Open a door once. You'll have no more trouble

Why this anguish?

The sudden warmth of his invitation seized me. I got a headach from holding back

Why this anguish, so wasted?

I shouldn't tell you this. Nobody bobs for apples in my arena. I got very much too spooked

He withdrew from his real life very fast. That makes him a patsy of sorts

Can't manage too many options.

Most of the universe doesn't exist

This mountain we plan to climb. Where is it?

This part of the universe escapes me

The universe enters

A piece of the universe is in my eye

Stop imagining

Contact. Please. The universe

That's how the head works

This I find hard to believe

There are no rules

I think there must be. We seem parts of something similar

How the head works, Paul. It flies to things

What things

How the head works, Paul. Bring it closer to my eyes..

If I walk up behind you and put my forearm over your face, do you imagine me less beautiful than I am in my lonliness

If I was exhausted, would you come to my rescue?


Would you energize me?


The how would be your responsibility. If I could describe the method, that would be a therapy of self-energizing and it's precisely what I'm incapable of puling off.

Are you exhausted



I don't know why


I'm morally defunct. Lifge. . .holds nothing for me. I want to close my eyes and plunge deep into a real darkness, full of faith, not the kind that energizes.

I don't think you want me to energize you

True. All I want is the courage to accept my exhaustion. To plunge into it-- no, I should say to SINK into it, so completely that I discover what I postulate.

What DO you postulate?


How you get on my nerves when you don't answer my questions.

This is unendurable-- yet I endure

Already I see lights on the horizion

An initiation

An imitation

His massive re-investment in noise

The magic cap that re started his head

All too soon-true

The elegent end to all his avoidance-- you name it-- what


The factory that made dirt

Kinged: for a cleaning


This is going to be a big surprise for you

Let me move into a new arena, where peace and happiness rule absolutelyThe problem with being in a room this empty. . .is that I FEEL empty


Maybe, however, if I close my eyes, I can get re-organized

Is that what you suffer from, a lack of organization?



Well, I said it, so in some sense it must be true

In what sense, do you suppose

My organization depends on external factors

Is there something wrong with that

No. But maybe


After all


The external factors present a single face to me, but other faces of those external factors are hidden from me. So if I depend on them. . .I'm depending on something I get a distorted, or limited, viewpoint on.

How are you going to fix that?This is the only place where such things can happen

A man standing facing a window

His back to the room

His mind: empties

Such a moment is central to his life?

Such a moment is a periferal experience, in a sense a moment fallen OUT of his life?

Such a moment is like the pause in a musical composition that allows a theme to be distinguished?

These are questions, not descriptions.

If all strife were eliminated, I suppose there would still remain disease, and certainly death

You leave out the most important

The most important question

I would have thought death was the most. . .unavoidable

I don't think so. I think it's the question of nervous energy, motor energy programed into the human being.


Remember being a child, your fingers and toes and limbs wriggling and twitching just for the sake of allowing that energy to act in you?

Living things are driven by a heart that pulsates-- that's the life, that pulsation, and it extends through the whole body, and the whole system, a pulsation looking for an activity to fix upon,

upon which to be glued, and usually that activity is the normal activity of chosing amongst the objects life offers: carreer, family, achievements of the sort that are the sorts of activities of normal living.

And all that is necessary, in a sense, because if you turn your back on all that, and try to be alone for any length of time, unsupported by all the trivia of that normal life amongst humans-- what happens?

To a very few, it happens that they disolve into a white light-- read that as a translation for something else unspeakable--

but to most, it means that pulsation rebounds onto the self, and shakes the self in a way that is more than disruptive.

That twitch, that pulsation, turned back upon the host. . .is like a poison.


In other words-- what you're doing is very dangerous, Paul

(Pause- he looks, then turns back to window)

Be re-involved, Paul

I choose. . .to risk it


I choose to think. . .there's something on the other side of it

(Big unseen chorus sings "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU" and Anna

goes out and gets a cake, with lit candles, and presents it)

Happy birthday

Birthday's don't mean very much to me

I'm going to cut this cake, right now.

(Lifts knife)

Right here and now

(He turns away, she stabs him in arm)

Now. This is a real problem

Right. This is a real problem. How will I deal with this?

I'd suggest a tournequet

(He takes belt off and applies it)

Next, I'd suggest calling a doctor

(He goes to phone and dials)

I got the weather report

Try information

Information? But this is information. Pure information

Sunny midday-- clouds later in the day-- temperature falling, thewn eventually rising again, and so on and so forth,

I better wash this knife

(She exits. He goes to cake, puts out a finger to lick some icing)


Don't you touch that cake when I'm not in the room!

You attitude re-reminds me of all responsibilities concering politness

I'm not speaking from a position of polite. I'm speaking from a position of right and wrong

It was wrong to hurt me

Oh no it wasn't, it was a lesson. One you needed badly

What could I learn from this lesson?

It could have been a verbal lesson, I could have made it a verbal lesson

(Enter female doctor, Maria)

Did yiou call for a doctor?

No. I called the weather report



I see you have wound.9Moves to examine)

Was it self inflicted?


I see you also have a birthday. I hope it wasn't to be your last

(Offered cake)

(Lights dim

Voice over:

After a day preparing oneself for adventure, what happened was only viewable as excess, because the unexpected, however tiny, opened a door to an alternative universe)(Lights are up)

How did I get here?

Well, see that door? You must have used it, at least once.

Excuse me, but I don't see the relationship between that door and this chair I'm evidently sitting on

It's called, an enterence

This? This thing I'm sitting on?

Wait a minute

(Sits) Now you have ME confused

(Doctor Maria enters, stops, looking from one to the other)

How did you get here?

Didn't somebody telephone me?Meta physics: study of ultime causes

& unerlying

nature of things

The dolphin's adventures with electricity

World-- returning to ocean

propellers on things



he who


through space

Well, you know how it is. One telephones, but often the mind plays tricks, for instance, two numbers may be reversed, because your mind goes blank and you try to do the whole number by rote, but there's a reversal.

That could operate in other realms


Not just numbers

Excuse me doctor-- isn't everything numbers?

(She covers her mouth)

Oh oh-- I shouldn't have spilled the beans

(He frowns)

If that's true. . .

Forget I said it

(as doc advances with needle)

What are you doing?

This will make you forget anything you might have heard that you shouldn't-- don't be afraid. It's for your own protection.



(She gives the shot)

(As he rubs his arm) You know--there was something special about today-- but I can't remember what

Lucky you

(Doc) I'm a little disappointed to haven't made a pass at your doctor

Isn't it better to keep such relationships professional?

Where did you hear that?


Don't try to re-write all my beliefs in one feld swoop

(Goes to window)

Get away from that window, Paul!

(He goes thru)

(Serve cake. Both sit and look at it as music rises and lights dim)

VO: An effort was made, to reach the very sumit, of experience, but experience, as usual belied the true state of things, and as it faded, whispers of it's unsatisfactory nature reached everyone, but that sad fact was that everyone was not prepared to allow that particular. . .nuance, to re-direct an entire life. So it remained, once again, for art to stand in for reality.

My propellered self, smiling the usual smiles

Journeys that leave no particular homeland

Adventures undertaken not:

Everything changing to levels that erases previous levels

He, porcupine with propellers

Suspended in space by sharpness

Fables of identity without tears, a self contradictory program for violent animals in search of perminant glues-- the attahment to tables, kitchen utensiles, the touch of amazing foods, lifted into air, burned by fire, permiated by water, re-burried in earth.

I began to doubt even my own personal relics. They were a part of me, too much to be obliterated into that sure realm of sweeping the hand, like a spotlight, toward what it could touch only by quivering.

Turn not again toward this. . .Why am I here


It was my understanding I escaped through the open window

That's why you're here.


I need more clarity

Your escape wasn't successful

That's something else-- it could be successful or not successful and still, I am here, and questioning that.


(VO: The dolphins say, we invented electricity.

They swim, through that same invention. . .)

Don't you see my point? If I tried to escape through the window, and was not successful so, returned, somehow, here to this chair-- I still have to ask-- why am I here?


In other words, I don't disappear into my chair, do I?

No, I don't disappear into my own chair.

Here I am

(She exits, he rises)

(VO: The dolphins say, we invented electrity. They swim into such self-created electrical fields)

(The peopeller on my body, tilts my whole body)

Having eaten of this extreme and dangerous fruit

I see the world disolve into a new form'

Which is the form of the universe itself

I see the golden dolphin

and the electric porcupine

emerge into radient space.

There, danced, electric hum,

in a maneuver of such grace

I am allowed


to disappear

which is my desire.

And it lasts but a few moments

and leaves.


of light.

Can you tell, I've reached the point, on the edge of being, where language fails, yet under that very pressure, proliferates.

(Doc Maria enters)

Hello again, in this brand new world, notice the difference



The world is changing into the universe

Good. You noticed, or at least you DECIDED to notice. Can I call a doctor for you?

Do I need one?

Oh yes.

(Picks up phone)

Hello-- can I get over here fast?

(Phone to chest)

I think I can

(Looks at phone i outstretched hand)

Do you carfe if I stop using this?

I hope my propellers aren't interfering with your ability to efficiently use that machine

Oh no, I like seeing you whirl around this room. It gives me ideas

I'd like to hear some

They aren't verbal

(Hangs up phone) Why are you holding onto you chair?

I'm encouraging it to move

I don't think it needs encouragement

Would you mind giving it an examination?

If you'll get off for a minute

(He does, she goes and carefully sits)

(He goes and faces window)

(Maria) I'm begining to see things from your perspective

Whatever are you talking about

Well I admit, I don't like talking to the back of somebody's head

Let me assure you, it's impossible to talk to yourself. I've tried

What happens

It's a regular conversation

Who butts in?

That's pretty hard to identify, but it happens

Fnny-- you're looking straight at me--

Oh, I have to confess my eyes are wandering a little. My gaze isn't one hundred per-cent steady

It's your propellers at work

It's the universe at work

Hey-- are you trying to remember what your WORLD was like?

That's excess baggage

Just because you say it, don't make it come true

No, really. Think about it from my position.

(Up) Excuse me, is this your chair?

(Shrinking back)

Do you mean that?


(Pause) I'd rather not be re-captured

Oh, I think you had some wonderful ideas and experiences on this chair

You left it, but you still refer to it as a "this"


No, you said "this"

Well, all right, but think of it as a word looking for a specific application


Yes. . .it's sort of hovering around the room, ready to settle down but unable to find a firm ground


That doesn't help

I know. Take my pulse

I've lost the habit

(He kneels, wrists out-- she shrinks away to the wall)

(Maria) Don't think I'm frightened, I'm interested in trying to re-establish the idea of perspective.

That's how the world works, but let me remind you--

Yes, I know. This isn't the world, it's the universe

Getting there

Getting warm?

That's more habits

OK. You wanted me to take your pulse?

(She circles, comes up behind him, forearm over face, feelis his temple with fingers. Pause. They fall to floor. They end up embracing)

What's happening?

I don't know


What's my pulse rate

This is crazy, but--

Tell me

I don't know if its your pulse rate or my own pulse rate

I could swear I was talking to myself

Didn't you tell me that wasn't possible?

(They break, look at each other. Door opens)


Couldn't you have managed to come in just thirty seconds sooner?


It would have clarified something


(Pause) Do you notice anything different? Or is that just my perspective

Or mine for that matter

I'm not aware of any perspectives.

Anything else?

Sure. You're not sitting in your chair, OR

facing the window.

And Doctor Maria isn't performing any professonal services

Those seem irrelevent

I mention it, because I feel a little dizzy

(Starts to sit)

(Both others) Don't sit

--Was that the two of you, talking at once?

(Both) Yes



Or is that just my perspective on things

It was a momentary. . .



. . .Language fails me here


Language runs out of steam

Not completely I guess

It keeps going under its own inertia

I don't think it's inertia

I don't think it's inertia either, but I don't have to word for it

Keep looking

What you mean is keep talking to yourself, but other people keep butting in

In this case, everybody in this room or me in particular?

Oh, I won't forget your presence, even if by my calculations your enterence was about thirty seconds too late

Why don't you show me what I missed

(Pause, they think about, and then they act it out)

(Sits) Words fail me.

(Fade to black with VO)

(VO, starts in black, then lights rise)

The palace of memory

This is it

When my voice was silent

The rest of the world spoke

I don't want anything to happen. I don't want you to come running in here with your mental machine gun

Look, no hands

Just a tongue; like the proverbial --



I shout words through my own propeller, thank you. They deflect at ninty degree angles.

This is hypothetical

So is my daily life, It's all quite balanced on one or two specific pivot points

Taking things in through the ear isn't like taking things in through the eye


You have a choice. All I know is that when I hear them-- they don't flower in the way they do when I look at them, Ah-- we should communicate,

(Get pads)

by writing notes.

(Music, dree, and notes

Tear pages, throw to floor, etc


The world is now

the universe

Everything said

is erased

which is a replentisment

of the original

saying it;

repeatr this

everything said

is erased

which is a replentishment

of the original

saying it

(Three signs, revealed, uncovered, or set on wall)

"The world, changes into the universe"

(neopolitan balads?)

(crumple pages

throw) (Stonehinge painting?)

Certain rocks give light

That's why I eat my breakfast

A stone rises in my throat

Is anything less certain that tomorrow?

This is a philosophical question that makes Madeline laugh

Am I laughing? I hadn't noticed

The laughter of Madeline turns Madeline inside out. In-directing her person, she de-Madelines into Madeline two.

Look into my eyes to get brushed by dust

Look into my eyes and see nothing

Outside habits have a way of detaching us from what's empty-- I mean, what's important!


I have nothing to say

I have nothing to say

I have nothing to say

(Pause, lifts coffee pot)

More coffee?

I thought you said I have nothing to say

Well, you too

(Look at third, who hasn't spoken)

Paul is the only one as good as his word

But is he?


When he repeats his silence at periodic intervals, it could be changing for him

If he repeats himself, then its a reassertion that stands in for having nothing to say, so he does say something after all


He's poised between

Bedtween what

This is interesting, his having nothing to say, gives us plenty to say.How. . .works (mind, world, universe

What happens when--

Why it never--

(think these as meditations, then write after

Speech radiates from nucular phrases

not building blocks

but cells

that radiate

then encounter another



How the mind works. It reaches for the toast. It's fingers, burned, fly off into the air, and the mind clouds the experience with something.

A painting about pain.

Let me wipe with a hankerchief

That erases nothing. But adds to things, which re-balances things, and the most present slides into the slot of the hard to notice.

Which means present but hard to notice

because the mind is nore efficiently distracted


Is that how the mind works, or how the universe works.

Ah, another distraction


A painting of the universe

I never saw such a painting

Am I about to reveal it to you?

(Shown, simple landscape)Why, when nothing happens

does the voice still spin

trapped, self imitation,

emptiness as a mirror,


feeding the repetition of nothing.


coagulate of doubling,

the model

dream solid

of real X minus.The universe is a mirror. Period

Do you discover that through instruments?

What do you consider my instruments?

You probably have some

I forget


Correction. I semi-forget

(Open drawer, looks, closes)

It's empty

An instrument.Lifting out of adventure

To what heights?

But then again, why not residing inside that adventure, adventurous as always.

How is it possible to be absolutely AWED by what comes into my visionary field? Am I somebody who doubts my own resources? Prfobably not yet, and yet I can be accostomed to lots I look for a way-out-on. I into an interpretation that interests me.

I have few things to sell

(lift cloth)

Mostly-- chocklets and wrist watches

How dependable are your wrist watches

How dependable are my chocklets?

Sweet is more testable than time, I'd think

I'm only half way into opinions

When was the last time you looked out a window?

I'd cover my cap with burned out metaphorical systems

It shows

That's why my friends are choosy

You too?

