Am I allowed to speak to you? Of course I am allowed, but when
I'm speaking-- I'm not being available., so that: curling up inside
myself-- is what you find hard to deal with. I know that for a
Here's a fact. A multitude of rose blossems pass through my imagination.
A multitude of rose blossems pass through my imagination also.
How strange if any of those roses were identical. No. Not strange
necessarily. Do you think we're on the same wave length?
Let me put it this way.
We're on the same wavelength.
I seize upon my life, in spite of a certain hole in the center
of my life
THE WORD "ROSES" AS AN IKON
Let me get a handle on this--
That's skating on thin ice-- so don't
Unless I'm dressed for it?
(Goes and dresses)
You tell ME.
Knock, knock. I thought I heard that coming from the doorbell.
What am I talking about? Doorbells don't knock.
Oh, I see, I switched levels on myself.
Levels-- you know, levels--
You were expecting a guest--
I can wait it out.
How about something to eat?
That's not good enough
Don't think about it unless it fills the imagination.
When was my imagination was last filled--?
IKON IKON IKON
--(ROSES ROSES ROSES)
I said, and I was flooded. But everything was taken away from
You have a berift expression
I was hiding it under a smile.
That's why the word 'knocked' occured to you.
It was a noise
Which was part of everything else.
You named it
No I didn't
Anything points to that has to be real enough to know where I
come from--every-direction at once. The crystalization of that
is a ton of bricks to an average brick-layer; but quite the opposite
to me for whom delivery is a thing of laying one foot down after
the other to step big into the middle of a " gone-before-it-gets-to-me--"
Not even a taste of reality?
Just that, or hardly worth the habit, since what I'm addicted
to is what loses me the minute my head starts spinning.
Beffudled with the best of them
So could I --you? --somebody? Have a big enough doubt to start
sturring things up?
You're getting me so confused that everythings getting as SOLID
as real life.
You lost your bearings
Just like real life.
Is this still your imagination?
When it was night, night felt like night.
Are you here for long?
What did the 'oh' mean? How long was the implication of LONG?
How long are you staying?
Backtrack a little
What does that mean?
Shit. I just flashed-- the aroma, the memory of a kind of essence
of roses. Subtle but very powerful.
Let's go into the garden
Let's be patient, shall we? Whatever revelation comes, it comes.
I too, want to be drenched.
You were already ravished
It was so brief
I don't know if it happened
What are you experiencing ?
I'm not sure now, whether it's better to be with people, or not
Poof! I just went away.
I'm all alone, huh? Sorry, I can't relate to that.
Funny, I did everything right, but I can't see any roses
Did you put them in water?
I can feel it cooling my forehead
What's wrong with him?
He left us
For how long?
I don't know what you mean by long.
Cut the crap
That didn't take long.
You recognize him?
Either I'm confused, or is one of you confused?.
Hard to figure out --
Trying too hard
True, I don't know how to relax.
Did you ever notice how you take a shot at a task
and at some point, it could definitely deflect it into a different
trajectory but you don't let it?
Something just seized me when you said it
They didn't stay long.
How long are we leaving the tables empty
Until something comes to fill them.
Somebody should say 'Nice tables', and give them an affectionate
Don't look at me.
(Hands over eyes, walks)
I think I bumped into another one of those damnable TABLES
(Radio in, on table, turned on)
When things are regressive--radio-wise-- the real problem is not reception
But a certain
Flair on the airwaves:
so the bigger program,
can be focused to the veritable pin-point.
I hear that radio-wise
There is a garden--
that no one
Nor is it even filled,
There is a garden. Not filled. Inside which no one walks. Have I entered?
Look, this rose. . . vanished.
I see it clearly
It vibrates in my hand, being there, and vanishing.
Come, let me clutch that gentle; rose.
Do you call it gentle?
I do, I do.
Even to become lost, in this single rose?
An impossible event, no doubt.
(Puts it in box on stand)
I see very well that the rose has vanished. Or I should say, the FLOWER has disappeared, because changing certain words is like twisting my head into a neither better nor worse position, but simply the inevitable ring of time-passes. Bell like in the way that time passes moment by moment.
Did I once exist within the universe of a flower? Then welcome
me, undo me, so that I may say "I am undone".
This room will vanish.
Don't you, and I, believe in the absoluteness of regenerative powers?I am vast, but the whole hold, on hold, introduces the elemnt of forget me not.
Here's an example. It vanished.
I used to be in a garden, and still am. What vanished was a particular rose. But what's in a rose, a second rose, and in that second rose, a third, fourth, more than enough to fill all possibilities on roses in the brain that finds it too is layered, petal-like perhaps? Into the non-millionth power of the layer itself-- that spreads against my very own skin.
Come. Join me
I'm extended in the brain that layers itself towards thinness,
so each thought like fragrence tuned to noise,
buzzing inside the brain.
