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 fact.


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


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)

Dressed how.

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--?



I said, and I was flooded. But everything was taken away from me.

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.

What 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.



SOLID!(roses come)

Is this still your imagination?

It's multi-directional.

(More roses)

When it was night, night felt like night.

What's missing?

(more roses)

Are you here for long?

Oh--? No


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

(closes eyes)

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 with people.

Poof! I just went away.


I'm all alone, huh? Sorry, I can't relate to that.

(Other enters)


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

(Open eyes)

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

(Flowers cleared)

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're gone

They didn't stay long.

(empty room)

How long are we leaving the tables empty

Until something comes to fill them.

Somebody should say 'Nice tables', and give them an affectionate carress.

Don't look at me.


(Hands over eyes, walks)

I think I bumped into another one of those damnable TABLES

(repeat act)

(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.

For instance.

For instance.

I hear that radio-wise

There is a garden--

that no one

walks inside.

Nor is it even filled,

this garden

There is a garden. Not filled. Inside which no one walks. Have I entered?

(With rose)

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.


forgets itself?

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 joined

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--

Mix facts

I do mix facts

More facts

I do mix more and more and more

Holding onto yourself still?

It's holding on to nothing I can see--

Taste it?


Touch it?


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.

Just one?


How many?

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

Of course

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 I don't

Do try


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 of space?

No, no. I've developed into my own, small unmeasurable pin-point of pain

Then you're beyound me?

I always was. You enjoy the view from a distance. I on the other hand, wallow in it.

In what.

The view?

Not the view

The absence?

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.


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.

(tumbles through)

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 solutions.

Sometimes. Certain kinds of problems.

Verbal 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..

Oh no

(Hides face)

Too late

(Climbs into room, closes curtains)

(She opens box, hand in)

There is no rose in here-- ow!

(In again)


(in again)


(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


Nothing's normal

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.

Who's 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 itself.


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?

Don't ask

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--

--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..


Take myhand.

I can't seem to get it into my pocket.

You didn't try

I tried carrying it away in my imagination

What happened

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

(hand gesture)

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

Of course


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,

so is,

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 semi-opened, now.


A twist of generosity, caused tears, did they not

I still can't come to terms with you

Until what?

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

Did you?

I feel obligated to answer

Do you?


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.

What 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.

Not 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