Sure, it's a buyers market

I can provide a gloss on that

I ducked

My ideas didn't get through?

It all depends what happened to the aim

The angle of aim

I didn't know aim had an angle

You thought it had an object

Well, thinking about that

Here's proof of purchase

See? Just in time

Sweetened by one of my favorite projectiles

A chocolet in space

Aren't we all--

All and a half-- time to re-dish my own dialogue, and he did; swallowing hard into the good taste of the occasion

Which one? You named it, and that was enough for me, and being enough, I moved out fast.

(Goes. other covers table)

Maybe watches, and chocolets, make a not so persuasive a combination, but somehow, I still believe in my metaphorical tendencies, and in the final analysis, a tendency is a free ticket to someplace special.

Oh! Now I have a different perception on things

(Looks at a watch)

It would be convenient to be able to orient oneself in time as well as in space

(Puts it on)

(Looks at a chocolet)

It would be wonderful to start giving oneself little rewards for cashing in on one's inherent tendencies which, after all, don't get chosen--

because they're too busy CHOSING amongst possibilities.


It's me.

(Other pops into door)

Look at what?


It must have been some kind of unseen--

(Other out)

--somebody there?

No. Nobody there. It must have been some kind of mirror

(Eats another chocolet)

I wonder if that's good for me?(Lunchroom. Girl leans on counter, man into door , stops)

Can I help you?

I guess it's obvious something has broken down in the realm of human relations.


You don't see that?


May I sit?

Of course


That's what I meant when I said 'Can I help you'?

How was I to know

What did you think I meant?

Frankly, you made me feel like an intruder.

This is a public place. Anybody can come in

Is anybody welcome?



That means-- sure, within limits

I guess

Why do I seem angular in my approach to things

I bet you have good reason

That'll be yours to decide

Please be seated

(He does)

That's better. Now I feel more in control of the situation

Please do

How about coffee

Can I trust you?

Me or the coffee

I'm not making a distinction, which you might consider an insult.

It isn't. It's a reflexive statement. It reflects back on me.


You see, I notice that something's broken down in the area of human relationships, but I don't simply project that as an external problem, external to myself.

I'm just as implicated.


That being the case, I'd like to stand, as it were, on different ground.

I'd like to alter the terms of the equasion.

So I push-- into something that seems un-natural, but that isn't the aim--

not a kind of exoticism that serves no other purpose.


The purpose is to change the situation inside which orientation goes on.

--Don't say another word.

Why not.


I read you perfectly

(Fills his cup)


I was thinking about filling it to mamoth overflow.

Then, thinking about it, it seemed redundent.

(She goes, stops, turns back)

Don't say another word,

I look at you, I disappear

When I see what is in your eyes I see more

Let's get disrupted.

Ladies and gentlemen. This person is. . .confused. I choose that word rather than the word suffering. In fact. . .it's a language problem all the way down the line.

(Looks at other)

Why do I have the feeling I don't want to speak, and then a certain pressure is applied and I find myself saying things that just. . .circle a void that would better be left empty.

I'm not trying to put pressure on you

I bet

I'm trying to put pressure on myself. How do I know which of us needs help.

That has presumption built into it

Did it ever occur to you that perhaps the devil was ill, and knew that he was ill, and all his efforts, misguided as they may be, were attempts at a self-cure.


Alone now, my fears surface.


Come for a visit? OK.

(Hangs up)

(She enters)

It didn't take me long. You should be impressed.

I am, but, after all-- your room is right next to mine

Ah no. I changed rooms

Really? I dialed the same number

It was arranged like that

You want to tell me where your room is now?

Sure. I'm next to the kitchen

Isn't it noisy?



Nobody uses the kitchen. Meals get sent in

This: scene of things:

I have the availability of gesture. It pulls me to orifaces, such as doors, certain windows, alcoves even.

Would it be different if I wewren't your audience?

I am molded to you. Or by you.


Watch me step not axross a footlight. Herein is my fall back into myself.

Herein is my echo. Look--while you use an imaginary door-- and I self-flotate

This is the chance to lose myself, and acquire something I frame.

I'm not a spectator-- I'm the projector of you-- spectator.I bead:

The bead drawn.

Hemespheres, linked-- an open wound echoed, voiced

Nothing calculated except in the non-touched realms where even the flight, lost, re-aims at the empty center.

Where the arrow of love, strikes

I exist as one side of an empty space, yet a space, pregnant--

that quivers between the what I am and the what I am not that faces me across that . . .empty space.


You, soom. I extend a hand. I don't tough you, though I gesture toward you.

Abd the way empty space is wiped-- you wipe back. and as my head imagines a tile in response, the warp that is in nothing,

the nothing between us warps

into the warp that caresses us both.


You room. I go too far and embrace one of your solid walls.How the mind works. A probe is extended

What's in front of you


Semi-connected to what

What's this.

A helicopter

Did you see one in real life?


When. . .

The sun rises.

Wet streets

Shift, somehow

And the trail

Cuts lateral

To my arm's direction

As I heave


Turtle slow

Into the adventure

Of escape.


My own.

Too often to quote

He tottered

Blanketed up to the neck

Whereupon the sharp eyes

Torque into cement

And the stretched buffalo weight

Pressed flat by itself,

Relic of danger

Wiff of naught

He remotes himself again

Into the true spin

And marks time,


Always again

At numbers.Could you applaud me, or my efforts?

I'd fall off my chair, laughing

A pull did it

You were behind me

I was behind it, ytes

Sticking to the subject

Losing my balance


Another whole day. Flies by like an aria lost in space

How easy to mix. . .forget me not ideas with ideas more 'latched-onto' all the time.

Once upon a time, a man lost out on an opportunity, vowed never to trust luck, and was rewarded with wisdom.

A man turned to enter a bar, and was responded to with inner hostility. His head spun, and drinks were refused, so the hostility proved real

A man took his raincoat and wore it, even though the threatening sky never delivered. When he rode in a taxi, the driver said "You're dressed inappropriately". The man ignored this. Later it rained.

Three times in a row, a man went to the store for a carton of milk. The third time, the person behind the counter recognized the man and smiled faintly. The man took out change, and then decided to hand a dollar bill over, sore-pocketing the change, he noticed the smile didn't vary.

A girl wore a new dress, even though nothing was special about the day in which she wore the new dress. Catching a glimpse of herself in a plate glass window, her attention was immediately distracted by the bright sky, also reflectable

A man drove a car down a street he had not, heretofore, visited. When he stopped at a red light, he realized the street intersected abother, withg which he was indeed familar. He turned into the samilar street and lost his grip on reality

The number of pencils that lay on his work table changed, from one day to another. When counted, the pencils altered not, and he should have realized this. But he would count them, and do similar thingsEverything without issue.

The sun itself, twisted.

The road

Iron-pad of received intentions

A most missed


That had no brain.

Who needs?

The flower store


Into pure flower.

The sun

Wiped out

By an elbow



(two profiles- empty jug)

So many causes-- slip to this or that

Psychic flux-- to which world attaches

and forms a crystal


Hover craft

Keep GOING in poem: find the right twist (next word) coming from unexpected yet RESONANT to you know not what (To TENSION (B Fuller) rather tha object(gravity)

(A card)

Did you ever see this in real life?

What is this

An apple

Did you ever see this in real life?


I'm calling you forth, aren't I



You lie

I don't lie, I don't tell the truth. I'm not here to do any of those things

What are you here for?

To skid on things. To let you give me a little shove, and what happens to me is more of the same


That's your choice

Is it?

Suppose I gave you a choice-- apples or oranges

I wouldn't have to choose. I'd just reach out before thinking about it


Of course, I prefer apples

You're putting me on

Me? No. Why would I do that?What would I have to do?

It would involve some danger, certainly

I wish you could be more specific

I can't. I operate out of impulse

That does seem. . .problematic

For instance. Stand against that wall.


Would you object if I tied your extremeties to the wall?

Can you give me a reason.

Not yet


Does your compliance depend on a reason


Then we won't go far together

We could try

Oh, you're of two minds

I'm willing to try

What you mean is I'm willing to try if you're willing to try

No. I don't mean that


Of course, what you mean doesn't matter. It's what you act out

Isn't that the truth

Yes, certainly


Excuse me a minute.


Where are you going?


Where are you going and are you going to be back soon

(Return another)

I'm back

Who's back


You're not the same person who left

Of course I am

You're a totally different person

OK. Let's pretend I am. The question remains whether you'll agree to let me tie you to this wall


You're a totally different person

I'm not, but I'm willing to agree to it

Doesn't it upset you that I say that?




Then it must be true

It isn't true

Then why aren't you upset

Maybe it's a feature of my particular relationship to life.I'm on the verge. On the edge.

Have you never felt yourself-- poised?

Poised where

I choose not to clarify further-- poised for now-- on one's toes

I'm on the verge

On the verge of what

After the rain, the sun came out, and Samuel smiled of course, and the books on the table looked better in the sun, which angled into the room the way light does. And Samuel was re-sold on the idea of being alive, but that was so satisfying in and of itself that he had nothing to say to add to that satisfaction.

But he bagan to write, and when the writing started, it stopped by starting. He wrote a word, which was "Samuel", and it seemed so complete and total in and of itself--

Marie came into the room carruying a suitcase and smiled, saying --I'm going to a hotel.

Samuel understood that Marie was entering about something he could do also, and he thought or said-- I'm going to a hotel.You probably don't believe anything I say--- I couldn't expect you to believe me without reason--- but reason isn't a part of anything--- how much reason can I get into a feeling--- I mean, you have the feeling--- but I have the same feeling--- it's so sad to think--- you don't believe anything I say

I believe you

No. You probably don't believe me

I believe you

What do you believe

I believe what you tell me

Why is that

You tell me things--- I believe you until I have a reason not to believe you--- I don't know when that happens of course, but it just comes upThese books, brought me no happiness

I didn't know you expected happiness


Maybe I did

Maybe you did

These books didn't--- weren't the avenue.Mr Mechano, has his parts put togetherWhat is this stuff

What stuff?

What is this stuff here

I don't know what you mean. What stuff

Is my hand moving through something? No.

It's moving through air

No. It's not just air. What is this stuff

It's moving through your visual field

Much more than that

Your visual field

Is that what this stuff is?


What is this stuff.Johnson is not about to let this person into the room

He shouldn't say person

We know who we are dealing with

Can we keep this person out of the room?

No. Of course not

This machine traces brain circuts directly onto the environment

What machine

There's a machine at work here

How do you define a machine?

It would be a mistake to define it

How do you know it's present

It knows


Not in the way you mean. This machine causes reflections to taked on a life of their own

Where and what is this machine

It's parts operate at a distance from each other

Then it doesn't come together as a machine

Of course it does


Death is a machine

That could be correct

Is it the machine you're thinking about?


Well, it's parts are all living things. They operate at a distance from one another. Yet the machine works

What does it produce

Well, if death is a machine, it produces pure change

Death travelled through the city, claiming victory, which confounded many, since at the very moment of such proclamation, the city seemed vibrant with life. But that was the sweet, pungent fact, that the most life meant the most death.

Death claimed it was potent in the geometry of things. Where the mind could scan for geometry, the mind could sniff deathChildren followed a bright light in the sky. When the sun was obscured by clouds, the children sustained activity. On the small river, pieces of paper floated, and the writing on these pieces of paper was unread.

Tress inclined. A taxi rounded a corner in the city, and a hat blew, wind at work, into the air. Samuel covered the table on which he had been working with his two hands. His tweo hands did not cover the table completely. What was still visible was a brocade cloth. Was he in prayer?

In another city, trains traveled the tracks of a certain perfume that invoke geometry. And the radical lines cut deep, but this was mental. So, who was holding his head.

Samuel slept, this was the previous night. Now only, he re-lived a dream of a railway, and the engine that sped along these geometric lines, lied. Samuel plunged into the lie, findable, that he turned into energy particles.

On a lake, boats slid forth, and the foam of the waves was so white that one thought of a catagory of things. Lace, snow, deliberate feet tracing a vein of rich ore, mountains echoing the footsteps very much as the white sail evoked the travel such floating traced in the blue that turned to black.A flat ocean reflected the sky. Attention was called to both surfaces, which made what was beneath both, potent. A ship reflected below seemed, above, where it was in fact a reflection also. The dizziness hurt.

Samuel collected the books scattered on his table. His arms hurt from the weight of books, which one by one he desposited on the proper shelves.

In another city, the windows of a library filled with wind, and an automobile approaching the city made it possible to glimpse the city below, as the car rounded a curve and the occupants glanced left. In that library, hidden from view but not hidden from one who occupied it, odors of food filled-- in through the wind that opened windows. Beyond-- a whole world. Within-- a second world, immobile, waiting to be unlocked. But the windows suffered the closing of themselves as a protective measure, but as in the case of all protective measures, there were losses to be measured against achievement.

Samuel read books, then stopped. Again, he lifted many and returned, one by one, book to gap. The shelves filled in regular pattern. In the same way, something in Samuel's mind bounced back and forth between absence and solidity. Absence as a randomly occuring open, as in window and wind thought of as something that stayed, but began what was never finished.

A river looked up at the underside of a bridge, and cars piled up to make colors. Leaning on the edge of a stone paraphet, somebody who was a friend cast glances that buildings used windows to receive, only they were so occasional in the facade that one half of the equasion was noticed while another half was not.

Returning to a hotel made little sense. The room was still whirling-- participating in many different lives, and the friend felt lost, amidst so much humanity.

Can you taste this, said Marie? She held something-- poised, on the end of her finger. Samuel only smiled. Marie meant nothing to him in the moment. On the other hand, he had trained himself into caring-- but the stretch of time this related to was longer than the moment. He licked something off the tip of her finger.

His life, cracked. A wind closed the crack by passing through swiftly.

At the edge of a stream, a woman knelt down and a church caught her eye. The water was splashed by her hands into her face. Her eyes closed to do this. Because the image of the church stayed placed, somewhere inside her head, and because she knew, science-wise, that it was behind her closed eyes that the interiour head lay-- she thought of herself as a person in prayer, but this mental image vanished. When she opened her eyes, she felt as if some of the splashed water had entered. And indeed it had, not through the closed eyelids but later, after the eyes opened and wet residue shifted.

Samuel had such an image, for a moment. He went to write such a thing on a piece of available paper. Marie thought about kissing him. He didn't care and brushed away that idea but found it sticking to the end of his fingers. He kissed the tips of those fingers, his pencil fell loose, not leaving the hand, but unfixed from the rigor necessary to form words on the page. He waits for a spark. Instead, there was lightening outside the library-- this he could remember.

Death collected from everywhere-- windows slamed shut in the wind-- but the collection continued. It made inanimate things billow with the agitatiopn of life. Animate things whirled, and the smooth surface on which they skated wasn't smooth, only the binocular eyes available were de-focused, of course, because that was the only way to make things take shape. Trying to read books through these same binoculars-- back off. Books vanish. Then they are read. Evenings get occupied and one says to oneself -- well done. The domestic animals do this in secret, so that masters will not have to re-adjust. No one choses to cause pain, but it ladels itself like gravy. Tables smear-- and domestics say-- it was an accident of nature. How do they know this? Did they read it?

Samuel says --enough said. To no one in particular, who sees him dropping his head into his hands-- how excellent for his head to have found hands. Cradled, he has no tools left-- sticking a pencil in his nose is out of the question; but he does imagine, effectively what the nose might wright. The paper receives this. It is invisible ink. But tommor is a heat that develops this-- depending on tomorrow's temperature.Are you who I think you are??


