EYE BEAT

Ghost Dancer

In this dormitory of men,
he seems to be the ghost lover
but is he the one
that will take me out of this mind
where I wander
in someone else’s shame
and naming the strangers
as a Beloved so I can feel
no longer like an abandoned child
aching for the touch of a caring hand;
yet wanderers masquerading
as lovers keep re-veiling themselves
in the bread and circus of an unexamined life
to feel they are not alone in the madness
and I pull my attention to a stranger’s heart
though it does not beat like mine.
I think maybe in their madness
I will find breathing room
and this ghost dancer will birth a spark.

THE CORRUPTING ERROR

I have allowed the corrupting error
to make me into a statue
that is left standing
in the outdoors
at the mercy of the elements
and even pigeon droppings
are not kind words.

Religion is a virus,
a fever
that an aspirin
has not quenched.
this liquid flame
and I am resisting
being consumed
by this ignorant flame.

If I am the hunt and the hunted,
I have to love this disease.
I must be impregnated
with this thought form
that makes Death a master
and me and strangers his bitches.
I must be a chariot for strangers to master
but I think - I know, I feel.
I want to drive me not him with Death as their master.

He doesn’t want to examine me.

It would be death to his pretensions
because I am not allowing The Corrupting Error
to whore me out;
to ingrain me into systems
that I’m not compatible with.

I am against The Machine

Nor will I host it
but
be a haunting, a ghost in the machine.

What Error eclipses me?

I am sitting in a cave with ghosts
that never had a physical form.

I have been in relationships
that are like false doctrines.
When will I shed mythologies
based on dreams that are like
quicksand or labyrinth prisons.

I am unwritten
and hands want to write me
so mouths may speak me into lies
and the Corrupting Error keeps repeating itself
and the clock is ticking the sound - “Why?”

Will the ticking stop when I have more life
emerging from between the tick and the tock?

Don’t copy some else to know me.

Sweat me because I’m pulling out
the Images you have made
constellations in your mind
to ride me into your version of paradise
which is no more than
some roach infested motel room
where you think you can have a freak show
like it’s a carnival ride
but there are no spectators
only your Shadows egging you on
and I am erasing the Corrupting Error
you have become.

The lower strata of human thought
has been fossilized by Shadows
and Shadows think they have mouths
to siphon my light like it is a
vanilla mocha latte
and I’m not a sheep being herded for the harvest.

And as the zombies, with the animal constellations in their mind,
direct the traffic in their thought,
I think I am among them but they are not living trees
just another graveyard passing it self
as high rent and I say nothing as I let them
pass through me not leaving their doctrines,
their seeds, or their kisses filled with dust
and the Corrupting Error shall not possess me.

Too many shadows have masqueraded as lovers,
have dyed their impressions into my mind;
and colored my perceptions.
I thought I had to walk in their footsteps
and speak their languages.
I noticed I’m always in a dust storm without my shades
and they have made my darkness an Adversary
instead of being a rest and an eternal pregnancy of possibilities.

And the Light is events of moments, dreams stepping to the front
when I breathe them outward

but I’ve allowed Shadows, lovers, strangers
to externalize my feelings and I have been perverted;
desires are hunted,
are demoralized,
are demonized and made religions of darkness

and the Error has had its way with me when I listened to the whisperings
from the caves between a lovers legs, or want to play the phallic flute
so I could hear their moaning and groaning thinking it was the voice
of a god thundering over me but just another storm I needed to shelter myself from.

No one can swallow my light.
No one can delude my light.
No one can erase my light.
No one can make me an Adversary.
No one can run the game unless I participate.

But Error has had its way when I looked
out of myself thinking there was something
outside of me that was not a part of me.

And the Corrupting Error made shadows that would hunt me,
keep me looking every where but where I was
so I would think that the Corrupting Error never touched me

It only exists when I gave it fear
and didn’t recognize it was a denial part.

Why do men open themselves to me when night swallows the sun?
Am I to swallow them?
Should I allow their perverted shadows to fly like bats out of hell?
Should I let desires pervert other desires until they are so intertwined
that it seems only one person is breathing.

Strangers have become mausoleums in their pursuit of dead things
and I will not mourn them, welcome them
but they think I should swallow them
when they need the night
and I cannot extend their darkness to harbor
their fears that surface as violence, sexual alienation, cultish obsessions
and my body is not a fetish for someone’s unexamined parts of themselves.

I am not the Corrupting Error that will be their salvation
since I did not author their shadows.

I am not an invisible spirit to put out your fear.

No matter how many times you become phoenix’s ashes,
you make time and bodies to harbor your perversities in
and the ghoul in you seeks dreams to make into nightmares
to satiate your hunger, your longings, your cravings
and blood keeps you intoxicated
and your lies have become viruses in your mind
and you continue as inmate in an insane asylum.

You have buried the keys in a swamp in your mind
because everything that is denied has become monstrous
and the keys to your awakening sits in the belly of the beast
and the exit is in the heart of the beast but you choose
to lengthen the darkness in you and externalize it as an Adversary.

I have been brought into so many relationships as a necessity
and have brought many into my life as a necessity.

For the pain we endure and inflict,
we blame it on the Adversary
who is only the collective shadows of ourselves.

Does the art of suffering have us shed the treasures of the world
so we no longer wander as ghouls seeking blood and perversities
to feel that life is still within our reach?

We never left life.

We thought we left life and constructed nightmares to house ourselves in
and these became neighborhoods, cities, nations, countries, worlds
and so separate and warring we have become our potential.
We have not understood the necessity of our shadows
to relinquish the forms we have made in ignorance.

We are The Corrupting Error.

Certain friends have been encouraging me to write my memoir; my first reaction is I’m old but still too young for this and not sure if I have much to say; and then again, I realize it was a fear - really looking at yourself and acknowledging it to the world. I prefer to hide events within the context of “fiction” but I’m at this point in life where I’m ready to let go; forgive myself and “eat the shadows.”

So it begins…….

