank you.

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!