I think you are other than the person who left this room

You've already said that

Everything important gets repeated

(first enters)

Prove to me I'm wrong

No. You have to prove it

(No, you have to prove it)

Why me

I'm happy with my assumptions, you're not

(I'm happy with my assumptions, you're not)

You know I can't prove a subjevctive impression

I don't know anything of the sort

(I don't know anything of the sort)

OK. I'll go along with this and act like it's perfectly natural

Ah, that's a sensible life adjustment

(Double exits)

That's a sensible stratagy

Time will tell

I'll let you in on a little secret


Time passes

Yes. Exactly

I don't follow you

Take a little advice. Start from scratch


I don't know what that means-- start from scratch


But I don't have any choice

(Close eyes, count to ten/ Pause/ repeat it faster)In a distant city, clouds travelled like ikons, from the eye into the brain. The shapes evoked were letter writers

Stores closed. Roadside stands made overtures to foreign belief systems. A lost number was picked up from the mud at the side of the road, written on a postcard. The child who received, recovered, that number, plastered it on his or her forehead like an eye, and that gave ideas to the other members of the party. An idea in the middle of the forehead. One elderly woman loved children. Her face shown from internal pressure. Her fingers tapped the edge of the automobile from the inside, and when food was collected to be eaten en route, she alone said no. Was hunger a factor in lives? Certainly-- but this was anticipation. As the automobile picked up speed, certain anticipations fell to pieces. There was always discarded material at the side of the road, but that too traveled; it was a question of changing the frame of reference.

At the edge of a new city-- the smoke chased ideas not yet come to fruition. Eight o'clock said the neon clock, and it rattled into the future under Marie's eye. Her hands crossed, planning a not-yet-come actuality. Shall I comb my hair? --that was Marie, participating in eternity. She did. Her grooming improved for the moment, but the next, air re-blew a certain tanglement, and Marie did two things at once. The steering wheel edged toward its goal, un-mediated pivot, but things were controlled enough so that routes cut deep without altering the landscape, which percivered in its blend. The sky drops behind stores took on flesh, and reflected light also chimed, hearable through organs not yet named in the book Samuel squeezed like a lemon. This tastes like no taste. he whisperedover traffic.

Where are we headed? Marie didn't say this. Therefore the word 'home' was heard, ringing like a bell.

Samuel turned the pages of his memory book. What slid to the floor out of the pages was a map in sugar. I wish I'd had this on my trip, his tongue licked. Then he made a mental itinery, backwards, and his chair collapsed. EDhy would such a thing happen? Glue no longer held. But fortunately-- habit was stronger than glue.

It was morning someplace, and they got out of the car to breathe. An envelope lay in the grass. When two hands reached toward it, the body followed with a bend from the waist. That fold wasn't paper-echoed inside the envelope. Who else could have thought of such things. The empty envelope clued not, and the question, unformed, seemed whether or not to return it, emtiness and all, to it's grass (mostly dirt) setting, or to transport it back into the car which would shortly be moving.

When it moved, the people inside moved. They filled (the car) but sometimes they were inside it and sometimes not.

A store opened. Business began for the day as people went in and out purchasing newspapers and toothpaste and cigerettes among other items. Outside the store, the window reflected as well as transmitted information. But nowhere in that information was the morning itself. In order to contact that, tools had to be set in motion, and they were ungraspable, they worked without thought, greesed like ice greeses something cold and hard, which doesn't want to be touched. So these fingers did their thing, though no one recognized them as fingers. But the body had its way, and packages adhered to certain definable human beings who came and went. A ribbon was tied to somebody's hair. It read "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I will be here tomorrow". Then the store closed. People still entered and exited and made purchases, but it was closed. It turned to ice, so it was slippery enough to keep being 'store' even if it wasn't 'store'. Cars drovce past. Nobody noticed anything but 'store', but that was a reflection, seen through the window of the passing automobile.

In another city-- miles closed and became inches. Death had flowers lined up like collapsable bottles that held milk. So when the bottles collapsed, the milk collapsed. That was logic, and death was into logic like roofs were into sky. There was no contact, but there was a relationship. Samuel smiled and looked up. Just under the angle of his gaze-- he missed things.

Children traveled to the end of the pier, viewed boats in the distance, drifting. Smoke also passed, and the children stood for amazing periods of time, transfixed. A small boy thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and when the pebbles underfoot were kicked, he passed time. Nobody spoke, yet there were children, so their speaking was not something well identified. But they did manage to glue onto some other level that understood the boats passing and the smoke rising-- when it did rise though sometimes it took other directions.

The plate of water tilted; this would calm down when the speaking was more available as a tool the children were only beginning to handle. One child, in later years, would say or think-- where does it begin and where does it end.

No effective answers would be forthcoming to such a silly question deemed 'childish', so it was not, thank God, articulated. It was only dabbed-- as a painting is dabbed-- yet think about this-- it is not the painting that is dabbed but it is the surface of the painting which is dabbed or dabbed at where the individual colors are found resting.

The child doesn't have to let years pass to do this-- to apply these dabs to the painting that finished itself and was finished by some other means-- not tools, but tools coming from the outside that never touched the painting. And the child was too busy to cry. Nothing that childish was allowed to touch his or her features which were controlled like cometimes one can imagine controlling smoke. Who imagines that? Does it work? Probably it's not even imagined, it seems so far from the ordinary possibility and the ordinary thing about smoke.

Imagine a tall smokestack.

Imagine controlling that smoke.

This is something for a mature person to do.

This is a way to create a picture.

When the golden light lifted, Samuel found his eyes were open; but they were not open. Then he closed them, and that experience was just as shallow. He tried to remember the golden light, but it had gone. He sat at a table. Sculpted in time, he touched something gold, the table, in the hopes it would speak to him. Half and half.After a night of drinking, the young man had difficulty starting his day. It seemed like a day already worn out.

The street corner was whirled against, was it caught? A hand put fingers in front of a face, blocking the eyes, but this was not to protect anything, only the head wanted the decoration of some gestures.

Four hands lay on the table and the table felt inclined to tilt.

Samuel imagined that the buildings had all collapsed. What Samuel had was a certain granular radiation from one or two loght bulbs in his line of vision. How was this possible-- it was morning and no lights were illuminated. Or, if they were, the sun obliterated all knowledge of that. A sandy stretch of soil beneath his feet may have given him ideas. He kicked his toes once or twice in the earth.

The terrible dog was on the verge of appearing from behind the mirror. Water always fell from the glass, or it wasn't water but something pourable-- which was why the face of the dog, shining with a terrible light, seemed to float in front of Samuel's eyes. He reached out no hand, but the effort of the total arm seemed to release a certain brain fluid. On this rush, he could embark in the name of adventure. And so, stranger to himself, he was able to plant the stalk of his expectation in the most fabulous territory of all.

A game of tennis ended. The courts turned to clay, and white lines seemed to bisect what nobody was there to notice-- a planet of meaning. Soon, one of the young women was on her knees, tracing the lines with a device of her own invention. Did it measure inches, or degrees of variation from some absolute direction. But the indications of direction were contradictory, which was perhaps the reason the game of tennis had been abandoned. An empty glass of once was water stood on a small metal table. This too, echoed like a thunderstorm in those random tables to which her measurements alluded. Called to task, she folded her device, and the young men, dressed in white, lifted her on their broad shoulders in imitation of something-- was it a bird they had seen flying north?

The lawn in front of the large house widened. It must have been the devil.

Soon after different experiences, the woman let her hands fall inert to the sides of the chair.

On the other side of the ocean, a child put his ear to the door. Nothing changed. The ultimate sky stayed ultimate, and when the birds wheeled in circles, no circle was established. Yet the sky continued to spread. The night came and went. And the things that fell down, ultimately out of the sky, decided to name themselves in the midst of such falling, which meant, catagories of thought, accompanying nothing, floating light weight in the air that did not fill them-- but they were filled, in the brief experience of that fall to earth.

In a small room, a lamp gave the only illumination. The one with his hands in his pockets turned to the wall. He had something to say. He tried to remain silent but, unfortunately, soon found himself speaking. This was the uncontrollable part of himself-- the part of himself that dressed well to go into the streets. The part of himself that took long walks to the edge of the city-- un-self-discovered, like a branch broken from some tree that tries to bend in the wind when there is no wind.

Children ran through the garden, and a bird howled. Sticks were dropped, then retrieved, and perhaps they had dreamptof avoiding the fire but it was not to be.

A trip was proposed and then abandoned. After regret had had time to acclimate itself, the house seemed smaller. Inside the regret, tiny rooms slowly established themselves, copies of other rooms. This doubling had a name, long forgotten. And so the film over the brain, full of holes, had no holes. That was the official belief. It was sad, but only in the moment of transition, from the something before sad to the sad, only then was there a brief, momentary shine of the delight that had long since left his life. And Samuel said-- it is very important to know that before the sadness was something else that was not interesting. A kind of sleep. --But you woke from that sleep,

protested Marie. And Samuel nodded his head in irrelevent compliance. But he was glad to nod, knowing that sometime later, that tiny act would lead him to new adventures.

Samuel lost his shoes, and lifted his hands to see them. This was necessary because the hands in their lower position sometimes obscured the feet. But Marie said, put your hands down, and Samuel did so, believing that one error of judgement was enough for a single day. Then she cocked her head at an angle, this was Marie, and cried at something. It was a secret. But so many things were secrets, that one could just catagorize them as such and feel OK>

In another part of the city, a bar opened for ther night. It had been closed temporarily, and at the moment of opeing, no patrons were in sight. Later on that evening, there was a resaonable crowd,

At a food market near the river, vegatables were being sold. These were exchanged for money-- but the amount that exited from pockets and handbags was not replaced directly by the item purchased. Said item filled other containers, bags of paper or plastic. So a gap there had to be jumped by the mind that did the purchasing. That was exercise of a sort, but the question was what part of the mind achieved, here, benifit. But a deeper question was-- was there a part to the mind, or was it a whole and non-dividable thing, and was that why it was so easy to make the connestion between the produce purchased and the cash paid out to insure that. Pockets and handbags emptied fast-- especially taking the perspective of longer periods of time. Brains matured. Bags of paper and plastic were eventually discarded.

Something on the surface of the lake, floating, as was expected, and Samuel fished it out of the water saying-- this thing was floating. What was it? No one knew.

To turn these impulses of the hand into words rather than into images. The hand did continue when the brain did not-- or was it rather that the brain did not report upon its continuing.

So words, they made things in spite of the effort being denied to the making. Why should the word want to continue. It did, after all, have a life of its own, just as did the hand have a life of its own. And what conditioned that drift of those separate lives if not something outside of and more powerful than Samuel himself.

Should Samuel have been more powerful; tried to make himself more powerful? Or was power available to Samuel in the form of a wave he could ride, and was that ride a ride to allow or a ride to end. And if Samuel left the ride of this wave, could his physical body be controlled in a way some idea of things might call desirable?

The moving hand and the moving word were controlled by life but they did not create a picture of life. What they produced was therefore evidence rather than relief. And if there was no relief, then the mental process built, and who knew what would be the end of that mental process-- self destruction from the inside-- or transformation. Nobody knew.

They entered the cathedral and somebody said kneel here. But Marie looked toward the ceiling, and felt ready to cry.

A child held a bag of roasted nuts. Shaking the bag produced noise.

Wind was like an echo. If there was nothing to say-- could there be an echo that echoed that. What kind of ringing in the ears was forthcoming.

Everybody felt, or heard, that ringing in the ears. Everybody. That was something, at least, to celebrate.

A hole opened in the sky, but nothing filled it, and it occupied time past as well as time future. Men climbed a specific mountain in order to see into the hole-- this hole they had no idea of-- its existence like the hole in front of the eye that moves when the eye moves.

So these men-- better than blind, suhuufled in their shoes over the rocks, and balanced on the final uppermost rock, and fell at last onto the whole of which they knew nothing, and nothing changed.

A newspaper flapping on the front of the newstand, flapping because it had been clipped to the wall and now the wind was blowing, a newspaper reported some things and forgot many other. But that is to say it was the newspaper that was doing these things. The newspaper was printed by people who were under the command of other people who assigned other people to write things up. One of the things that was written up was what was happening now to the newspaper, fluttering in the wind. That is, a tiny edge of it, loose from the things that clipped it to the wall, only that tiny edge was fluttering. But when there was no wind, it lay there totally flat.

The clocks were climbing the stairs. What stairs? The ones at the end of the hall-- but isn't that all stairs, don't all starts come at the end of a hall. Isn't that where all stairs are located. There are just a certain number of exceptions, but these exceptions don't prevent us from stating the obvious, because what is obvious is generally the case, about stairs particularly.

This knowledge empowered Samuel. He stood with confidence, ascended with confidence. Time, which stretched out in front of him like it stretched out in front of everybody else, held a certain number of surprises for him, but he was prepared for these surprises, because he knew they were coming. Yes, he was upset when they happened, some of them, but he expected to be upset. So his expectations were fulfilled and there were no surprises. Sometimes, he had to check his watch and usually, often, he was never extremely surprised or upset, because it was approximately the time he imagined it to be before checking his watch. But he checked his watch just to make sure.

In a small room, a cabinate held things inside. People who passed through that room, or did things in in that room, occasionally saw it open. People who entered the room very infrequently, or just once in their whole lives-- many of those people never saw it open, never saw its insides. But they did not doubt that it held things. It was therefore, acceptable as a cabinet.

Imagine what adventures Max must have had

I can't possibly imagine

Come now, try

But what I imagine can't possibly be the equal to the fact

That's no reason not to do one's best

But I'm convinced my best isn't goof enough. Can you blame me for not wanting to humiliate myself in front of Max?

You care that much

Oh yes, I care very much what Max thinks of me.

Dear Max, , yiou see what an uncomfortable position Otto finds himself in.

I'm sure he sees it

He hasn't said he sees it

Shall we ask him iof he sees it?

All right, lket's as him. Dear Max, do you see what a terribly uncomfortable position poor Otto finds himself in

Yes. I see it

You see? I'm always willing to vouch for Max's ability to see things like that

Yes, I agree Max can see most anything that's there to see.

I think so

(Pause) Dear Max, there's a way to help us out of this dilema

I quite understand what you'd like

Do you?

Yes. You'd like to hear me tell about my adventures

Oh that would be nice

Adventures in the jungle, specifically

Yes, that's what I thought you meant

The south American jungle-- did you know we meant to be that specific

I certainly meant to be that specific.

(Pause) But: You've decided not to speak about it

Well, not completely

Oh? My appitite is wetted., My appitite is very wet, juicly wet, I might say

I've dicided to give hints.


Yes. Occasional hints

Nothing more than hints

That's right, just hints

How disappointing

It doesn't have to be disappointing.

Oh, I know

What do you know

I can p[ick up on your train of thought

Can you really?

Of course I can

I'd like to hear you elaborate

Of course Max, as you know it gives me pleasure to elaborate, it always gives me pleasure to elaborate, because I'm such a very enthusiastic elaborator in general, about a wide variety of subjects, there's one thing I like to do very much, and that is to elaborate.


Which is why you decided to play the game of hints with us rather than the game of full and detailed explication. Don't even bother to say I'm right, I know I'm right.

You're right

Please, that isn't necessary.


My only question is-- when can we expect the first of these wonderful hints. No-- that wasn't phrased properly since in fact I do accept that we may already, even as of this vrery moment, have been given the first or even the second or third of this series of hints that we are going to be graced with thanks to the relative generosity Max is showing us-- and I only say rfelative you understand, because in spite of Max's excellent stratagy which I understand and appreciate, in this particular case in spite of my normal and admitted proclivities, I have to admit, honest as I should like to be in all matter of interaction with dear friend Max, honest as I should like to be I must admit that I would still prefer not hints-- but actualy, detailed recounting of experiences. I'm so sure they would prove-- these experiences, even even outsidstance my own wonderful fleshed out imaginings.