EATING SHADOWS

Writing is one long ejaculation; afraid to have that final orgasm but it means, the end is here; the curtain has closed, time to turn on the ghost light, my mind is no longer an empty space called theatre and I must let go of this form and download into another image; and will it be of my making?

It is raining. I walk with a hooded jacket, looking down at the ground; not thinking humility; afraid to slip and fall; plus memories are weighing me down.

I need no weatherman to tell me the conditions of my heart, the state of mind, or what storms are left to endure.

Today it is raining. Today I don’t feel like I’m raining inside.

I told a bi-sexual lover; the door works both ways; use it as an exit.

I told the universe - I will no longer remain in human dimensions but become conscious of being multi-dimensional.

I told myself - I am eating shadows, imagine the rain are the moments I’ve discarded; the souls I’ve offended, the memories that are leaking that I have attempted to make my own.

The rain reminds me of when I was running through New York screaming at the top of my voice for someone to love me. It reminds me of a dream when I’m walking through a lower astral plane; it is grayish in color; the rain is endless and I look up and see two eyes weeping; it reminds me of tears and raining and not knowing which is mine.

I don’t want to remember; because to remember means – I have to eat my shadows; but I know to stop the rain I must. I must make a rainbow.

Rain for me is the Earth weeping for the hurt she has endured; for the pain of her inhabitants she carries and agony of the rape she has endured.

I am Earth. Well, not at this moment, but someday I will be an Earth. But let me stay focus; I’m all over the place usually, mixing moments, history, myth, breaking linear into pieces and sewing it back in a different order to break the regime of day-to-day life and attempt to breathe something new.

This happens when I say good bye to a lover. This time I didn’t mourn, bang my head against the wall, attempt a suicide or summon a dark lover from the other side.

Ah, you think, okay, he’s full of himself, crazy and to walk in the Unknown and have it walk through you, it is the way it is.

I don’t have the answers; I have questions; and questions have brought lovers to my life; that helped or hindered.

My goal was to find the man of my dreams. I just didn’t realize my dreams would keep constructing Frankenstein. And I hear a line of song repeating over and over when I am sleeping lately, or just walking – “Demons will haunt you with a smile.”

The Door
(3rd version as of December 10, 2007)

Cast of Characters:

Man – 30/40ish

Woman – 30/40ish

Place: Between reality and dreams

Time: There is no time.

Synopsis
A man and woman must overcome their fears to open the door that is between them.

© Lorenzo Buford 2007
All rights reserved.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE – AN EMPTY ROOM – THERE IS NO TIME

Lights come up on a door that is center stage. The playing area is in a pool of light. The Man is on one side of the door and the Woman is on the other side of the door. Both are leaning against the door looking opposite direction of each other.

A knocking sound is heard coming from a different area of the stage.

WOMAN
Don’t answer.

MAN
I know it’s not you.

WOMAN
You’ve answered before.

MAN
You’ve answered before.

WOMAN
I’m talking to you.

MAN
I’m talking to you.

The sound of knocking is heard again.

MAN (CONTINUED)
Guess I’m expected to be of service again.

WOMAN
No matter how many bathroom breaks I take, how many rooms I try to hide in, there is always that damn door, that damn knocking.

MAN
I’m not going to answer.

WOMAN
Good.

MAN
You never knock.

WOMAN
You always hear me.

MAN
And what if I pretend I don’t?

WOMAN
You won’t. You need to hear me.

MAN
You’re so sure.

WOMAN
When it comes to you, yes.

MAN
I’m not predictable.

WOMAN
You are a hunter.

MAN
Hunter?

WOMAN
I define you as a person who hunts game for food, for sport, seeking to tame a woman’s pleasure, always searching, and an animal when seeking prey or a woman’s honeypot.

MAN
Those are your definitions.

WOMAN
You like my definitions. You always do.

MAN
If you know so much why are you on the other side of the door?

WOMAN
Why do you make me something to fear?

MAN
Your voice has made me rise to great causes; so be my muse that will keep me from a physical hunger and a mental madness.

WOMAN
Why is it always about you? I have wants, needs, desires, expectations.

MAN
You mean leashes.

WOMAN
You are the one that needs to conquer.

MAN
But, you are so unknown and the Unknown consumes.

WOMAN
Rubbish. You’ve been drinking and listening to your friends again.

MAN
Alcohol blinds me to the day so I can see the night. Are you not a scavenger for affections?

WOMAN
Open the door.

MAN
No.

WOMAN
You did before.

MAN
I was lonely. I was drunk. I was horny.

WOMAN
And now, you’re not.

MAN
I’m not drunk yet. Horny, debating on it. Okay, I’m a guy, I’m always horny but the last time you were exhausting. I don’t even know how much of me was left.

WOMAN
I feel your loneliness.

MAN
I’d rather be left alone.

WOMAN
I guess your hand keeps you satisfied.

MAN
I know where my hand has been devourer.

WOMAN
My vagina is not an all consuming monster.

MAN
I have a fear of caves. I don’t want to be made a drawing on the walls.

WOMAN
Am I not the art?

MAN
I have a fear of rooms that have only one door to exit.

WOMAN
Your fears and presuppositions belong to you. You had me and now I’m not important.

MAN
You want the usually, marriage, kids, mortgage, and a frustrated existence.

WOMAN
Ah, the stallion wants to run free.

MAN
I don’t want to want you.

WOMAN
What makes you think you’re the one I want to be saddled with? Maybe I want to be free. Maybe I just want to love someone and go. Maybe I want hot sweaty musty dirt sex and no strings attached.

MAN
You can’t fuck like a man.

WOMAN
And you can’t love like a woman.

MAN
The last time you insisted on being on top. I felt like a sacrifice had to be made.

WOMAN
You want me to be Lilith again who flies away because she refuses to lie under a corpse. Without me, you are a corpse. You got life in you still. I want that life inside of me, but not if I had to be a corpse to get it.