I think you think about-- bees
I always think of bees, and clustered thoughts, if think-enough, create the one pure flower, pushed through entry-hole of consciousness that names itself invisible, as if invisible were layer of being that could mix the heretofore unmixable in fact--
I do mix facts
I do mix more and more and more
Holding onto yourself still?
It's holding on to nothing I can see--
I think there still are several roses, shaking in the air that
rushes forth from fingers, eyes, blades of hair--
I locate them immediately. The small hairs on my body--
Quiver towards the places that say "mysterium", and
so doing, bal;ls into a rose.
I semi-count, four. One in each corner of the garden.
And so the previous rose--
There was no previous rose
The one --invisiblized.
That operation was a trick of the imagination?
No. Of the past that quite has vanished.
Your "AH" is self-delusion at it's height
The rose invisibilized must therefore have unbalanced what is
now perfection. Four flowers, each assigned its perfect corner
of a space that spreads from yours.
Another possibility exists
The perfect rose--invisibilized, because it WAS the perfect center,
so invisibilized as perfect center seeks after ever more perfection,
as perfection always will.
Look, a rose--
Hovering in a certain space--
Bleeding into a certain space
Can you feel your heart?
Perhaps I can say I feel the blood pulsing in my temples, but
Because a rose is valueless, unless it's aura
spasmotically, to sieze some part of the body,
bringing SOME kind of pain--
upset SOME kind of tranquility.
Correct. Cruel gardens are genuine gardens.
Still oriented to those four flowers of that limited extremity
No, no. I've developed into my own, small unmeasurable pin-point
Then you're beyound me?
I always was. You enjoy the view from a distance. I on the other
hand, wallow in it.
Not the view
Not the absence
The perfect center?
There is no perfect center, since it is perfection.I lost all my musical support
I tried to replace it with
A certian atmospheric event--
I didn't know you depended on music
No more. I'm trying out temperature, barometric pressure, and
the particular quality of sunlight as it get's filtrered through
an atmosphere of such and such density.
Let's hear you sing.
O.K. But you won't pick up on it, 'cause it'll just sound like
I'm still talking.
I like that, but at the same time could we make a deal that you'll
clean my apartment?
I thought I had to stay out?
Oh, he who cultivates roses has many chances to prove his adaptablity
to other styles of physical labor--
I proved myself--
Not yet, we're just in the investigative stages of switching roles.
So sing louder.
So sing even louder
Somebody could bust their very own eardrums
I heard about deafening silence, then I folded my head envelope
and guess what, postage was still due because a TINY package can
weigh even as much as something so big I can't get it between
two outstretched arms. I guess that's the famous DENSITY I heard
you talking about.
Ah yes, one of my deepest songs.
I said it very much in the neighborhood of when I said atmosphere.
'Cause I thought it was going to rain, which could be good for
the flowers but not so good for the vocal mechanism that thought
about sustaining them.
He must sing for his supper-- and he did, except the lady of the house came up with swiss cheese sandwhichs that only satisfied an appetite that was still full of holes in the total grid of what could or could nopt be desired,
I plug it up with a couple of those very deep roses that seem
to have roots so far down when you pull up I say-- hey, wait a
minute please!, I don't particularly like my feet getting tickled!!
Strange. Me, I like to be tickled when I eat.
Strange-- I didn't know I had any swiss cheese in the house but
I was aware of dots, dancing in front of my eyes--
Holes, of course.
Only I called them. . .dots
Oh no, they were invisible
Which must mean, you're doing a good job. So I trust you
Let's change places. Yopu clean up in here, and I'll just. . .tumble through the window, to start fooling around in my very own flower. Garden.
Quick, back into the house.
I don't know how
I don't know how
You know how
I don't know how
Heretofore, I thought intense veral display turned problems into
Sometimes. Certain kinds of problems.
Into the house! He tells himself, but look, his feet are still
sunk two or three inches at least in mud.
It's certainly the atmospheric condition
It rained last night
But was it RAIN? Did it rain RAIN? RAIN? RAIN?
(song)A BRIGHT flower, can twist me around it, blossemed, as
I should be.
Look, ten flowers.
How did you choose the number ten?
I was, of course, choosen.
By flowers? Choice-- from those, flowering?
The essence is flowering, and the second level of essence is therefore
choice, distributed by time.
And he shows me his watch..
(Climbs into room, closes curtains)
(She opens box, hand in)
There is no rose in here-- ow!
(Open curtains, many roses)
Thank you for expressing your affection for me in a variety of
ways. I love the flower with which you imobilize me. I also love
the pain you endure. I also love the way you express openly your
feelings in my presence, hiding nothing--
There's no roses.
I have them all.
(piano)It's not only your piano which frightens me, Martin
Oh? I thought I had no piano.
You have no piano, therefore I am not afraid
Music caresses your pain? Or true fear.
No. I shine through my fear. I brighten through my pain.