You've switched.

Yes I know I've switched. I've decided my previous pro- imagine it position was in fact, poverty strickedn in the face of the reality of Max's very tremendous adventures.

(Pause) How can you be sure they were tremendous?

Oh I just can

Give me a hint

A hint? From me? Goodness-- a hint about what

A hint about how you can be absolute certain my experiences were tremendous rather than, oh. . .say -- banal?

No, I'm sure they weren't banal experiences

While I don't for the life of me know how you can be so sure-- I'm not even asking for a full explination, I'm just asking for a hint.

Hints-- deserve hints in response?

Oh , I do expect parity. I'm not out to establish some matmathical basis

Oh, thank goodness dear Max, because mathmatics are not, alas, my strong point.

Well, their not your WEAK point Oliver

I'd have to didsagree

--I've seen you do some superiour mathmatics. Well, if not superiour, at least provocative.

Ah-- my poiunt exactly. I admit to provocative mathmatics, in lieu of being able to come up with superior mathmatics, I try to brace up my own sense of well being with provocative mathmatics but as you know only too well, dear Max, provocative mathmatics are not superiour mathmatics.

Too showy?

Exactly, Otto, too showy

I wouldn't be able to judge

I understand, But Max is able to judge.

Well, perhaps I'm not, since in my opinion, I've seen you do superior mathmatics.

(Pause) That's not kind, Max

Maybe it's a hint

--No such thing! (smiles) Can I make Max a drink?Are you as weird as I think you are.

Not at all

You hear voices

That's lucky, isn't it?

I'd say weird

I feel very connected

Connected to what

To the source of my voices

OK. That's weird

No it isn't

What do your voices say

Are you weird, or am I weird

What's the criteria?

Let me invite you.The story I want to tell you involves nothing in particular. I shouldn't have said-- WANTED to tell you, nothing pushes me forward.

Let's assume

a cloud

Slides over the sun.

Is it a little


lifting the edge of a curtian.

A recapitulated urge.

A sound

A sentence

The intensity of a look

The heartbreak

The abandoned house.

After a day spend in tears-- who was able to benifit from so long posponed business.

The drive past the abestos factory

Pilles of white fiber

Walls of white death.

And the car


Night drawn

Cataracts of loss.

The tired tribes of time

Spent into a space memory

That solidified.

Language as bed.

Tired head into a cupped


punching its way into the deep:

Forget me not

of the external


Croaked circle of sound

Bleached rump-let

Long re-echoed quakes

And I ran


Here, in the left or right hand

Lifted to the mouth

Dry from prattle

He x-foamed

'it' into its easy-opposite.

X'd into last place

Where the love

lost its toe hold

on real estate,

but the brunch




for food flows,


mouth to brain

so words

formed like melons

behind the eyes

in a blink:

That fast.

That super-animated

All solid.Here, I greet you. Making one of my major mistakes. A hand out, I suppose, but to accept means a decline into hell itself.

I'm as kind as I can be.

Under the circumstance

Right. Under the circumstancesInstantious speed

to arrive at the end of the subject under consideration.

And beyond that


Getting there fast:


But isn't that

skipping life?


Doing everything so fast, life is skipped

But what is acquired


Everything is skipped

One is possitively stuck


Why is that desirable

I didn't say it was desirable

What is it, if not desirable


For what?

I don't know

Then why not. . .slow down, and savor what life offers

No thank you

Why not?


Why not

Because, without speed, it's too boring

But if great speed

skips life, then what's arrived at is nothing. And that's boring

It's beyond boring. It's boring, yes, but its also beyond boring

I don't understand

You'll have to try

No I don't

Right. You don't. There's no reason at all for you to try and understand me

Thank you for admitting that


I feel sorry for you, that's all

I don't think you're being sincere

All right

Why do you suppose you had the need to say something that was insincere


Ah, is that what rules your life?

Its a good quality. It malkes life possible, above the level of the brutes

So it does

Well, it does

And what's beyond that? Politeness, I mean, because I agree that politeness is beyond the level of the brutes-- but what's beyond politeness.

You tell me


OK. Don't tell me


You seem very uncomfortrable, and I seem comfortable

Suppose I left. You'd be bored. You'd be alone.


(He goes. Other lies down)

Should I talk to myself to entertain myself? Let's see if I can do without that.I didn't want to get bypassed

" nose dive

" trip on a rug

" fill up the wrong catagories,

all by myself.

" described by strangers

I wanted to be a 'me' ikon. Me, me me.

What can you do for me

Cure you

From what

You tell me

I'm not clear about this

Me neither

Maybe we should try an electro-magnetic treatment

I bet you think best, when you're not really at your best

I never tried


I say, I never tried!(This angel is in the circus)

I've said enough things to last a lifetime. Something else is required of me.

What could that be

We'll have to find out. Patience is necessary, but wisdom no longer works

(wisdom has gone out of style)

What can I offer you?

Scotch and soda

Can you handle it?

I can handle it

What should be the proportions of the relatiomnship between the scotch and the soda.

How kind of you to sak

Its nothing

Why don't you make the relationship as follows. About 75% soda-- 25% scotch.

Does that add up to a hundred per-cent? --Just a joke.

Now let's get down to business

OK By me

What sexual activities are you into

Well, I assumed we'd take our clothes off-- enter that bed, and p[erform sexual congress


That sounds very unpleasant

Well, I imagine that being a prostitue does have its unpleasantness

I'd rather have conversations

About what?

Spiritual things.What's in that letter

Well, it is private

Let me see it

No thank you

Can I introduce myself. I'm death

I'm not happy to see you.

I wrote you I'd be here

Is that what was in the letter


Let me see


Let him see, it's not going to matter

(Gives, pause)

It just says. . .I'll be visiting.

Doesn't it?

Yes. It doesOutside the rules of the game, there are no rules. In other words there are no rules outside the rules of the game.

He went into his room, and shut the door forever

Is that something about the way people die?

No. It's something about the way people come to terms with wanting to go on living.

I'm going to limit myself to saying the truth. Therefore I may not have much to say.

Oh, I'll bet you come up with more than you imagine.

Sometimes, what I think slides out of me and covers my face, forming a mask that stands in for my own features. That's happening right now.

What are you thinking

Look at my face

I'm not good at reading faces

Of course you are! My total personality is in my face. But my total personality is the product of things I've been thinking. You pick up on that. You have the ability to get an impression.

Yes, I do

That's that

Where does that leave us?Are you a jaguar?


Are you a spotted lepoard?


A wild boar?



How many guesses do I have left

(Figures, then--)


I can't believe I've already used fifteen

But you have

I would have thought seven or eight

Fifteen. I always keep track

That must be your speciality

Not my specialty.


What is your speciality

If you can guess what animal, you'll have a clue

With only five guesses left, I may not



But you're certainly not going to give up til the very last guess?

I suppose I won't







(heard shakes no)




You have one more

I know

Don't be discouraged




I win

What do you choose as your reward

Ah, that's been worrying you

No it hasnt

I can see it has

You're very wrong

OK. My choice is, actually it's nothing so terrible. My choice is-- take off your dress

Just my dress?



Your outer dress. Just the first layer.

(She does)

Now it's your turn


Chose an animal


Take whatever time you need

All right

You have one?


You really think it's the one you're closest too out of all others?





Am I right?

How did you do that?



You must have had wonderful adventures in the Jungle.

In Borneo

Not really

Tell me about it

I don't think so.You're experiences must have been fascinating. Were they fascinating.

They could be called fascinating

Could be called? You mean they weren't to you? To you they were banal, or ordinary, or boring, but to others of lesser experience--

I can't speak for others.

Do you think I would have found them fascinating?

I don't know what you find fascinating.This table already exists. It cares nothing for my intentions concering it. It cares nothing for the normal reality in which it is embedded

Something different is going on from what seems to be going on

Are you trying to open that book?


Ah, you were just giving that impressiopn

Was I

I think so

(Man backs away from table)

Ah, Everything is so predicatable


Now, let's all try to reach for that book on the table at the same time

What is this exercise called.

The aquestion is-- can anything important happen in this relatively unimportant place. And the answer is-- to be determined: over the course of time.Just think. I wanted tro be an angel

When was that

I wanted to be an angel


Did you want wings


A halo


Then in what sense did you want to be an angel

I wanted to be. . .molecularly re-constituted

Ok. Drink this

(Is this something you drank, when you wrere in the jungle? Is this what gave you your fantastic experiences)

It doesn't work

For me, it works. Who's to say no

A, you're right


Who's to say no.

Could I have some of that stuff please?

No. You better not have any of this stuffAre you ready for the experiment


I do appreciate you're doing it as a personal gfavor to me

I am. But you promised it wouldn't hurt

Not at all. You'll feel a slight tingling on the skin, but it won't be pain

Ok-- OW!

No, it didn't hurt, did it?

You're right. It was just startling for a second

I know it didn't hurt

I've acclimated

I was sure you would.I close my eyes. I enter another world

(Pause) No-- I should have put it the other way around. I open my eys, I enter another world

Another from what

I should have put it differently. My eyes are open, then I peel them open and I enter another world

I doubt it


I think that's your desire, rather than your reality

I wish it could come true

But it didn't. Here we are

(A tremendus airplane says look-- I fly into your head and release packages. These are my gifts to you. These are the gifts, of the tremendous airplane. Don't ask if I am named. I am not named. Know me only as the tremendous airplane)

How old am I

Can't you tell?

I can tell by reading my palm

Are you sure?

It's all in the interpretation

But are you sure when you read your palm it's your age you're finding out about? Are you sure it isn't something in the other direction?

That's possible

What can I offer you

Ahhh-- whisky and soda


I imagine you weren't sure whether or not I'd accept alcohol

I thought you'd give it a try


To be polite

(Drains it)

You probably want to get down to business


Let's everybody have a seat

OK. Everybody open your books, randomly-- where it opens, and start reading for a while. I'll tell you when to stop.

Excuse me--


Read out loud or read to ourselves.


No. Read to yourselves


Stop. Michele. What can you remember?



Am I right this was everybody's experience?

(all nod)

Does it worry you? OK. Push your chair back from the table so, arms extended, you can just touch the edge of the table

(Done) Now, put your arms out and just touch the edge of the table. OK. Relax.

(Pause) Am I for real?

What do you mean

Am I for real?

We hope so


Oh well, we'd like it to be time well spent

Why is that

Time's wasted, usually. We'd like it to be different.

Oh boy, is this pathetic, or is this pathetic. I'd like another drink

(Given one)

This isn't just for effect, you know. I really want to consume this drink


You know-- something occurs to me. How come I'm drinking alone?


Doesn't anybody want a drink? I'll make them

(Done for all)

Bottoms up.

No thanks


(Look at watch)

Maybe I'll think about moving on

(Pause, gets coat, goes. Returns, gets books and goes)

Well., We fucked that up

Why do you say that?

I'd say that was a real opportunity missed

Maybe not


Go on

Maybe we'll find out-- later, what happened was exactly right. Necessary.

Do you mean like a time bomb?


(Knocks, opens door)

Hello again. I forgot something


Could I have a look?

Of course


What are you looking for

I'd rather not say


Excuse me, but it doesn't seem likely what you forgot would be in one of these drawers.

I secreted it when you weren't looking


Well, what is it then?

I'm not sure yet


Here it is

It's a letter

Of a sort


Well, I'll just leave it here

Thank you


Shut the door, Charles


That was certainly strange

(look at drawer)

(Get letter, tear it up?) (Warp)

This doesn't make any sense. When I left, you were on the planet of the disturbed people. Now I find you here--

acting almost normal.

There's nothing normal about the way I'm acting.

Of course there is; the coffee in your cup is real coffee

I have no answer for that.

Of course you don't, because-- it doesn't make any sense

Did you see me drinking this?


You're welcome to sit here and watch me all day if you like-- I don't think you'll see me do anything. . .special, with this coffee


It is a kind of drug

I know that

Is that why you avoid it?

I don't avoid it, it just never happens that I have an urge to drink it

Then why is it sitting there in front of you

I don't know

You don't know?

(She shakes her head)

This is weird.

No, that's just your perception

What do you mean

It doesn't seem weird to me-- not a bit.

That might be your perspective

Of course it is

(Shoves coffee toward him)

Are you offering that to me?


This doesn't make any sense. Why would you offer ME, YOUR coffee

I said, there was nothing normal about how I'm acting.

You also said there was nothing weird. Put those two things together, and they don't make any sense.

You think drinking this might do you harm?

What kind of harm?

I haven't touched it.


I once had an uncle-- no he wasn't an uncle, but he was a relative of some kind, who died, while in the midst of a cup of coffee

Where did that happen


Right here


Right in this resturant



That is weird


That it happened right here-- and now, you're offering me a cup of coffee-- one that you haven't touched

Haven't I?

That's what you told me


Why would I lie to you

I don't know

That doesn't make any sense.


I'm just going to let the whole thing. . .slip by-- as if it never happened

I don't think you can erase what happened


Are you trying?


Where did I hast see you?

It wasn't here

I know that, or at least I INTUIT that. There's some missing link in this thing

Maybe I'm the missing link.

If I could figure out where I last saw you--

Don't you think maybe it was right here?

Here? In this resturant?


Well-- don't you know?

If you don't, why should I?

Because you may have a clearer memory of these things

Why should I?

Because I sense, there's something you're not telling me

Of course. I'm not telling you lots, and I'm not telling you because-- one can never tell everything. And one can never. . .recover everything from one's past, even if one would like to

Where did I see you last

I think it was right here

In this resturant? On this planet?

I didn't say that

You said-- right here

I didn't say-- on this planet


Was this the same cup of coffee?


Highly un-likely

Why do you say that


You don't have to answer. I agree with you. But by the same token, why do you assume it was the same planet

Because you said-- right here.

Yes. Me and you

(gestures, between them)

See? Right here

This is strange. I don't know what you're trying to tell me, but I resist

You have a resistent personality.Are you ready to take off for other regions, Maurice?

Take off for what?

Are you ready to take off for other regions?

Certainly not

Don't you think it's time you took off for other regions?

I'm happy where I am

I find that hard to believe

Believe it

The party's over. You're all alone

You're here

I don't think that's very satisfactory

I was just qualifying your statement concerning my being alone

I'm not exactly here WITH you Maurice. I'm co-present. That's different.


I'm about to take off to other regions

If that's an invitation

Of course it is

I'll pass

I think Maurice is feeling sorry for himself.

Not at all.Do you consider me a friend?

I haven't known you long enough

Oh, I'm disappointed. I thought we just hit it off

In a superficial way

Ah-- I like that. You don't think of friendship as superficial

Not at all. I certainly don'tDon't I know you?

Do you?


When I look in a mirror--

--You see me?

No. I see myself

Well. That's true enough

How would you know that for a fact?

Some things pop out of me with a certain violence

I don't doubt the violence

I'm not a violent person

Here comes dinner


That's not what I ordered

What do you think you ordered?

I can't remember

Then it could have been this

I don't like this

With a loss of memory, what could accompany it could be a reversal of taste

Yes. I can see the logic in that

What do you think is happening to you?


Maybe a total re-structuring of my personality. Maybe everything that used to satisfy me, now no longer does so

That would be an amazing thing to have happen to one

Yes. Wouldn't it

You really think that's what's happening to you?


I like you

In what way

I just. . .find you very sympathetic

Well. Thank you.

I agree I may have ordered this, but I have no recollection of doing so


Can I tell you the truth


You didn't order this

I think you're just trying to provoke me

That would be acceptable, but it isn;'t the case

I don't follow any of this

You aren;'t supposed to. It's between him and me

But I've never known your memory to be bad

You don't know me that well

We're acquainted

Yes. But not WELL acquainted


Of course we are

Are you truing to provoke me

I think you're suffering from some kind of potentially dangerous delusion

I get it, because twice in a row I accued somebody of trying to provoke me, that's a dangerous delusion

It could be

I have a confession to make



I'm part of a secret group; a group of people who use various techniques that disrupt their own lives

You just told me about it

Did I>?