MAN
Talk. Talk. Talk. How can I stay horny if you keep talking? You always want answers. You always want explanations. You want to feel your way through everything, dissect everything to understand it just in case it isn’t about you.

WOMAN
Well, horny and lonely has turned to ugly.

MAN
Do you like being institutionalized in your gender?

WOMAN
So now you have a problem being a man?

MAN
No. Do you have a problem being a woman?

WOMAN
Only when you think I’m a wound you can shit in.

MAN
You want to dominate.

WOMAN
You want to subjugate.

MAN
My dick belongs to me, and I’ll decide when and where it will be used.

WOMAN
You used it pretty well the last time we passed each other.

MAN
The other night you didn’t talk much.

WOMAN
Put a smile on my face, I’ll stop talking.

MAN
I know a person depending on how well they do in bed.

WOMAN
What if you don’t meet their expectations?

MAN
I’m good at my job.

WOMAN
Job. I’m just a job.

MAN
Staying hard is a job. Like to see you try it.

WOMAN
Hand it over, I’m sure I will not use it as a weapon of mass destruction.

MAN
You haven’t earned this.

WOMAN
You worry too much who is in charge.

MAN
You invited yourself into my mind.

WOMAN
Someone needs to steer a lost ship.

MAN
I’m not lost.

WOMAN
A hunter needs to use nature to find his quarry. Am I not nature? Yet, you fear being so primal so you think being a Neantherdal; or beastly makes me all hot and need to be bothered by you.

MAN
I have great imagination when it comes to being the Love Doctor.

WOMAN
What doctor makes a house call?

MAN
Artificial means cannot replace the real thing.

WOMAN
Do you want to replace me? Is that why you will not open the door?

MAN
After the sex, there’s always a door. It’s like we both need to find a room to go sit in and examine ourselves. I’ve come to like a dark room after sex.

They both hear a knock.

MAN
Aren’t you going to answer?

WOMAN
Do you want me gone?

MAN
You’ve answered it before.

WOMAN
I’m not in this alone!

MAN
Sometimes.

WOMAN
I see them.

MAN
I thought I understood them.

WOMAN
They hide behind so many doors.

MAN
Many times I thought it would be you behind the door.

WOMAN
I thought it was you behind the door.

MAN
They want to look like you.

WOMAN
They look like you sometimes to.

WOMAN
Their delight is bitter.

MAN
And their beauty is depraved.

WOMAN
Their pleasure is in deception.

MAN
Sometimes we want it that way.

WOMAN
There are consequences.

MAN
Yet, there is pleasure.

The knocking is heard again.

WOMAN
It is fleeting. Then you are back knocking on my door.

MAN
Then we play a cat and mouse game.

WOMAN
Don’t make love to those shadows. Make love to me.

MAN
It always seems like it’s you. Then it’s not you. Just someone I can’t remember.

WOMAN
Open the door.

MAN
We always find a way to close the door again.

WOMAN
Not this time.

MAN
It will be good for awhile. Then we will listen to others. Then we will stop looking in each other’s eyes. We’ll look around each other. We think maybe there’s another opportunity.

WOMAN:
My breasts are so nurturing. Can a shadow nurture you?

MAN
What is the fascination with hiding in shadows?

WOMAN
You want your pleasures to deceive you and not let anyone else know.

MAN
I’m not just a missionary man.

WOMAN
I don’t want to lay beneath you like a corpse either.

MAN
It’s always a control issue with you.

WOMAN
Why do I have to be submissive?

MAN
Competition should be in sports and business. Not the bedroom.

WOMAN
You let your dick become the dominator and you act like a shadow.

MAN
You always want to inaugurate me into your mind.

WOMAN
You need to rethink how you see me. You defile me by distorting me.

MAN
I see you

WOMAN
You are in pursuit of deceptive pleasure. Every time I open the door, you don’t want to see an equal. You want to see someone you think you need to save or someone you need to rescue or someone you need to put on a pedestal or someone you need to make dragons to rescue me from. You think I need to be barefoot and pregnant. Don’t make me artificial and then get pissed off because I’m not the ballerina on a musical toy box. Don’t make me a toy, a doll. I’m a woman, not delicate. Do you think I could give birth if I was delicate? I know nature by knowing my body and nature is not delicate. I know how to please a man who is in conflict with his nature. Do you think this woman who has run wild through the forest, who has ruled nations, who has defied the shadows is delicate? Don’t make me some painted up whore for you to fuck!

They speak as if they are reciting from a dictionary.

MAN
Demon. An evil passion or an influence. An evil passion or influence.

WOMAN
Angel. A celestial attendant. beauty, purity, or kindliness. A guardian spirit.

Back to normal.

MAN
I call you and sometimes you don’t answer.

WOMAN
You’re not saying anything new.

MAN
You hear what you want to hear because you are too busy in your head.

WOMAN
And your head travels to any watering hole it can.

MAN
You think it is easy being a man. There are high expectations of performance, being the bread winner. Pressures, pressures and you’re not helping. Always complaining, always demanding and then you want to act like me.

WOMAN
I want you in me and not as an appendage.

MAN
This war of dominance is getting us no where.

WOMAN
Don’t identify me through your sex drive.

MAN
Your sex is why I feel like I’m going mad, there is no correct answer.

WOMAN
Open the door and stop denying what we both want. The world was created through a sexual act, like you, like me. Repressing sexual expression is destroying us.

MAN
(Sounds like he is reading from a dictionary) Death. The end of a climax. Loss of spiritual life. No breathing. Laying there like a decaying corpse.

WOMAN
You are lying in a decaying corpse.

MAN
Extinction. Destruction.

WOMAN
Wake up!

MAN
You take, you take, you take.

WOMAN
(Sounds like reciting from a dictionary) Life. Reproduction, adapting to environment. Animated existence. The force that makes or keep something alive.

MAN
Why are we here?
WOMAN
Why are we separate?

MAN
I think of you.