Certainly wishful thinking.
Music to my earsBitter as possible, he was surrounded by the hush
of a large but invisible team of acoustic specialists.
What organs did they operate upon?
Oh, they operated not. They speak silently, from the central
point in the brain.
The brain of the most silent one, chattering away he thought, but deeply, in fact, silent.Suspended
Suspended his upper factor
made a big show of surprise.
Of course, what could be more surprised than itself, surprise
Oh? you consider that a self-referental system?
Just like you and me
Surprise-- we have a lot in common.
Surprise, we just compacted, and nobody has to go on asking--
are you compatable?
That really surprised me.
That really surprised me.
Maybe we just got our priorities straight.
What are we surprised about?
I know already
Surprised by itself
Surprised by itselfDid it snow on these roses, even when the thermometer
was too hot for snow.
An impossibility is a favorite form of my reality
But weather reports don't come in on the particular wave-length
you decide to call mine
Self-identity brings me to the boiling point.
Talking in a fast, soft voice--
whatever I say
Whatever I say--
Get's used up
You mean we turn it into something else?
I think so
Thinking isn't the point
You can't make use of thinking--
Not really. It's the colliding vocables that I and everybody else--
--Find so useable.
I like being usable
Did I say like? I don't particularly like you, but I do at the
same time, so it's semi-relevent..
I can't seem to get it into my pocket.
You didn't try
I tried carrying it away in my imagination
It shriveled up. Then it grew back whole--
Sounds like a heart beat
Thump thump thump
That's something under your chest?
Hitting me on the chin
Ah, knock-out non-punches.
If I ever get heart-trouble, I can take it on the chin, which
I never realized before this very moment
Repeated blows are a kind of sustanence, after all.
We behave as we behave
We thump as we thump
Thank God, we're all in the same ball-park
That figures, doesn't it, since we all flash the identical sign
I'll give it back
Your hand offered in friendship
In the imagination, yes.
Let's keep our hands to ourselves
I have you totally psyched out
I'm dreaming it, of course
Call this. . .a vast, gentle explosion of happiness
That's not hard to believe
Not heard, or not hard
Are you hard of hearing?
I'm not hard of hearing.
What a shame. Nobody named nobody.
--They just chortled through life some how.
His honor was what's his name also.
But the bow bowed once too often
and a head cut off
is a head
rising into the aether that of course exists not really,
for that transcendent rising,
Perfect in nothingness
Perfect in blue that isn't blue
Perfect for wind that doesn't blow so hard,
that it blows
through the roses
ever so gentle.With inexpressable gratification, all doors all
A twist of generosity, caused tears, did they not
I still can't come to terms with you
Didn't I give that hint? But I never operate out of hints.
Something unqualified and unpredictable has to stretch out before
me. Only then, I make what always turns out to be the right move.
Why not improve on that.
I can't improve on the best move possible
You must hit the jackpot every time.
Oh no. I wait for the unique moment to do something so unpredictable.
Otherwise I'm quite satisfied with what seems to be a mediocre
accomplishment, but is in fact my sad obedience to objectivity.Look,
I know how to dance the important subject matter, and I don't
mean MY life, I mean the subject under wraps.
I can't name it
But it sorta flows out of me-- you notice?
Right. I guess you noticed.
Certainly now you noticed
Maybe not.Twice, he almost got wise.
Couldn't it be another one of those famous mistakes that don't
make a mistake.
Catch me again some time.
Then I won.
Do you pay attention by seeming to drift off so deliberately?
I lost track
I feel obligated to answer
Something wrong got right.
I'm happy you see it my way. That means I can relax before I have
to prove how smart I am but I can't anyway so I think-- I'll build
up the anticipation to the breaking point.
I really don't care about it.
Ah? It broke.
It broke, don't ask what.
That shuts me up good.
That shuts us both up _________
Do come back
That got me off balance
O.K. or not O.K.
Not O.K. --No, I correct myself. O.K.
Was it your expectation that I'd be seeing everything the way
you want me to see everything
I mean no
Not O.K. I mean-- O.K.I saw a man, covered with roses. I saw blood,
from the places on his flesh where the roses hurt. I saw music,
transforming his face til the eyes rolled, and the teeth cut brilliantly,
and the nostrils quivered like wind casting words through the
branches of trees he clung to, climbing, climbing, and his voice
was also roses, and his whole whirling self was a rose.
I saw a street in which ships sailed towards th ocean that evaded
all understanding. I saw ships. I saw men turning into ships,
sailing, evading the responsibility of life on dry land. I saw
ships, twisting sideways, like a body under the blows of love.
I saw rivers of love swept under my feet like a history I'd never
fogotten, but couldn't keep hold of in my memory, so it sweptme
into the ocean of which I was dreaming without dreams. I saw this,
I heard this, I cried this through my own tears
I gave up hearing, I had seeing
I gave up seeing, I had tears