So how could it be secret

I broke the rules

Inadvertently or on purpose

I have a confession to make


I'm part of the same organization

That must be why I found you congenial

Are you sure I'm telling the truth?

It's a matter of choice

What is

Whether or not I believe you.

Right. Because your memory is bad.

Which may or not be volentary-- but I don't have to tell you that since you're a member of the same organization.

It sounds to me like he doesn't believe you.

What do you think. Would everybody in the organization know about everybody else in the organization?

Probably not

Probably not.I find you congenial. Not that you've made youself well known to me. You haven't.

I certainly haven't

And me?

You I don't find congenial, but I find you attractive.

Isn't it amazing that's not contradictory

But it isn't

I know it isn't

I could analyse it, but it's not worth it


Probably on the edge of the precipice. Thren I jumped.

Did you land on your feet?

Let's look

Oh no, don't look down. Cast your gaze-- if anything-- up at a fourty-five degree angle and to the left or right

The left or right of what?

Obviously-- of whatever's in front of you


Suppose I'm taken over by an image I can't handle

Eat something to calm down

Even if it's not what I like


Why especially

It's to increase the agitation. Then your impulses are sure to break out.

I'm not sure I want that

Of course you want that

I may WANT that, but I may not want the consequences

There are no conscequences-- you've lost your ability to remember things

Have I?

See? You don't remember


What organizations do you belong to

I don't remember

I think you must be making a lot of thjis up

Of course, every minute of my life is being made up. It's quite a strain

Then relax

That's quite a strain too

(Then: several hours later)

A whole lifetime of energy, and nobody who wants to use it. So: I turn to my meal, I lift knife and fork, I slowly lift a mordsal to my mouth and-- this is terrible. My food is ice cold.

How do you know that without tasting it

It's been sitting here for such a long time, it has to be ice cold

Ah, the universe is on course, and you're tracking it

Didn't you prefer the old days-- when there were major problems

I don't remember any

Your interpersonal relationships, exploitation of human passions that played havoc wiyth people's happiness

I think all those things still exist

Not here

No, not here

Aren't you regretful?

Yoiu can't go home again. This is something else. This is operating on another level. This is letting. . .something else, light up this room, fill up this space

All these allusions to things I don't understand

You could understand

--But I don't. That'swhat's operating here

What's operating here

Making contact with things. Brief contact, then contact is broken off


Eat something

No thanks. I'm not hungry for anything ice-cold

I could have guessed. That's why I re-ordered, and here it is


Wow. This looks delicious

Shall we dig in?

Yours looks good too

Want some?

If you'll have some of mine

You know-- I think we ordered the same thing

I guess so

We have similar tastes

Well, we didn't always--

The way I look at it-- taste siezes people, rather tjhan the other way around

I don't try to analuyse, I just try to enjoy

Separating those two isn't always easy.


My mind is a blank

(Music)First of all, I tried to think my way out of the major dilema of my life, which was the fact that I couldn't locate the dilema.

This was very important--

I knew I was upset, but I couldn't discover--

not just the reason for my upset--

but the very feeling itself.

I was upset-- I know this-- without being able to really FEEL the upset. It was as if the feeling, which somehow I knew to me mine-- was in fact hiding from me.

This was a very peculiar sensation. So the only way I could deal with this was to try to cast myself into life, in such a way that the upset would clearly reveal itself to me.

So the upset would appear on the surface of my life, as if developed by the exotic chemicals of that 'throw into life' I gave myself --like seizing myself by the scruf of the neck and thrusting forward my own, unprotected self into a confusion of my own making.

Why would you want to do that?

I cannot answer such questions. All I can say is I was seized by some necessity which, because it was a necessity, I welcomed.

Why did you welcome such a thing?

Because it offered the promise of a certain intensity

You may live to regret that

Is that a threat?

No. I consider myself objective

(Grabs face)

Let's have a look. No-- I don't see objectivity in this face

I would say objectivity isn't available in faces

I would say EVERYTHING is visible in faces

After a night spent drinking, the very fact I am not in command of my well developed faculties releases me, very publicly, into something else. Maybe something else gets in to replace my well developed faculties.

And the upset of that apple cart is one of those famous blessings in disguise that makes one have such a proclivity for disguises.

So-- here I am waiting for the oportune knock on the door)

(Pause, goes to door)

Anybody there?

(Phone rings)

Ah, it always comes as a surprise

(Picks up phone)



Can you hold on a minute?

(Thinks, hangs up)

(One in door)

Am I interrupting something?

Did you know I was on the phone?

You must have hung up

That's a pretty good guess

I can't say what I think about that catagorization

Come in and have a seat

Do you always welcome visitors?

No always

Do you always leave the door open?

This is the first time

That means your batting average is superior

One for one

If we agree already, --I'm redundant


(Pause, to self)

Maybe I should say-- don't go.

(Phone rings, picked up)

Hold on for a minute



Did I hear the phone ring?

(It's held out)

Is it for me?

I have no idea

I think we can agree I wasn't expected


Let's stop pretending

OK. I was following your instructions

I've lost interest in them.

(Into phone)

Hello, I'll call you back in a few minutes

What next?


Let's start from scratch

What does that mean

I wish I could make my mind a blank

Want something to drink?

No thank you

(Nevertheless, drink poured and offered)

No thank you

It's nothing but water. I refilled the bottle with tap water

(Takes, tastes)

Ah, you're right


Could I have some more of this?

Help yourself

Well, then it's no fun

Fun can't be measured

I'm not sure what that means

It means I just said what came into my head

I thought so


You're an amazing person

Oh, please

No-- you're an amazing person


I've been told, in fact, I have a special-- well, I give off a special aura.

Who told you that

One of these people who claim to pick up on such things

THESE people? I don't see anybody else present in this room

OK. "Those' people, but I suppose I said 'these' because I wanted to feel close to that whole-- network. You know; the network of possibility


OK. I don't really SEE any aura. So, that probably has to rest in limbo.

Then why do you think I'm amazing

Idon't think I was being very sincere. I just said it to provoke

I wasn't provoked

Maybe it was self-provocation

How does that work


That's my secret

Ah. A kind of aura

I'll buy that


Hello? . . .Hello?

(Hangs up, other almost collapses)

What's wrong?

You broke the connection

(Looks worried, picks up phone)

Hello? Hello?

It's too late

Well. . .I'm sorry about this.

(Music, drinks)

One or two brief moments were enough to contain a whole lifetime of experience. The doctor, disguised as a common day laborer, ripped off the very last layer of his disguise, and there it was, naked and resplendent, what a wonderful disguise. It allowed everything to continue as before.Along the city pavements, the Amateur Genius shrieked out syllables, and the animals swerved, and the Amateur Genius cast crumbs, but they returned, amazingly, to his own hand, as crumbs to be sure, but they returned. He validated them. He showed them to Marie and she went through his pockets. Here's evidence-- she said, fingering the small grains, the residue therein accumluated.

But the Amateur Genius just smiled-- shall we say he tossed her a smile, and when she turned away irritated his reward was in the lesson learned.The philosophers have undone me

What philosophers are these?

The philosophers have cheated me out of all energy

Which philosophers have done this


I don't know their names

Then maybe your accusation is unfair

You. You. You.

You who banquet off banquets

You who moderate. You who look into the distance and see your own eyes, horizon beacons, flared into wide dimention.

You who exhaust all potential with naming the fulcrum of dreams.

You who trip on air, thrust under the foot like a balloon beacon

You who garnish nonsense as a life task

You You You You

who follow Satan like you follow the disease of life, hungry for change, as change becomes so predictable it puts you to sleep

You liar, miscreant

boil of trouble

you who in the mirror appear like my own face, my you-face

like a double that has no model, areproduction true to its own contours only.

You you you

isolated and named

(He saw something on the face, something that resembled a tear)

Once upon a time, this cold and hostile atmosphere would have delighted me.

Ah. I sau 'once upon a time'. That must mean-- now

This isn't once upon a time

Of course it is once upon a time. See how the light bounces off the back of my hand, off my fingers? This is a genuine invitation

To who

Oh, you're not invited-- but here you are.

Can I take my seat at your table?

Tell me again what's already decided.

Here I am.

Once upon a time

What frigid glares you sweep in my direction

What parts of the body pick up on that.

Well, my eyes are well connected

Go on

The eyes seem to spread through some invisible network to all points on the body's surface

So cold means-- cold

Which is a paradox, because cold isn't really visible, just certain conventional signs of coldness

But of course-- one want to feel energized

Try again.

(To wall)

Dod you ever notice that vista?


In my dreams

Ah, once upon a time

(Slaps self)

Wake up

It won't work


Slap yourself again

Then it wouldn't be slapping myself, it would be me responding to your instructions


It would be about a kind of hypnotic behavior

Then somebody better tie your hands to the table, because my powers of suggestion are so powerful it's very hard for anybody to resist

(Other goes, gets rope, ties self)

Enough said

Enough said

Let's get on with the day's activities

(other moves, table moves)

Hey! Nobody said move the table!

Untie me please

No chance

Then I can't perform even the simplest activities without disrupting your equlibrium

Right. Isn't that why I'm here?


Haven't you noticed?



I can get out of this by myself if I choose

(Unties self)

I'm not disappointed

I didn't think you would be

Ah, your understanding of my motives plunges how deep, exactly?

It stops on thre absolute surface

Totally fixated

I hope so

Here's a hint



No. Better not give any hints. You're so very quick to psyche things out, and I suddenly prefer the placid frigidity of total explination.

So: I will now explain my motives.

I don't have any

My hopes--

I don't have any.

My ambitions--

none at all. That's why I like it here. Once upon a time. That's just a perspective on things, you understand.

Once upon a time, a man entered a room

and sat down at a table.

Ah, I've been here before, he said. And in more than one sense, he was telling the truth.

Well, quite enough of an accomplished for one day. So let's see what tomorrow brings. Probably more of the same


Don't you think it's time to shift geers?

Of course

(Somebody said-- shift geers-- and like magic, some of the things that happened next fulfilled that directive, and some of the things that happened-- did not.)

(spot on head)

I can't measure it. It vanished because I can't measure it

(lights up)

What happened to the light?

There's plently of light

But there was a special light, hitting my face

Don't you think the room is well lit?


No. I don't think it's well lit

You're being peverse on purpose

Try to see things from my point of view.The partyh's over, Samuel. But the interesting thing is, it wasn't a real party

What was it

It was just pretending

I thought that's what a party was

What do you mean?



You're under a misapprehension

Explain itWho speaks to me from this broken mirror

(Pause, looks)

This room, re-constituted, as a perfect image of myself, COULD speak

Then YOU'D be speaking

Yes. I'd be speaking

But who's speaking now. I mean, when I'm not.

Well-- when you're not speaking, --it's you.

And when I AM speaking?

Well-- at such times, we observe moments of silence

(Up to mirror)

How do I look


Relatively well groomed

Could I be correct when I identify this person?

You tell me

No, you tell me

(Pause) As far as I can tell, you're looking into a mirror

As far as I can tell. . .you're being very cooperative

Then I'm exceedingly so

What time do you expect guests

What guests


Haven't you arranged for my entertainment?


What am I supposed to do for ther rest of the afternoon

I don't know


What would happen if I made a heartfelt request. Entertain me.



I'm thinking about this. What I'm thinking. . .is that I'd rather be connecting with the universe itself, rather than with one of the universe's representatives

What ytou tell me is unacceptable


What comes pouring out of me is unacceptable. I see.

All power is unacceptable

Mr Pettyface Plural says

To be caressed by northern light

Are you oh so gentle with me?

These fingers are my fingers

Miss Pouridge Well Begott says

Nothing is aghast, only my loneliness

Mr Pettyface Plural says

Looking at you is like looking at shoe leather

Why not drop all heart beats into the main heartbeat control mechanism?

Mr Pettyface Plural says

I'll say a number of things, and you'll have apitite removers

Miss Pouridge Well Begott Says

Sounds like a very wonderful kind of game

The more I know, the less I can function. Is that an unacceptable paradox? It has to be lived to be experienced.

Miss Pouridge Well Begott Says

Fellow footprints.

They yoke me to all the most invisible tasks only. The one's undertaken in semi-earnestness

Miss Pouridge Well Begott Says

I never thought you'd dispute the truth of a particular moment

All mine

What all mine?

Mr Pettyface Plural says

From here to there is a horendous way to make horticultural horror

Miss Pouridge Well Begott Says

hHis whip was to horses in their most tractable designs.

Mr Pettyface Plural says

Puffed, petrified, yet manicaly intense

the prideful sloth

left sitting on the fense

A subject broached

yet left to wither-whine,

the bromide of the well-trod

screatches 'air'!

Mr Pettyface Plural says

Shoes within shoes

tight but debonaire

You, after the thought,

re-cultured by the aspect most peverse.

One thing you/ I can be sure of. Truth reverses itself daily. The sun rises and sets, each occurance seemingly the ultimate promise, the untimate reflection.


When I hold out my hand and close, slowly, my fist, it seems at first like I've at least imitated the acquisition of something. Then, pondering further, it seems I've closed my fist in order to isolate what is now an interious from the wealth of the world around it.

I hope your next move isn't to use your fist as a weapon

One never knows

Please, don't make me nervous

Its never been my intention to make you nervous. Realistically, however, I understand the absolute lack of control I must have over my intentions just as well as the result of my intentions

I think you could resist letting something relative turn into something absolute

Resist isn't translatable into success; quite the opposite

See? You're doing it again


You're right. Things don't automatically crystalize into their opposite. There's an admitted burification-- things branch into various alternatives-- some of them contradictory and many of them-- unexpected and seemingly just 'other'

You're still making a fist

Let's find out what kind of 'other' it metamorphs into

Metamorphs? Is that right?

If it isn't, it's still a metamorph-- so it is.

Or something else

Right. Something else

(Hits his own chin, slow motion. Then relaxes)

Hello again

Hello again

Why don't you uncover what I brought

(Done, foor)

Is this turning into a resturant?

No. We'd have to charge

I'll be there's a charge


Then-- this must be a resturant.


Why are you holding your head


I must be doing a kind of private suffering

Why aren't you holding you head

Do you mean-- with these two hands?

Well-- I suppose that's what I mean

I suppose I'm in the midst of considering a mental problem. I further suppose my whole life has been a preperation for this consideration, a kind of mental and emotional planning.

I suppose, furthermore, that the emotions of this mental effort had and have taken the upper hand, and for those self evident reasons, my speech thrashes awkwardly through the language available me-- but look, look very carefully and watch jewels as they tumble forth

Am I to believe you, or to take your presentations as opportunities for rigorous exercise

Are you already embarked on an exercise program?

Not me

Then why not take my opportunity


Something that belongs to someone else is never a perfect fit.



It's perfect, when it's not a perfect fit. When it IS a perfect fit, it's not perfect because the fit, being too perfect, calls a halt.


That can be a moment of genuine relation

Ah, being exhaulted doesn't become you or anybody else. Well-- that's not quite true. I can imagine a very few people who fit, perfectly, into that other catagory. That catagory: suited to exaltuation, or voice versa

Any known to me personally?

I don't know the range of your acquaintances

You could guess

Well, let me put my two hands to my head, and try to squeeze out a response.


Do I look like I'm about to start flying?

I've forgotten your question

So have I. Maybe it's because I'm hungry

You haven't touched your food.

I don't like eating alone

Then I'll get something for myself



Don't be long!