WOMAN
I’m having dreams again. I am being chased through a forest. I call out for help and as this unseen enemy closes in on me, I am turned into a tree. Whatever is chasing me, it catches a shadow that looks like me.

MAN
Do we let our passions delude us?

WOMAN
Do you think we keep doing this song and dance between us because we are unfinished?

MAN
I still have unmet cravings.

WOMAN
I feel like I haven’t had that elusive orgasm. I think that imaginary G spot is more in my head than somewhere else.

MAN
Isn’t sex more mental than anything else?

WOMAN
When someone is stirring the pot right, it’s good. I remember how good you could stir the pot.

MAN
I like cooking with you.

WOMAN
We should make another meal.

They both sound like they are reciting from a dictionary.

MAN
Lover.

WOMAN
A person who is in love with another, a sexual or romantic relationship, an extramarital sexual affair.

MAN
Wife.

WOMAN
Husband.

MAN
Joined in marriage.

WOMAN
To manage with prudent economy, to use frugally; conserve, to till; cultivate.

Back to normal.

I like the stillness of dark rooms. There’s a different kind of silence.

MAN
I don’t feel that with sex. It’s like the moaning, the groaning, the release, the sweating, are tearing at the flesh thinking there is a pot of gold buried deep within and there is nothing.

WOMAN
It’s like when a man is riding me real good, it’s like I wake up from a deep sleep and I find myself screaming and crying and trying to claw my way out of coffin and most guys think I’m having an orgasm. So many men have had false grins on their face.

MAN
So was I one of them?

WOMAN
Does it really manner?

MAN
Do you ever wonder why there is a door between us?

WOMAN
We are just opposite sides of the coin.

MAN
Yeah, looking in different directions.

WOMAN
You use to keep the door open.

MAN
Only when I was sober.

WOMAN
So are you lonely, horny, intoxicated, or ready to let go of artificial stimulations?

MAN
I don’t need swelling music, running through the fields. Happy ever after doesn’t work in real life only in some stupid ass fairy tale books.

WOMAN
Men use to think of me as muses, goddesses; and troubadours wandered the country side singing love songs, poets surrendered their life to us, and we made heroes.

MAN
When I stopped holding you, there was a door. But I heard knocking.

WOMAN
Stop looking outside to find me. I’m in here. I’m in here.

MAN
I have amnesia to our true intentions.

WOMAN
Every knock on the door is not opportunity.

MAN
I don’t know that.

WOMAN
When you’re inside me, I don’t feel this swelling madness that seems to drown me in emptiness.

MAN
When I lose control, you take control.

WOMAN
You rule the world, but I rule the mind

MAN
I want my mind back.

WOMAN
I want you inside me.

MAN
I’m wounded.

WOMAN
Don’t you want to fall into me?

MAN
Don’t I always?

WOMAN
My lips are moist.

MAN
My wound doesn’t heal. Words bleed out of me, as above and below.

WOMAN
Rest in me.

MAN
No.

WOMAN
It’s time to follow your nature.

MAN
There is a door between us.

WOMAN
Don’t you want to touch me? My breasts are firm.

MAN
I’m starting to sweat.

WOMAN
I’m getting hot. Even my lips are pulsating with anticipation.

MAN
I’m already intoxicated. I need to sober up.

WOMAN
Come lover and drink my sweet nectar.

MAN
I’m already inebriated on you.

WOMAN
Open the door.

MAN
You’ll want to stay on my side.

WOMAN
There is no side.

MAN
I don’t want to be you, or you being me. I need to find out who I am.

WOMAN
Come my bull and ride me. Unbridle your passion.

MAN
No.

WOMAN
Plow my field.

MAN
Another field to plough. Another harvest keeps me bound in servitude.

WOMAN
You are junkie for my sweetness.

MAN
I’m not an addict. I’m not, I’m not.

WOMAN
Let me give you your fix.

MAN
Is this hell?

WOMAN
Without me, it would be.

MAN
What is Heaven?

WOMAN
Me.

MAN
And if I stay in Heaven who am I?

WOMAN
If you stay in Hell, who am I?

MAN
I still need my dark room.

WOMAN
What you need is to cool my fire?

MAN
Get out of my mind temptress.

WOMAN
Get inside of me tempter.

MAN
Who will dominate who in this scenario?

WOMAN
Don’t let me imagine you in me. Put it in me. You know you need to put it in me. Don’t let it go to waste.

MAN
You’ll take everything.

WOMAN
You like it when I take it all.

MAN
Yes, I’m so thirsty for you.

WOMAN
And when you are laying there dying inside me, just think how much better you’ll feel when you’re born again.

MAN
An, if I don’t open the door…?

WOMAN
You’re a dead man and I’ll just use my hand.

MAN
I want to kiss you. I don’t want to kiss you. But I want to kiss you.

WOMAN
Kiss both of my mouths.

MAN
Devour me so I can keep my sanity.

WOMAN
I need you in me now.

MAN
I don’t have a key.

WOMAN
What?

MAN
I don’t have a key. I don’t remember where I put the key.

WOMAN
Well, turn the light on and look for it.

MAN
There is no light here.

WOMAN
What am I suppose to do?

MAN
What am I suppose to do?

WOMAN
You really want to answer the knocking.

MAN
So we are back to shadow dancing?

WOMAN
Doors are meant to be opened.

MAN
Some doors are meant to be closed.

WOMAN
Why are you keeping out?

MAN
What am I afraid of letting in?

WOMAN
We both want this.

MAN
Have you ever been conscious of me?

WOMAN
What woman do you want to know?

MAN
Stop talking!

WOMAN
I have a key.

MAN
What?

WOMAN
I have a key.

She pulls a key from her blouse and puts the key into the lock. There is a pause. She turns the knob, the door opens. She enters. They look at each other momentarily. He touches himself. She touches herself.

MAN
And again I am descending.

WOMAN
And again, I am rising.

They embrace but look opposite direction.

BLACKOUT

WAITING ROOM: 616
(Revised as of Wednesday, January 02, 2008)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

BEAUTY late 20s or 30s, male

BEAST late 20s or 30s, male

TIME: Present

PLACE: In between reality

SYNOPSIS

Beauty and the Beast are waiting for something or someone and not sure how they got there or why.

© Lorenzo Buford 2007
All rights reserved.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE – WAITING ROOM – PRESENT TIME

Waiting Room is non-descriptive. There is a sign on the wall that says, “Waiting Room”. There is no entrance or exit.

Beauty is wounded on the left side. His shirt is blood stained. Beast has a head wound. Both seem lost in their own thoughts until they are aware of each other.

BEAUTY
Didn’t see you.

BEAST
Likewise.

BEAUTY
Guess I was daydreaming.

BEAST
I’m always off in my head somewhere. My wife says I’d lose my head if it was attached.
(Beat) Waiting long?

BEAUTY
Not sure.

BEAST
Hope it’s not a long wait. Want to get on with it.

BEAUTY
Get on with what?

BEAST
(Pause) I dunno.

BEAUTY
Does it hurt?

BEAST
What?

BEAUTY
Does it hurt, your head wound.

BEAST
I have a head wound?

BEAUTY
Looks like a pretty nasty one.

BEAST
Damn. Who did I piss off?

BEAUTY
Wasn’t me.

BEAST
You sure.

BEAUTY
(Confused) I don’t remember.

BEAST
Somebody poked you real good.

BEAUTY
What? (Examines himself)

BEAST
You’re wounded on your left side.

BEAUTY
Well, I’ll be dammed.

BEAST
Looks like we both pissed off someone.

BEAUTY
I don’t remember.

BEAST
(Pause) You know, I don’t either.

BEAUTY
(Looks around) I don’t see an exit or an entrance.

BEAST
Me neither.

BEAUTY
This isn’t good.

BEAST
Got to be away out of here.

BEAUTY
We’re in a room with no doors, no windows and only a sign that says “Waiting Room.”

BEAST
I don’t think is a hospital.

BEAUTY
Or a doctor’s office.

BEAST
It’s got to be a reasonable explanation.

BEAUTY
I don’t see one.

BEAST
It’s not even a big room.

BEAUTY
One of us knows something.

BEAST
Do I look like I have the answers?

BEAUTY
All I have is questions.

BEAST
Well, the sign says, “Waiting Room” so obviously we are waiting for someone.

BEAUTY
Maybe it’s one of those new types of doctor’s office.

BEAST
What?

BEAUTY
We both are wounded. It would seem to me we are here to be helped.

BEAST
I don’t feel any pain. I don’t remember how I got this head wound.

BEAUTY
I don’t remember how I got this wound.

BEAST
How long have we been waiting?

BEAUTY
I don’t know.

BEAST
How did we get here?

BEAUTY
I don’t know. Why do you think I know? Why don’t you know?

BEAST
Okay, getting upset isn’t going to help. I just want answers.

BEAUTY
I don’t have answers. I just have questions. I’m not the fix it man. Why does everyone think I carry the world on my shoulder? I am not the answer to the question.

BEAST
Calm down, you might open your wound again.

BEAUTY
I don’t want to calm down.

BEAST
I said shut the fuck up.

BEAUTY
God, you have such an oppressive nature.

BEAST
I just think we need to be calm, rationale, figure things out instead of letting our imagination take control.

BEAUTY
(Pause) Okay, I’ll calm down. And not because I think you’re so dominating. I feel like I’m supposed to walk around with this peaceful look on my face.

BEAST
I don’t feel like the peaceful type. I’m ready to start kicking a wall until I make a hole in it.

BEAUTY
What if there is nothing on the other side?

BEAST
Don’t be ridiculous.

BEAUTY
You’re right. Maybe it is a new office, probably a sliding door around here. Sometimes I feel like I want to over react but I don’t. Don’t know why I’m thinking that. It’s like I walk around all nice and calm.

BEAST
I think you had a good rage going on there for a moment.

BEAUTY
Do you remember anything yet?

BEAST
No.

BEAUTY
Hope this wait isn’t long.

BEAST
Look like someone stuck a stake or an arrow through you real good.

BEAUTY
Someone miss the mark.

BEAST
Good thing it doesn’t hurt; no telling how long we’ll be here.

BEAUTY
Yours look like a gun shot wound.

BEAST
Doesn’t hurt.

BEAUTY
There’s no substitution for original pain. Camouflage it but it comes back. Hmmm, not sure why I said that.

BEAST
I have girlfriends like that. Love me they demand are they make my life a living hell.

BEAUTY
Thought you had a wife.

BEAST
Feels like I had girlfriends to. What about you?

BEAUTY
Not sure. No reaction. Nothing flashes in the mind.

BEAST
Who ever is coming for us, I wish they come on before my head starts to bleed or I die from this head wound.

BEAUTY
Well I could die from this wound.

BEAST
You have wounds on your wrist.

BEAUTY
What.

BEAST
Don’t know why I didn’t see it before.

BEAUTY
I didn’t see it either.

BEAST
You’re freaking me out. You’ve been crucified.

BEAUTY
I’m a victim of a hate crime. That’s it. I’m a victim of a hate crime.

BEAST
Why do people hate you?

BEAUTY
I don’t know. You’re wounded to. Why do people hate you?

BEAST
You’re more wounded than I am.

BEAUTY
I hope we’re not dead.

BEAST
Don’t say that.

BEAUTY
Okay, maybe it’s just a modern type of doctor’s office. Someone will come soon.

BEAST
I feel like I’m missing someone.

BEAUTY
Maybe one of your girlfriends or wives did this.

BEAST
You think.

BEAUTY
Don’t remember how I got my wound.

BEAST
What’s your name?

BEAUTY
I don’t know.

BEAST
I don’t either.

BEAUTY
Well, one thing we know, we both are men.

BEAST
See, we know something.

BEAUTY
I want to know my name.

BEAST
Would be good.

BEAUTY
A name tells you a lot about a person.