(Food brough, sits at different table)

Can you see?

See what?

I want you to be able to see when I've begun eating. Because I know your sense of politeness will prevent you from taking bite until I've started.

I'm quite sure that if nothing else, I'll be able to tell from the motion of your shoulders, plus a certain articulation of the jaw, just enough of which will be visible to me as you confront your meal diretly.

Vedry well then

(Pause, turns back to other, to face meal and eats. MUSIC)Remember nothing

That's impossible

Remember nothing

I have an alternative suggestion. Suppose I pretended to remember nothing

I can be fooled


I thought the idea was to fool myself

Do you remember that?


Not really. I made it up

Ah, I'm being fooled

Not at all

Is proof available?

No. No proof is available

Then I'm certainly being fooled


Just for a moment, I forgot myself

You see? It's possible

Is a moment enough?

It's a beginning

How do I get past beginning?

(Pause, looks away, then looks back)

I don't know

What was happening in that moment you looked away from me.

I was being inspired

But all you said was-- I don't know

Wasn't that possibly by inspiration?

Hard to tell




What were we talking about?

(Both laugh)An amazing end

Don't rope me into your discussions of ultimate things

I am only a particle amidst other particles

Best for me would be to dissolve into, again, the ocean. Once re-distributed, what would I be. A pleasure morsel. That alas, I could stomach

Why an 'alas'?


Eating myself ends such a pregnat relationship. Sorrow in parting is unavoidable

But the minute you look at sorrow from the other side of sorrow--


--why do you try to stop me from speaking?

Something amazing and similar has happened in my own life. For many years, what was most potent and poignant with me, was the memory often evoked of certain key vistas, spots-- of a certain perfume, the memory of the light and atmosphere in which certain priviledged perspectives of a place were drenched-- a certain streetcorner at a certain hour of a certain day, layered by a certrain atmosphere. Perhaps there were hundreds of these potent memory traces: I'm not sure how many, but they would flash upon me unexpectedly, and their poignancy seemed to hold a secret, doubled in its power through my inability to grasp what that secret, deeper than evocativeness, really was.

But now, lately, for perhaps six months-- all that has evaporated. These places, these images of time and atmosphere no longer ravish me. Perhaps from dwelling on them in excess, I've drained them-- or, eaten them as you say, without ever directing toward them a proper farewell.

Only I know those most potent, unopenable treasures of my life no longer nourish me. They now seem to me, empty husks of memory, nothing more.

Can you imagine the sorrow linked to that revolution? That revolution that occured quite unnoticed until its action had completed itself?

But I have to believe, at the same time, it represent a moving forward in some other sense.

The energy-- emotional, psychic, that was previously invested in these images from my past, that energy must, I believe, have been secretly re-invested in some unexplored corner of my mental life -- Where, I don't yet know.

But my next adventure is to discover where it hides. No longer in memory-- sonehow, I've outgrown memory. It lies now -- in a granular someplace else that hasn't forced itself into image or object, that's what I believe.

The only hint I have, is that when I close my eyes, and no images arise, just a field of black seeded particles of tiny vortexes of blackness-- and my whole body seems re-invested as a thinking machine I don't know how to use


I don't know what to say



But if I have an urge to say something--


--or just to babble-- I should let it gush forth.


Of course. Why not

(Poem, from MAESTRO (Polymorphus))Outside of me, a mastery exists. It's called the world. Everything the world does is masterful

Anbd it's 100 per cent outside you?

Not a hundred per cent

Then it's inside you


And its mastery is inside you


I rest my case


Dies, Stefan. Did, die.

You mean die to myself?

Don't interrupt me

How else can I react

Don't react

Then why do you speak?

I rest my case

What does that mean-- I rest my case

(Spreads arms)

Take a look!

At what


Well-- it's a little bit of a world , isn't it?




I rest my case!The language machine stopped.

Putting this plug into the mouth, the other parts of the body exploded.

Music exited through ears that heretofore had been receptacles. My arms and legs waved in the air like flags in a strong wind-- but were those in fact my arms and legs waving, or was it the wind that now, through a p[roper reflectedness that was space travel itself, turned into real me.

I did not acquaint myself with real me, I embraced real me by casting these arms and legs away from my body and towards the true existing that defined, if not once and for all at least my new and glimpsed real self.

Is that what you're writing on the sheet of paper in front of you?


Oh, I thought you were sitting at your desk

Wrong again. This is the table on which I take my meals

Isn't it funny, only after all these years--

What years?

--You start holding on to your language like a life presever

Not at all. I'm throwing it away from me with a certain violence

Throwing it away from what?

To begin with, my mouth

It's still moving

It throws things away

What things

Well-- words

I don't see that

Listen instead

Oh, I'm listening, but I'm also looking

Look again

Doubling my look-- wouldn't that be --like a mirror?

Take the next step

Which is what



I'm hearing things--


Not exactly

You're not hearing mouths--

Aren't they those things that eat?


The rest of the time?

What's for dinner


I think you fell into your own trap

It was just to show off. But apply the normal approbation. Great discoveries can be made in that arena, not to claim that discoveries are in and of themselves desirable. What are they instead?

I have no idea

I have no idea-- the difference is I'm waiting to find out, and that makes every day relatively as exciting as every other day, whereas you--on the other hand-- find yourself tumbling through a series of peeks and valleys. It gives you the feeling of being alive, I suppose, but it's just a feeling.

I trust mine

Of course. It's the bulk of your experience. Me, on the other hand, I trust my impulse, which is always the same these days,


OK. What's you impulse.

I can't put it into words

How does it get expressed

If I talk, it gets expressed

I didn't pick up on that

Well, you'll get other chances.

(other exits)The car turns:

ice breaks

in a head

of roses.

The wheels multiply:

prayer traffic


into the silver

of hand,


body torque.

Double impress:

my own x'd out



Lived through.

The only hope I had of sleeping is to re-begin my attack on habit.


It isn't time for bed

You can say that, but I have an internal alarm

Normally that's for waking up

Normally, I'd agree

How do you work it differently?

You'll have to watch carefully, it goes fast

I'll bet I blink

Ah, each time the eyelid slices across the field of vision, more data is accumulated. That ultimate collective tiumbles out from an authentic organ, just below the nose

When I sleep, that's what I use for breath

Once, I filled my open mouth with an alarm clock. The result was a whisper that sent me reeling. (Corrected version exists in SLICE pg 129)

Encoded in my words, a word.

I stop speaking to speak.

A whole language falls

from the dead body.

Contesting my action, an act

swivels the flesh.

What rises,

the sun


through the mobile window,

on stairs.

Hope stretches, but in the gap

real desire


glass on glass

to de-penetrate

the sky.



snowing into the ear.

Second looks


the eye beam.

Blown from the rose

all petals


in a word.Memories don't break. Their taste is glue-like.

The wise man holds his head, are those hands or antenna.

I am driven forward by a word. Is it ahead of me or behind me.

Truth. No such thing. Word as camouflage, but for what. For the disolving of the self; the great fear.

A table versus a tripod. One rests firm, but ends in a point. The other is always open to the wobble of an uneven surface beneath, but ends above in a surface upon which thoughts, written, can be elaborated. Do we conclude that the possibility of that wobble is the possibility of a world that elaborates itself, while absolute stability, leading to the still point, ends in zero, which is the disappearance act of all that is.

And is this hunger for truth, the hunder for stability, the hunger for the still point of disappearance.

Hypnotism versus dream. But these are the only two alternatives. In one, you surge, you make your own wave. In the other you 'wake' into following orders. The third alternative-- wake and be free-- is death. As appealing as a sin.

Could the world be experienced as the granular thing it really is, we would each possess it at last.

Eyeglasses. Take them off, lay them on the table. The visible still performs transaction from one side of the lens to the other, the only difference being the exchanged signals continue falling through space. Rather than ending in your nevrous system, the mix fully in a 'you' differently defined.

The light is on. That means an object has been momentarily lifted.

The table, a circle. It's name, at a certain distance, around which it pivots.

I knew that later in the day, I would have to go shopping for food. In imagining it, momentairly, I quake. Does this mean I curse hunger? No. It drives me like nothing else.

The couch; a lift, not for the body, but for its weight. If I lie down on it, I am weightless, thanks to the couch's suffering. All life is like this, and aims for weightlessness.

The dawn rose in him.

The alternative language spoke in him.

He ceeded his own eyes.

He closes his mouth


and stank,

out of which

a discovery was available

to others

yet not made.

This capacity of life in a pinhole,

this brain too softened

by blows,


into the thing it tried to escape.

You name it.

He can't.

It's you.

It's you!Let's say-- nothing happens. Let's say the life is wasted. Let's say it's potential brilliance isn't permitted to flower, the potential flower-like brilliance of this life. My life, for instance.


Does this serve the universe's purposes?

Yes, it does.

This is just what life needs

An implosion

A sinking into itself.

A black hole of a life, overich to the point of self consumation.

Terrible. How can you say that's what life needs? I'd say that drains life of potential and therefore impovrishes life.

But that's what life needs-- impoverishment. And the reason life needs impoverishment is that life is simply a cancerous browith on the beautiful emptiness of the universe. Now think about it. If God had wanted--

Let's leave God out of this.

Oh, I'm just using it as a convenient term

It confuses the issue

I'll drop it



I'm dropping God for your benifit.


Thank you

Whgat I want you to see is this. The created universe seems to be presented to us in two ways at once.

One view-- daily life, solid objects, other persons with personalities, the facts of the so-called world of lived experience.

Second view, laborously arrived at through the evolution of most rigorous human research-- the world as high energy particles that even in themselves don't really exist, but only as potential factors in some grand equasion of possibility-- a world like a net in which the structure is mostly emptiness, and the very net itself-- even that filigree woven on nothingness is in fact-- nothing, but something that seems to arise when two nothings come into momentary conjunction-- like a thought entertained but immediately seen to be inopperable.

Sop-- this is our pinacle of evolved scientific and metaphysical thought-- to realize that everything built-- our human way of flowering being just that-- building-- and everything built from bridges to intellectual systems to recognizable human beings with traits and proclivities-- all this in fact doesn't exist-- is but a fiction, projected construct on a network of underlying non-existing atomic nothings, atomic shadows of potentia.

So-- to withdraw into that nothing by not letting my life flower.

Take one who does the opposite. He compunds the lie.

My point is-- is the universe is constituted this way-- the most profound of human efforts being to discover the non-materiality of all things--

then to flower is to build, is to disguise reality, with the facade of what has been built on unreal foundations. A kind of cancer. This-- human flowering-- a kind of cancer. And that I reject. I rather-- implode. I return the self to its roots. I serve the universe's truth through copntraction, rather than pointless expansion and proliferation.

How do know the universe's purpose isn't precisely the opposite of what you say. Isn't the miracle of building things out of this non-material stuff-- making it flower--

Ah-- you mean the universe's purpose is to lie?

Not to lie: to build. Is it lying to take. . .clay, and make bricks that then make a complex and beautiful building?


Are you thinking about your answer?

No. I have no answer

Then I win

No. I still have my feelings. It's still a hundred per-cent me. All my life-- I too wanted to flower, to build, to contribute. To what end? Now -- at peace for the first time-- I don't want to do any of that

To be blunt-- you've given up


That's your choice


It's sad

Oh no, what it is, isn't sad

Well, we have a difference of opinion

There's no such thing


This is really of no interest to me



Ah. He was here, now he's not here. I hardly notice the difference.

What a peverse man I've become

There is a mystery here

And mysteries. . .should never be solved

What an interesting rule-- possibly God's rule-- assuming we DON'T leave God out of things-- his rule, I suddenly realize or imagine, same thing, his rule must be-- mysteries should never be solved.Just remember Paul. A thing is more than its boundaries, always. Be they physical, conceptual, whatever. A thing is reactions to it-- and the totality of those are never knowable.


tumble from heads,

and hands


from postures

of snow.


white flakes


into multiple kiss.



the grimace

of effort,



into a pure



Everything I can think of, I do

I'm the same way

How come so little starts happening?

It must be habit


The habit of not letting impulse operate. Unless.

Unless what.


Unless it turns into something else



What about impulse?

If impulse doesn't turn into something else, nothing happens

What does it have to turn into

My answer is a shrug


Ah. A world of shrugs.

That's a powerful world

In what way

When nothing is happening-- one saus
I shrug'. If it happens repeatedly-- does the world change?


What does it change into

I don't think it changes anything

I shrug


That means, I don't care.

But you do care, I know you care

I shrug. That means, even though I care, I don't care about my caring

Then I can't reach you

That's why I said it's a powerful world

It sounds like a prison

Yes, but I shrug at the suggestion, and that opens a door

(Pause. One goes)

Now I'm alone. Everything I can think of-- I keep doing.


My mind seems to be a blank, but of course it never is. I shrug. My clock is broken.My clock is broken

Check it


What environment is this? I need a reminder

Let me remind youSome questions can only be asked once

Have I no choice?

You'd better sit

Is that the way to behave ?

I think you had the impulse

Strange-- wouldn't I have acted upon that impulse, and why not?

Why not.I'm trying to deal with imaginary sunlight

Try harder


I have two stratagies available to me.

I can guess

I can turn what's here-- the light I'm bathed in, into imaginary sunlight.

That seems possible

That's one stratagy

(Samuel smiles at the lamp which, placed on the table, remained there and well illuminated)Are these the crakers you wanted to eat

Yes. I was hungry for crakers. But thinking about it more carefully, I realize that these crackers are very dry in the mouth, and I may have difficulty unless they are accompanied by some kind of liquid refreshment.

Liquid refreshment is as readily available as crackers

I understood that from the beginning

All you had to do was ask

Is it too late?



I'd like to think about this

When the great sun-mouth opens,

I myself loose sleep over bright nothings

I curl my fingers

over this sleep-idea.

I race

I fall down from my pants

I circulate like the crackers in a dry mouth

speaking with violence

about self-same subjects.

Nobody buys what I sell.

Here I go again,

washed out

but brilliant enough to shine

in my own eyes.

(Samuel smiles at the lamp which, placed on the table, remained there and well illuminated)

(Samuel smiles at the lamp which, placed on the table, remained there and well illuminated)

Moving this lamp, I was unable to find the optimal position

What was optimal

I don't know. I have this image in my mind --of a quality of light that should be possible, that would suggest. . .infinite possibility. . .a kind of softness.

This single lamp might not produce such an effect

I know that

(Knowing that what is know, is, in fact the knowable itself.)(Painting, street, mysterious perspective-- (fruit also?))

Looking down this painted perspective, I see nothing. What I'm away of, mostly, is this flat surface. I run my hand over this surface. Do I bleed? Hardly. Do I render smoke, touchable? The hand passes through smoke, yet it IS touched.

Do you bleed?

What? Have I wounded myself?

I have no idea. But I heard you complain of bleeding.


Have you ever reached a point in your life when everything uttered, held-- of seemed to-- significance that was untrackable on any of the maps with which you'd been provided?

I can't say I've known such a state

Things fall into the open hand like gifts, but that's just it-- the hand is open, and the gifts that fall into the hand continue elsewhere, because the hand is incapable of closing on those gifts


When the instinct to close, closes me, then I am not receptive. Then, the usual gifts showered upon me rebound and travel elsewhere. What is the difference between these two states. The one state where I am pictured with my hand open and unable to close, and receive gifts showered upon me and am unable to retain them.

And the other state in which I am closed, and gifts showered upon me rebound from my closed state.

There is a difference

There is a difference in me, not in the gifts I am able to receive.

And yet, in the one case, I am fired by a vision of the richness that assults me and in the other case not. And what is this difference, finally.


Notice how the pressure in me, builds, trying to formulate this answer? This is my fuel-- this pressure. I am lifted, by this fuel, I am lifted to that very level from which gifts descend. So that I, myself, participate in that showering of gifts, though I possess nothing-- I am at the place of fruitfulness. Though I have no fruit.

Now I again confront this painting, and I enter into its perspective as if it were a real depth rather than the untouchable smoke of a painted surface. . .and with the drift of that smoke, I discover my own, elusive depth.This painting is for sale

Ah-- what I'd like to buy is not the painting, but this vista

Then, you think in terms of real estate

Di I? You tell ME.

In fact, this entire building is for sale.

I didn't know that

Of course you didn't know that, it's been a secret

How is that possible?


I think I know what you mean. If a piece of real estate is for sale, then it's not effectiove if it's a secret, because no sale is possible unless a potential buyer knows about it

In my case, it's irrevelent, because I'm outside the market for real estate. As opposed to being in the market for images

Images, or vistas-- didn't you say vistas?

Yes, I said, this vista

You're standing on the spot

I know

In order to control the vista, you have to control the spot from which the vista puts in an appearance

So I've figured out

That's why I thought you'd be happy to hear this piece of real estate is for sale

Well-- I'm happy-- with the previso-- I think I'm being sucked into something bigger in which I'm not sure I want to participate.

I'd say-- you can't possibly know until it's happened

That must be the cause of my unease--

I can think of other causes

I'm open to suggestion

Think about that vista you find so purchasable--

Yes. I admit this is all a little off-balancing in my case.

Don't be so dedicated to holding your ground

I wouldn't be

You are

I wouldn't be if I could help it. But the minute I think I'm losing my blanace, I try to set thinngs straight. Its an internal habit

I have a different habit

I don't want to hear about it

(Covers ears)

This puts a stop to all conversation

(Ears still covered)

The world is replaced by a ringing in my ears that must have it's source, somehow, inside me.

(Ears have been uncovered)

Now you can hear again

No. It's different

How is it different


(Goes. Looks at vista. Other exits)

Now I'm alone. I don't know whether this is pure subjectivity, or a fact of actual circumstance. In either case. . .I'm alone.(Ladies and gentlemen: the scene in which contrary propositions are deliniated by a narrow margin)

This is-- cold in my headspin

You probably picked it up on the radio

No. But a more primitive manner functions, in a tooth-- the truth

Nobody could doubt me. I had/ have/ am having a wonderful vacation time.


I sort of. . .fall out of my own life so gracefully

You swan dive

(Pause) I never tried one of thise things. What is it?


A relative of ugly ducks. The chin tucks into the chest, the arms extend, it's called going for broke.

(Lift cup)

The broken relic of breakfast

Ladies and gentlemen: the scene in which a departed guest, gives grief.

Do I know you better than I know myself?

Only you can answer that

Oh? You never plumb your own depths?

I do, but I can't hide it REAL for you, unless you pick up on your end of the bargan

Count me out

Then you win


I thought I'd enjoy winning more than it seems

That's because of your lack of carefully thought out precognition

Thanks for the tip.

It remains s to be seen what you make of my helplessness


Here I go again into a tailspin

I bet that's where you get most of your ideas

How did you know?

You can answer that yourself


I feel sure you can come up with your own best answers

It makes me sad to hear you talk like that. I don't know why-- but it makes me sad


Try again


Please, try again


Oh well, if I don't get an answer, at least I get free time to look at things the wrong end of a telescope. How tiny you appear

That's my problem disappearing in a puff of smoke

He spoke--

Briefly: then it was over


How sad

That's my line. How sad

How sad.

(Since the world doesn't exist--

Come again--?

Since the world doesn't exist, another program is in order)

As I hand you this loaf of bread, do you see the jewels sparkling in my hand?

You have rings on each of your fingers

These are my special. . .jeweled fingers. This bread, exchanges energy with certain of these jewels

What are those fingers occupied with on other occasions.

Everything that a life is occupied with


A big part of life, it seems to me, the hands rest at the side of the body, while the mind if active, the rest of the body passive.

It's never passive

Perhaps. . .internally

It's the same thing. The internal is outside the body, just like the mind.

I don't see--

Do you think the mind exists?


Do you think the world exists?

Well-- certainly a mind testifies to that

And hands, fingers--

Those jewels are blinding me!

No, it's this bread that is blinding you. Eat some.


Please, eat some



Now I'm less blinded

It went inside. What can you see

I can see-- everything that's outside of me, and nothing that's on the inside.

Even if you close your eyes?



Are you imagining something?

Oh yes, but it's just imagining

What is it through?

Jeweled fingers, bread, the walls of the room, a forest elsewhere, a sky in which a bird circles--



This has all happened to me


How long doesd it go on happening?

A very long time, then it stops

A very long time.

(Pause--offer bread)

Share some of this


Thank you

(Music)His annual report:


on the hit-table;


for arbitrary daudle




flip into


the rigid realm

you get

targeted in

by dirt.Explode, Harry.

Talking to yourself?

My name isn't Harry

Oh, I don't think names are a significant issue vis a vis a man who wants to explode

You're on thre verge, Harry

Maybe I am. That's why I offer a helping hand

See? You don't even do that much.

OK. I let myself be named. Or, more accurately, when you name me, I respond.

I don't think I'll use your name ever again

Why not

"When stones are shoes, the bottom of the feet go deaf."


I don't suppose you'd interpret that


I don't suppose I can plead.

Not in the least


Do I have your permission to get torn to pieces by contradictory forces?

Of course you do


I was hoping you'd offer me a hankerchief

Why that?

Oh you know, to stop up the wound

Which one

Well, some of them can't be reached, so I'll have to try this one in the palm of my hand.

(offers, then hand over chest)

Oh, that's a very old wound.

Harry-- you remembered.

No, I didn't remember anything. I just let it go with the flow

Bumpity bump bump

(bell rings)

Ah, do we have visitors?

Right on time

Wait a minute. I didn't know anybody was stopping by

I thought it could be a surprise

(goes, opens)

Hi. Charles is parking the car

Come in

Hello Harry

Where's Charles.

Didn't you hear?



He's parking the car

Well, come in


I am

(Harry falls)

What happened to Harry

I don't know


You want to hear me hypothosise?


Harry's on the verge of something. There's a war going on inside him, certainly, which he tries to supress

(He has been rising)

Something happened to me when I heard Carol say. . ."I am"


What did I say?


All right. I'm going to be completely honest. There was a conversation at the door, and Carol had stepped into the room and I said 'Come in' and she said 'I am". When she said that--


I wanted to perceive an extraordinary weight in those words. I wanted those words to be magically invested with something that would throw me to the floor. So I. . .acted it out. I tried to make it happen


I remember I said 'where's Charles" and you said-- parking the car-- which might take a long time

How long

A long time

What's your estimate of a longtime


Let's say-- time doesn't exist for me. That would be my ideal state.

The field of non-happening, if that vibrates enough it's a total loss, thank God.


Once, when I went into the upper regions of my personal exploit-ability, a soft touch on a mountain of know nothingness, and I didn't have to quake.


A real, isn't it absolute butter, then can re-gesticulate all quakes to the contrary. I muffen forget myself-- doughable to degree.


Things happhazardly, and the benifit was to his own butress.


Where were we?

Charles was trying to park the car.

Harry was trying to be ravished by a phrase that jumped out of thin air to knock him flat, but it didn't.


Can't he keep trying?

It needs imput

Anything'll do

Not anything. But of course, it's very unpredictable


I'm caught

By what

Well, that's hard to define. But-- being caught, waiting to get out-- I'll try to let you know when it happens.


In other words, the key is more interesting than the lock. No-- that can't be right. Independently they can't mean anything. So it's going to be very hard to report on something that disolves into thin air the minute you can deal with it


Here's another way to look at it. What is a human being except that which doesn't know. The animal, for instance, isn't in a state of not-knowing, because the issue doedsn't arise. So a human being is the birth of not-knowing; and when that comes to an end, he comes to an end.


Maybe that's why Charles is taking such a long time to park the car.

Say something

There's nothing I want to say

Say the same thing, but make it brief


Go on

I forgot


I don't think it's worth it

Why not

You're into something I'm not into

Let's bet

I'm pulling away from you, Harry


That seemed to quiet him down


I wondered who was going to be the first to say something

(Look at her)

It was me

Ah, you almost said something important, but it wasn't you.

I didn't speak first?


Who did?


I did


OK. It wasn't me talking.


Derivitive: a factor like flower, brave breeze tosses to a direction that can't be totally initiated. Taste over potency.

Hole: a beginning that begs the question of mostly, through a backwards first that nobody else loses cause time is in first place forever

Supportive: I lost grass, when the breeze of my own two fistedness first came to the rescue of a cut down arbitrary thing-in-reflexive form only

Now-- we join hands, and we try to go around in a circle, but everybody dismisses that possibility and so-- get on with life-- what a terrible mistake.

(Pause, done, cicle, stop)

Charles is parking the car.

Let's eat

Oh no, let's have. . .drinks before dinner.

One. I starte at something til it vanishes. Two: I relocate. This is called-- hearing the tune I feel out of comfortable contact

I thought you were the kind oif fella that could, ie-- couldn't, be trusted to carry a tune

This was all about popular things we could do together


Let's not.

As long as we're in agreement I 0ne-- breathe easier when it's a question of changeable catastrophy. Two:-- let go totally, and I'm in a tumble.

Let's do it together


I'm just in lockstep with all your intentions only by the tgime I catch up-- you got a dofferent part of the room located as a better reverberation location

Location is nothing, satisfying a long lust for-- I don't know, but I am in all places at once.

Can't you tell that's what I'm being a big benifit to go along with the tiny wiggle of a finger--

Look-- they're all doing their thing

(Looks at hands)

But I have to beg out on that so it gets really clear to the central person of this particular-what-what-- I lost a word so here I go in a research operation


That took a load off my mind because one-- where am I-- here? I don't think so and two-- wasn't I talking to somebody? but i'll never get to verify that, so. . .let's just make this mind a blank and see what's up!

(Holds head)


One: I think I'm dealing with a multiple personality. Two: that makes it easier to talk to myself.

Can I offer you

What? Make a proposition


A drink

No. I don't see any drinks

I'll have to go into the next room''If you go, I go



(Pause. Goes. Other goes out other door)All I have is my own mind. No-- I don't mean a means to achieve great things-- I mean just a sensibility of defectiveness, that coulnts from one to four-- possibly five-- with some effectiveness, but bigger numbers are stupid, vis a vis these limited capabilities.

So. What I've been able to accomplish so far-- I've gotten approximately this far up the mountain top. But I don't think I can go any better. Here I am stuck. STUCK!

Too late. Too late.

A clock strikes-- but it's an irrelevent number of hours-- because I have all hours, here in my palm, readable like groves in the skin. All of this, an hour lost to the one's who control my life.

Let me see your hand.

No. Never.

I hear a clock ticking.

So do I. But whereas ordinarily I might put my hands over my ears, upon this occasion such alternative is denied me, and I endure that sound, but instead of calling it time passing, I call it something else.

What do I call it.

Obviously, the name is avoided.

Let me see your hand.



Did you hear what I said.

I said. . .no.Once, a city was here, and it was desirable.

Because it left in the mind, echos to which something reverberated.

And that 'something' got called any number of nice things.

Escape was easy

Escape was built into this wonderful city

If you came here, yoiu could be in a bed under the stars

Was that permitted? A bed outdoors?

Of course

A bed in the streets?

Of course

Was the city itself prepared for such intimacy?

Of course it was


I think, that situation--

Go on

I can't believe it was more than a dream situation.


So it wasn't true that one could be in a bed, outdoors, in a public space

Try it

(Rip off cloth, reveal bed)

If my desires are so easily realized--

Try it

Are my dreams worthy of being acted upon

Try it

(Lies down)

I feel like I've intruded into some area heretofore forebidden

Nothing is forbidden

That's an ideal

Try it out


I have no genuine dreams

You see my eyes?


Do they seem happy or do they seem sad


They look sad, as if they were crying to see what I've become.

Oh? What could that be


Somebody who thinks some things are truly forbidden.

Do you want chocolates? Look-- there is the store that will sell you chocolates. Do you have some now?


I have some with me.

Then I will arrange that those chocolates will be delivered to the side of your bed.

(woman crosses with tray and kneels by side of bed)

Am I allowed to be here?

Well, special permission is being granted

You mean--

--You've guessed my meaning

No. I want to be sure we agree. You mean that it is only with special permission that a bed can be allowed, here in the midst of the city, in public space

Yes, that's exactly what I mean. But now you must turn your attention to these chocolates which I've brought to your side.

This is something I didn't expect I'd have to deal with yet

But certainly you knew that such gifts would be yours

I always looked on gifts as good. For that, I heretofore have suffered internal punishment. Let it end.

Let it end.


I realize that I am not participating in the action that goes on in this city. but does it go on?

Try some chocolates

Must I pay for them?

That's down the road


No-- I don't mean you necessarily have to pay for them. I mean it isn't known.


When I arrived here, a complete stranger, as I went through the city, I saw something unusual.

Tell me about it.

(Mind King stories?)Tell me about yourself


I'm going to copy down what you tell me

I have no autobiographical instincts

But I'm making it easy for you

Save me from such evil.It would be better if my own stupidity were the engine of my mental machine. The error I'm making,. currently, is to be driven by my intelligence, which is considerable and therefore a considerable poison

You are unable to use your stupidity


Try to do better, which means worse

I'll try

Try harder

I'll try

Is that your stupidity talking to me, or your intelligence talking to me.

As high as I look

I see nothing but a reflection of my own face.

Is it anywhere else.

More: richer.

The defended city. The candle released into its alternative environment.

(The city twists: the city turns)Nothing but memory, nothing but the past, exists. You want to live in the present, Samuel. I know that for a fact

I want to live in the future

That too, but that tool is self delusion. Nothing but the past really exists

I can see why you say that

Why do I say that


Everytrhing I can percieve or make contact with is, in fact, chartable only on the graph laid down by my past experience. So, therefore, you maintain that everything new is only registerable as an item that echos some defined element re-evoked, from past experience.

Is that a fact

I see your point

Then how does anything new come into being?

It doesn't. Except as something unbeknownst to us. Then, much later, when it's established itself behind our backs, as it were-- then, suddenly it's threre, in the past, where we never saw it.


It's always in the past.Enter and dance

What part of my innocence is lost?

That's-- future innocence


You loose here, only innocence you acquire in the future. The innocence of your past is never lost. At least, not lost in the dance you dance inside this room.

What do I loose then? What is this level of innocence

It's a mere word, after all. I shouldn't have spoken.One vase isn't enough for emptyness. Please being me a second vase.


Should this second vase have flowers in it.

(Magic square)




A book that reads books

A piano, tenderized

A lamp, hypnotized by a mirror

An easy chair, injected with a stimulant

Should this second vase have flowers in it

We can exchange them


Now one vase is empty and one is full

That's no different from the way we began

I have some additional flowers in the kitchen

They should be folded in a towel

I'm here to visit



I know you don't welcome visitors



Why this obcession? Is it here this obcession is located? One vase is empty. The second vase is full. The empty vase is the powerful vase. What do I mean by saying the empty vase is the powerful vase. Is this at best, a way to waste a whole life. To many people it might seem that such a. . .focus of consciousness, is a waste of consciousness.

(Pause. Takes flowers out of room)

Now that only one vase remains visible, and it is empty. . .is it's power less. No. In fact its power is more. But one thing I will never be able to tell, and that is whether its power is more because of the previous experience of the two, co-present, which preceeded. Because I will never be able to forget what pre-ceeded.


Hello. I see you're focused upon your vase.