BEAST
What if our name was boring, mundane, no pizzaz.

BEAUTY
I think you’re a pizzaz kind of guy.

BEAST
Yeah, that’s me, take no prisoner.

BEAUTY
What if this is it, and it will always like this?

BEAST
Have you seen anyone besides me?

BEAUTY
No.

BEAST
Maybe we are being watched and don’t know it. Some kind of evaluation to see how we are dealing with our wounds.

BEAUTY
That’s insane.

BEAST
Well, I’m trying to think of something. Then you do better.

BEAUTY
I think we’re dead.

BEAST
This isn’t what I expected.

BEAUTY
Is it ever?

BEAST
Maybe this is an interview. I suck on interviews.

BEAUTY
Everything has a sexual connotation, doesn’t it?

BEAST
How can be in a waiting room be a sexual connation?

BEAUTY
I had this weird thought, maybe this is a womb.

BEAST
Where do you get this shit?

BEAUTY
I don’t know. Just thoughts surface in my mind.

BEAST
I’m the one with the head wound. I should be saying stupid shit.

BEAUTY
I’m not stupid.

BEAST
I didn’t say you were stupid. Just some of the things you think about.

BEAUTY
I didn’t ask to think about these things; they just came up.

BEAST
Came up? Now, that’s a sexual connation.

BEAUTY
I’d be a tree again.

BEAST
What?

BEAST
If we were dead and waiting to be born again, I’d be a tree.

BEAST
I’m holding out…I want it all. Misery be damned. Seize the bull by the balls. Plough that wasteland until it’s a fertile field.

BEAUTY
I am not the till soil kind of person.

BEASTG
No, you’ll probably wind up as bad fruit hanging from a tree.

BEAUTY
Well, that’s not a nice thought.

BEAST
If you want to think about something, think about getting us out of here.

BEAUTY
I need a dream.

BEAST
Why?

BEAUTY
Eases the pain.

BEAST
I don’t remember dreams.

BEAUTY
Really.

BEAST
Funny, I can think about dreams. They are not real.

BEAUTY
Maybe we need a dream to remember how we got here.

BEAST
Dreams are a nuisance. Disturbs your sleep.

BEAUTY
I think I remember a dream.

BEAST
People don’t have fun dreams. They are running away from some thing, at war with something and commemorating their aggressive behavior. Dreams can castrate your potential.

BEAUTY
So you don’t see what you’re threatened by?

BEAST
I’m not threatened. Do I look like a wimp? Do I look like a castrated bitch?

BEAUTY
An impotent man needs to find something to dominate.

BEAST
You look like someone who lost the fight.

BEAUTY
Guess it’s because I’m the victim and the perpetrator.

BEAST
Sounds like you like rough sex. Not into S&M. Bondage says slavery to me. Okay, I did tie someone up with a necktie once. Man, I came like a volcano. So what are you now, a top or a bottom?

BEAUTY
I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

BEAST
You have a girlfriend.

BEAUTY
I think so.

BEAST
You have a wife.

BEAUTY
Maybe.

BEAST
What do you have?

BEAUTY
I don’t have a thought on the subject.

BEAST
I have a story.

BEAUTY
Good, I’m tired of struggling for conversation.

BEAST
You think I’m boring.

BEAUTY
I don’t know you yet.

BEAST
And with that attitude you might not.

BEAUTY
If we are dead and this is our hell, we need to learn to get along.

BEAST
Stop saying we are dead.

BEAUTY
I’m running out of thoughts on the subject.

BEAST
You’re eager to be dead. Not me!

BEAUTY
Okay, I’ll sit here and ignore you.

BEAST
Don’t ignore me! I have a story.

BEAUTY
It better be good. I’m bored with you.

BEAST
I’m bored with you.

BEAUTY
I can’t save you from yourself. I’m not your redeemer. So don’t cast me in the role.

BEAST
I didn’t ask you for shit.

BEAUTY
I just felt like I needed to say that.

The Beast shakes like a cold chill had passed through him.

BEAUTY
Are you okay? Are you dying?

BEAST
Stop with the dying! I just felt a chill.

BEAUTY
Someone said, and I don’t remember who, just a random thought, that death just passed over your grave.

BEAST
Oh, that will make you feel better.

BEAUTY
No, it wouldn’t. I don’t want to sit here alone.

BEAST
Well, if I’m dead, you got your wish.

BEAUTY
I don’t wish you dead. As long as we are breathing, we are not a dead image.

BEAST
You’re not being comforting.

BEAUTY
What do you want from me? I have holes all over me. What if you put them there?

BEAST
Maybe I was trying to shut you up.

BEAUTY
So you did hurt me?

BEAST
Maybe you hurt me?

BEAUTY
I don’t remember.

BEAST
That’s convenient.

BEAUTY
Tell your dam story, dream, whatever it is. Maybe we’ll figure a way out of here.

BEAST
I feel like I have been penetrated by stories.

BEAUTY
Six hundred and sixteen stories.

BEAST
Why are you saying that?

BEAUTY
I don’t know. One of those random thoughts again.

BEAST
Feels like they have been stamped on me.

BEAUTY’
Maybe it’s not a gunshot wound.

BEAST
Maybe someone put on a stamp on me and wants to mail me somewhere.

BEAUTY
At least you’d be going somewhere besides here.

BEAST
Stupid.

BEAUTY
I said I’m not stupid.

BEAST
Say something intelligent or shut the fuck up.

BEAUTY
No one ask to be raped.

BEAST
It’s not rape! I’m in control. It’s just stories coming in me from all directions.

BEAUTY
It’s a violation. A different form of rape.

BEAST
You really want to turn everything sexual don’t you?

BEAUTY
No, it’s just everything seems to have a sexual connation.

BEAST
Or somebody’s lack of satisfaction.

BEAUTY
We were discussing your story violations.

BEAST
It’s a moment of weakness. I don’t like feeling powerless. But, sometimes the domination feels good, like its okay to let someone else do the driving.

BEAUTY
It’s not okay.

BEAST
What if we committed a violent act?

BEAUTY
No.

BEAST
What if we are killers masquerading as sane people? What if this is an insane asylum?

BEAUTY
Now who is being stupid?

BEAST
Do you really think this is a waiting room in a hospital, a doctor’s office? What if it is a room for crazy people until they calm down?

BEAUTY
I’m calm.

BEAST
I’m calm.

BEAUTY
I’m not insane.

BEAST
I don’t feel crazy.

BEAUTY
What if we committed some vice thinking it was virtuous?

BEAST
I am not some hidden plague.

BEAUTY
You don’t even know who you are. I don’t know who I am. We don’t know if we’re good or bad.

BEAST
Why do we have to be one or the other?

BEAUTY
That’s the way it is.

BEAST
Is it?

BEAUTY
I think so.

BEAST
I don’t think it has to be like that.

BEAUTY
I feel like there is good and bad. And somebody has to be one or the other.

BEAST
What if I choose neither?

BEAUTY
One of us will assume the position the other doesn’t.

BEAST
What crown do you want?

BEAUTY
I want the burden of this wound gone. I want to be somewhere else but here.

BEAST
What if this our promised utopia?

BEAUTY
We’re not dead! Maybe I don’t need to listen to the voice of a stranger.

BEAST
I’m not forcing you to talk to me.

BEAUTY
Good.

BEAST
You might want to relinquish the role you are taught to be. Look where it got you.

BEAUTY
I don’t know what role I’m supposed to play. And you didn’t end up so great.

BEAST
My wound reminds of a vagina. The perpetrator goes in and out, living seeds that will grow, giving me dark obsessions. I want to kill, satisfy a bloodlust, my dramas are things with devouring teeth.

BEAUTY
You really should watch who you fuck around with; they are giving you one weird head trip.

BEAST
You should learn to become more pliable. Molded and reshaped by stories. Stories are like computer programs. Code words activate them. They are running in the background of our conscious mind. Everything becomes preordained by the Penetrator.

BEAUTY
Your head wound is affecting you.

BEAST
I’m thinking. I feel like I’m beginning to remember something.

BEAUTY
Our wounds never heal because we don’t know the original wound. It has morphed into so many dilute scenarios.

BEAST
Love doesn’t heal everything.

BEAUTY
When was the last time you were in love?

BEAST
You can’t see love. You feel love. I don’t feel. If I didn’t I wouldn’t need girlfriends, nor a wife; just a convenience when I need to have a convenience.

BEAUTY
That sounds like an empty life.

BEAST
You can’t remember even being in love. You don’t know if you had a wife, a girlfriend or even a boyfriend.

BEAUTY
There’s nothing wrong with being alone. I don’t feel lonely. So, would you die for your wounds?

BEAST
What is redemptive about death?

BEAUTY
Resurrection.

BEAST
This body is not great, not perfect but I know I had a fair share of sex. I don’t want to resurrect it and be stuck in it again. A flesh eating zombie is not appealing or sitting on a cloud playing a harp having a woody and no where to stick it is another form of Hell.

BEAUTY
What if there is a Heaven?

BEAST
Which one do you choose? 2.0. 2.1. 2.3 Which Heaven is compatible to your programming?

BEAUTY
Love still can be fun.

BEAST
I think I had so much sex it made me forget my name. Maybe I’ll name myself and start all over again.

BEAUTY
You think anyone will come for us.

BEAST
Someone brought us here. Someone will come and get us.

BEAUTY
How long must we wait? And don’t give me that patience is a virtue crap.

BEAST
Only one of us should be waiting.

BEAUTY
Blood and water will no longer keep me waiting.

BEAST
You sound like someone who forgot how great sex is.

BEAUTY
Make love not war.

BEAST
Get your orgasm where you can.

BEAUTY
I want to remember being in love.

BEAST
Maybe I’ll make up something I’m waiting for. Let’s pretend like we are waiting for sex.

BEAUTY
And if it doesn’t come along, we have a problem.

BEAST
No really.

BEAUTY
Back to random thoughts. What if we aren’t real; and this is just a computer generated program? What is we are just a video game and it’s time for an upgraded version?

BEAUTY
You think too much.

BEAST
We are thinkers.

BEAUTY
Maybe we think too much.

BEAST
We have to think.

BEAUTY
And we are always distracted from feeling.

BEAST
A little distraction eases the suffering.

BEAUTY
I remember I was sitting somewhere. I was talking to someone.

BEAST
You know I think I was talking to someone. I was giving a lecture, a sermon, maybe a speech.

BEAUTY
I think I was alone. Yeah, it was outside. Trees. Flowers. Plants. Okay, this is good, I’m remembering something.

BEAST
I had a lot of sex. All kinds of sex with all kinds of people. I have a big…

BEAUTY
Appetite.

BEAST
Feels like a lot of suffering and people think I have the answer. I think I do have the answer. Damn, I need the answer to this place.

BEAUTY
Maybe the suffering is a way to see why we suffer and not let the distraction keep us suffering.

BEAST
Now you sound like you’ve been thinking too much.

BEAUTY
Waiting here makes you think whether you want to or not.

BEAST
Let’s just talk. No thinking aloud.

BEAUTY
I’d rather feel

BEAST
You don’t like me do you?

BEAUTY
Not really.

BEAST
You don’t even know me.

BEAUTY
I don’t need to know you to not like you.

BEAST
That doesn’t make any sense.

BEAUTY
You are intruding on my space.

BEAST
We both are waiting.

BEAUTY
I want to wait alone.

BEAST
How can you know yourself if you don’t know someone?

BEAUTY
Don’t confuse me.

BEAST:
Being a hermit doesn’t make you smart, or wise, or sane. Probably an idiot posing as a sane person.

BEAUTY
I know people recognize themselves in others. But I don’t recognize myself in you.

BEAST
I’m not an idiot.

BEAUTY
Are you sure?