I would have brought flowers, but I know that wouldn't have pleased you

The flowers would have pleased me, but I wouldn't have placed them in the vase

What would you have done with them

I don't know. Perhaps it's correct to say they wouldn't have pleased me. Can I get you a drink


I don't want you to be distracted.

This empty vase

Needn't be here to be empty

But if it was filled

It would have to be here

Why is that?

Anybody that can ask questions is on good terms with me. That's why I offered you a drink

It might have been thought I wasn't accepting, but I was

It's already been prepared.

(Goes and gets it)

Do you mean it's been sitting there, already prepared?

Yes. It existed

There must have been somebopdy responsible for that--

I was.

Are you responsible for this vase?

I'm responsible for this drink.


I can't believe it's anything but an attempt to coerce me. That means move me into an area that isn't ME. That doesn't belong to me.


When the stars are out-- I always though-- stairs. I made that connection

Where did you do that? Did you approach some relevent blackboard?



You can't see it because it's blank, which we decide to translate as devoid of color. But let's postulate it here at the tip of every one of these individual fingers

You must do a lot of writing.

Those fingers must be agile and strong at the same time

Ah-- such words! Such words! I never had such words under my own command!Slapping my own face purifies me. This is the fantesy. The reality, though quite different, is not acceptable. Where doubt enters my life, there I create massive structures, and contain all that would rend holes in the body of my well-fortressed being.

Nothing but doubt envelopes my ponderous weight. So when I receive the outside world, I prosper through depleation.

(Knock heard)

Enter, at my own risk

I'm afraid I've injured my hand

Through knocks that were applied with too great a force?


I have no solution. I offer a solution, but doubt that you are capable of moving backward in time

(Out, re-knocks. opens)

It happend, that on this occasion, my hand was not damaged

Did you known that you would enter without my requesting it?

In fact, yes

The expliantion may lie in that.

(A clock is capable of explaining a certain number of things to me, but its resources are limited. Knowing this, I consider myself a reasonable man. Yet a glance suddenly toward the window, and as chance would have it, the sun is positioned in the sky in such a way that it's light enters, strikes my eye, and this circus, spins and dsistracts one such as myself, and I am the enemy of time. . .)Let us assume I demonstrate amazing abilities. Have I become invisible?


Have I become invisible?



What makes you say yes?


What an amazing ability of mine.

Here is a man in whom certain vague opportunities are latent

Here is a man who shines his shoes with his face

That forces him into unaccreptable positions

He bends all the rules anyway

Here is a man who waffles-- whenever the air hits dust

Did I interest you in your own intelligence?

Look at these lines in my hand

This is a code, obviously

Oh no, these are biological systems

(X, marks the spot)Who has a question.

Is it possible there's something inside to be discussed?

A mirror

There's a mirror inside me


My mind?


My consciousness?


Ah. My unconscious?


Deeper than that?

Not deep at all. The mirror is on the very surface-- even extended past that into the world around you--

We were talking about something inside me--

Right. It's the world.

But the world is by definition what's outside me.

No it isn't

(Stops other from objecting)

--no it isn't!(Lady with target on dress, larger target behind)

Do you think I can make this lady disappear?

I hope nobody's going to get hurt

Do you know the name of every book in your library?

I think so

Close your eyes and feel your way to the bookcase. Take out a book at random.

(blindfolded and done)

I've prevciously written the name of the book you would select and sealed it in this envelop.

(Other opens)

Fear dossier.

I have no such book

Take off the blindfold

(Done, looks)

You're correct. This book is entitled "Fear Dossier". But I'm certain that heretofore I had no such book.


It's pages are blank

I could have placed that book in the bookcase, don't you think?


Are you going to choose one of those guns?

(A table with rifles laid out)

It would be hard making a rational choice.

You could pretend

(Picks one)

You mean like this?

Ladies and gentlemen. A story is being told. The man in the jacket and tie is selecting a gun from the table upon which are displayed several. His intention is to fire a bullet through the body of the lady with the target attached to her body. The bullet, hopefully, will pass through her body without injuring her in the least, to arrive in the center of that second target which stands behind her palpable body.

One way to make this happen, would be to cause the lady in question to disappear. But how is this possible.

A story is being told. The window is illuminated from the outside by the sun. The soft light inside the room finds, in the corners of that room, a place to rest. The flame on the edge of a candle, ignites not.

I thought you'd be here. So, when I came, I expected not happiness, but a level of caring that was beyond me.

You mean, I have nothing more to offer.

Is this piece of pie really for me?

Of course-- but you have to promise not to wolf it down.

Why isn't that allowed?

Because you're not a wolf, sir, but a veritable human being.

But does a human being not contain the entire range of animal and non-animal possibilities? Wolf to angel?

But a true human being choses between the possibilities.


To chose, is to become something other than human

OK. Then this piece of pie is no longer yours!


I'm glad that's finally settled.

(Pie into drawer, as other wipes hands, then into pockets)

A game of chess?

My hands are hidden

You'll need them to play chess


In order to move the pieces on the chess board, into the positions your mind has chosen.

I may not be very good at this game

Find out

--but you won't know if it's because of the quality of my mind, or because of the absence of manuel dexterity


I'll know


I'll guess


Does that make you higher or lower on the human scale

Oh, much higher. A guess, properly entertained and orchestrated. The very heights. The level of the sizilling brain, definitely.

This chess you speak of--

I'm not the first

Is it what's called-- a game of change?


No. It's a game of guesses


Guess where the chess board is hidden

I don't know

That's the point. You don't know, but you guess

( Goes to drawer)

What did you find?

A piece of pie

I don't believe you

It's a piece of pie

Let me see it


Let's see it closer


Do I have your permission to. . .wolf this down?

You have my permission.


Then I'm satisfied.At the edge of this room--

Do you mean on one side of this room?


Why can't you accept my version of reality?

I can. But it's multifacuted



Instead of thinking, let me just-- gestureA story is being told. Rain folds, and a sky debates with itself. Straight roads are defined by the word-- idolitry. A masked face, breaks into a smile because the contaimned breath is like heat.

A story is being told. Nothing folds into the arms of a listener, but the arms are wide and glow into the whole chest. Oh my, and the opening is reversed. Three small attitudes catch and rebutton under the gaze of one who longs longer.I co-rectify all I am, capable of delicy in myself

A git-ly was guilty

was gulped to be gone.

But Billy Bull bully

Best borst through his song.

A sad bout of brilly

so sounded alarm,

his doubt was to skilly

all learned on the lawn.

All gather his gilly

His guilt and his gorn

To rectify rilly

to outside his horn.

To toot to his tortle

and mack more his muck,

he gilded the gulls

that out gettled his gluck!

Could there be an answer to this that isn't a huge part of the experience?

I lost out

I think I can paray that into one of your better moments

Why try?

Because you mean a lot to me, even if I do lie about it

Better to butcher me first

Of course-- hang onto every syllable and don't show me the door, cause I curse all the false exits that cure only run-around but run-around

I dogmatize

I dangle hope in a heretofore hopless arrangement of artifacts

I deny all deliberate descent into your


--don't demand more of me! I just drift deeper


Oh, I dare do so.There was, as usual, a button to be pushed. But the wiff of perfum that aroma'd through the room-- the touching of pillows and curtains, of sheets hung over the doorways-- all that and the moans of animals in the deep fog, far way-- tie this togethger. Evaporate everything that stands in the way of seeing somebody come through that same door-- reaching for that same button. . .and the scene changes.Did I see you-- disappear?

How is that not possible?

You know where.

Three levels of reality

The X that calls me into activity. How shall I put it-- wake me up.

(Three levels of reality)

You don't get my point.He made shoes on his shoe machine

He made nightmares, out of twisted occasional anticdotes.

He made a past, our of present pre-occupations.

Now I know him a little better

It's me I'm talking about

I know

Then why did you use the wrong personal pronoun

It wasn't wrong

It was as if you wanted to maintain a certain distance

I did

You certainly didLet's postulate somebody whi needs help

I can't imagine this catagory

(The sky falls)How does your series of lectures continue.

How does it go?


I make up rhymes


Then what

They don't rhyme. This is supposed to illustrate something

Your method is the illustrative method


You make up rhymes, that don't rhyme

Not quite. I make up rhymes. I do that. But they don't rhyme

I appreciate the difference

Do you?

Here is my hat. What do you think of that

That rhymes


Oh. I thought perhaps you'd say to me, that doesn't rhyme

But it does

(Pause, goes gets hat)

Here is my hat

(Puts it on)

What do you think of that

Does that rhyme?


We'll have to find out


Over the course of time


How many people attend your lecture course

It varies

But in general, how many

Not many

How many

Sometimes one. Sometimes two or three


You know the esteme in which I hold you. Therefore the fact that your lectures are not well attended, does not, in my eyes, reflect upon you in the least, but rather upon your students.

You mean, on the ones not present


But of course-- you do not know-- you have no way to know-- the quality of those who attend



May I invite you

Alas, that's impossible


Well, my feeling is, the universe uses me as it will


Did I just. . .rhyme?

I don't think so

It's hard to know for sure, but I think it rhymed with something

(A knock)

Would you mind looking through the peephole to see whi's knocking



Well, I'm afraid it's the well known language police

How do you recognize them

I recognize them


If we remain quiet for just a little bit, my suspicion is, they'll go away


Over a period of time-- what effect are you having on me

Just. . . a subtle change in your way of speaking

I'm not aware of that

Then it's not important

No. If I was aware of it, it would be important. If I'm not aware of it, then it's very important indeed

If it shows, no one knows

That rhymes

Does it?


I'll pretend it doesn't

You see? It doesn't rhyme

Disorganization that gives rise to speech, vs organization that gives rise to formulas that spreas like a plague, killing speech; suffocating he who would speak.

(Other, holds hat)

Here is MY hat, what do you think OF that.

(Prof): That rhymes

Well, it does and it doesn't

I'm sorry, but it rhymes

He went to the city where disorganization did not rule, but had been dreamed of on certain occasions by various individuals--well placed or not-- who vibrated at the edge of an aura that did, to some, divide that particular city. And the language used, rose from depths to more visible levels, where misinterpretation seemed so ordinary, it acquired the veneer of rule, and was beautiful

(Mirror brought)

I don't believe that. It's no use-- I don't believe what I see

Notice something. At the same time you hear yourself speaking-- you can see your own lips moving


I don't justify that

I justify that, I say that what you see in this mirror is relatively believeable

I make excuses. That means that even if my mouth moves, there's no necessary connection. What I hear comes from a different realm completely.

Was it a severed self he instinctively re-optioned, when all past experience surfaced?

One who talks about himself

Do I?

I think I heard it

Have this cheeseburger, well done

My soul, I see, is up for grabs

That's a lot to assume. So I fall for what is outside my arena

Yopu talk past what you talk about

Here is a held head. Here is a stressful. . . after thought, that re-establishes the murky; from which all things grow. So> Two feet planted firmly on terra firma, but you know what? I don't see those feet.

I don't see the cheezeburger.


Where's the desirable cheezeburger?

I'm the one that's hungry

Right. And I'm the one doing the shouting

That's relative

Right. Being human is being relative


I'm relative to the thing I'm hungry about. But that can change

We've been thinking of re-decorating

What you need in the corner is a kind of...

Yes? Yes?

--Cheezeburger bush

(Produce cheezeburger)

Here's your cheezeburger

I'd say-- that was one more opportunity missed

Are you genuinely hungry?

He hesitated before answering

then he lifted an arm

because that's what his hand was attached to,

and in the course of levitation

an old desire surfaced.

His entire body

took off from the space in which it rested.

His entire body


and songs from the soft atmosphere

singing through the room

made the invisible

well, more palpable at least

than anything else. . .



I never thought I'd get the meal of my anticipation

You certainly entered with a gleam in your eye I didn't count on

Could it be you?

I let my left hand revolve autmoatically in a whisp of hair

There's a connection

It's called, electricity

Are you turning into somebody who gets, very real, at the very moment the disolve starts happening?

This was my contribution to the hand's history

Look, how similar


You know what

I'm evoking the notion of our two hands

Look how similar

When I smile at you

--I don't accept such a smile

I access that connection

(complicated hands together)

Can we share a cheeseburger?This bureau holds my valuables

Which are--?

A secret.

Why bother with secrets when a certain kind of adventurousness is more productive

Ah, you are so totally clear about things

(Opens drawer, on watch)

I expect that to explode

It's just a watch

You couldn't have put it better

But your fear, which surfaces so often, makes me lose a certain part of my ability to orient myself

I wouldn't be frightened. I'd be energized

Why not?

Why not place this watch where it belongs

Where is that

Someplace where I can see it

That seems difficult


There are many places in this room that are highly visible.


I could choose to put it on my wrist, then it could flash into my consciousness whenever I wanted to lift my arm slightly, turning the wrist to flash it's surface into my line of sight


Be nice to have a clock on that wall

If I wore this wrist watch continually, I wouldn't need a clock on the wall

No. Certainly not

I don't think so

I agree

Then we agree

We do


I think I'll put this back in the drawer

(Hesitates, done)

(reads letter)

So what you write in this letter is--


But it doesn't make any sense

My criteria is different from your own.

(Drops letter, looks again in drawer)

But there's nothing here.Let me offer you a drink

There's nothing in the glass


Oh well, that's an oversight on my part.

I'll pass

I know


Isn't you arm getting tired?

Of course

Then . . .rest it

I'm trying to be polite

It isn't operating like that. It's the opposite

Think again

You're trying to force an unwelcome drink on me

You said it didn't exist

Well, it's empty, but it's a glass

Then take it, and I'll be able to relax my arm.


You see? You take it from me, which doesn't mean you have to drink it

There's nothing to drink

Yes, we've established that


Your arm doesn't hurt, no?

Your arm was extended. Mine is comfortably tucked into my body

That must be it



This is to give you permission

That could mean sitting, or getting rid of this empty glass--

--Or something else

Do I have to keep guessing?

I'd suggest-- no guesses. But rather a significant zeroing in, instinct-like. Plunging straight to the heart


That sounds excellent

You have permission


Times up

Oh well, there's always tomorrow

Do you really believe that?


Unless I'm not here. But tomorrow, I assume, will turn up nevertheless

Do I have permission to rise?

Of course

You have permission to put the glass back on the shelf


Can I offer you a drink?

No thank you

Ah. I like that. A man who doesn't drink

Is it because I don't like clouding my mind?

I was about to applaud, but now I withold my applause

You prefer it if my mind if clouded

It's not preference versus non-preference. It's an objective fact

I appologize


I thought appology might be a way of clouding the mind

You misunderstand. I'M the one that never appologizes

I'm sure


--Cloudy-- but sure



I appologize



Have a seat


No-- wait a minute-- have a drink first

(Goes, pours, drunk)

What was it like.


Pour me one, please.

(Done, drinks)

What was it like?


(Both laugh, music)Open a door once. You'll have no more trouble

Why this anguish?

The sudden warmth of his invitation seized me. I got a headach from holding back

Why this anguish, so wasted?

I shouldn't tell you this. Nobody bobs for apples in my arena. I got very much too spooked

He withdrew from his real life very fast. That makes him a patsy of sorts

Can't manage too many options.

Most of the universe doesn't exist

This mountain we plan to climb. Where is it?

This part of the universe escapes me

The universe enters

A piece of the universe is in my eye

Stop imagining

Contact. Please. The universe

That's how the head works

This I find hard to believe

There are no rules

I think there must be. We seem parts of something similar

How the head works, Paul. It flies to things

What things

How the head works, Paul. Bring it closer to my eyes..

If I walk up behind you and put my forearm over your face, do you imagine me less beautiful than I am in my lonliness

If I was exhausted, would you come to my rescue?


Would you energize me?


The how would be your responsibility. If I could describe the method, that would be a therapy of self-energizing and it's precisely what I'm incapable of puling off.