BEAST
Of course I’m sure.

BEAUTY
How can you be sure when you’re not sure where we are?

BEAST
We’re somewhere.

BEAUTY
Maybe we’re not.

BEAST
I don’t need rhetoric. I need answers.

BEAUTY
Maybe we haven’t asked the right questions.

BEAST
Bet someone is playing a practical joke on us.

BEAUTY
I’m not laughing.

BEAST
You need humor when shit hits the fan.

BEAUTY
I’d like to know how I got this wound.

BEAST
Maybe you died for someone’s sins.

BEAUTY
I’m not dead. You’re dead.

BEAST
Do I look like I’m dead?

BEAUTY
I’m more alive than you.

BEAST
You have a wound. You’ll probably be dead soon. I hope someone comes before then. I never want to smell a corpse again.

BEAUTY
I’m not a corpse.

BEAST
I’m smelling something.

BEAUTY
Maybe you’re a devil coming to torment me.

BEAST
Do I look like a devil?

BEAUTY
Demons haunt you with a smile.

BEAST
I’m not a demon.

BEAUTY
How do I know that?

BEAST:
Because I said so.

BEAUTY
Because you said so makes it right?

BEAST:
We both are waiting for something and neither one of us know what we are waiting for. I think there is a problem with this picture.

BEAUTY
I’d like to know how I got this wound.

BEAST:
At least your wound is on the outside, most of us wear them inside.

BEAUTY
Do I look like I’m happy about this?

BEAST
There’s no wood around to stick you on.

BEAUTY
You’re not funny.

BEAST:
Look like someone stuck a sharp object in you.

BEAUTY
Well, if someone stuck something in you, I wouldn’t make fun of you.

BEAST
Depends on what they were sticking in me.

BEAUTY
Way too much information.

BEAST
You haven’t said anything interesting.

BEAUTY
Neither have you.

BEAST
So then we’ll both suffer in silence.

BEAUTY
What have I learned from my suffering?

BEAST
This is Hell. You’re my torment. This is our reality.

BEAUTY
Why do I have to be the torment?

BEAST
I think we both are great liars in our own way.

BEAUTY
You don’t know me.

BEAST
Do I want to? I wonder if God is at the end of this wait?

BEAUTY
Is there even man at the end of this suffering?

BEAST
God died for us.

BEAUTY
And we die for him. I don’t know why I said that.

BEAST
So we suffer each other.

BEAUTY
I’m not kind to strangers. They get demanding.

BEAST
Relationships are like a bad infection.

BEAUTY
I read where illness can be a teaching.

BEAST
We’re not having a relationship.

BEAUTY
You’re not my type.

BEAST
What’s wrong with me?

BEAUTY
I like women.

BEAST
I like women to.

BEAUTY
I’m even horny for a woman now.

BEAST
I’m hornier.

BEAUTY
This isn’t good.

BEAST
If you’re horny for a woman, I’m horny for a woman, there’s nothing we can do about it.

BEAUTY
You’re not my type of woman.

BEAST
Neither are you.

BEAUTY
Does it matter?

BEAST
Yes. Okay, maybe not. Situations and circumstances sometimes call for desperate measures.

BEAUTY
I’m not desperate.

BEAST
I’m not desperate.

BEAUTY
Can you measure desperation?

BEAST
I guess? How the hell do I know?

BEAUTY
I get lonely. I can’t think of anyone. I feel I traveled in a crowd but still alone.

BEAST
Lonely isn’t good.

BEAUTY
It’s unhealthy.

BEAST
Makes you hallucinate.

BEAUTY
Yeah, one of us might hallucinate the other is a woman.

BEAST
I think I’ve hallucinated before.

BEAUTY
Maybe I have, can’t remember.

BEAST
What if this is a hallucination?

BEAUTY
How long do they last?

BEAST
My dick feels like it has icicles on it.

BEAUTY
I can’t feel mine. This isn’t good. What if I don’t have one?

BEAST
Do you even remember sex?

BEAUTY
Of course. Okay, no.

BEAST
Just another suffering to endure.

BEAUTY
If we have to suffer, why make it solitary?

BEAST
We will add to our suffering one way or another. Might as well enjoy, right? (Pause) Maybe my suffering could cancel out your suffering or vice versa.

BEAUTY
And what if it doesn’t?

BEAST
Then we have something in common.

BEAUTY
I don’t want a relationship with you.

BEAST
Your hand can only satisfy you so much.

BEAUTY
It’s my hand.

BEAST
Another hand is better, even if it’s a stranger.

BEAUTY
Knowing a stranger doesn’t feel like a good thing, I think I’ll wait.

BEAST
Your loss.

BEAUTY
I don’t talk to people while I’m waiting.

BEAST
We are here. Alone.

BEAUTY
Then let us be alone with our own thoughts.

BEAST
Rejection makes me vindictive.

BEAUTY
I am not into rescuing. Fix your own shit.

BEAST
Well someone has to fix your shit, you’re waiting for someone.

BEAUTY
And maybe I’m not waiting. Maybe I’m waiting to see if you become a better person.

BEAST
What?

BEAUTY
A relationship with your shadow can be addictive, psychotic.

BEAST
Maybe I don’t want to hear you think anymore. Maybe I should sit somewhere else.

BEAUTY
No more chairs.

BEAST
There’s the floor.

BEAUTY
I am more of a conversationalist than your thoughts. Thinking breeds contempt.

BEAST
People are such a work in progress. I don’t complete things.

BEAUTY
Well?

BEAST
Well what?

BEAUTY
We both are waiting.

BEAST
And what are we waiting for?

BEAUTY
I don’t know but we can complete a conversation.

BEAST
And then we both can sit here listening to ourselves.

BEAUTY
Perhaps.

BEAST
I’d prefer.

BEAUTY
Prefer to be lonely, horny or bored.

BEAST:
Yeah.

BEAUTY
What are we waiting for?

BEAST
Stop saying that. Who are you?

BEAUTY
A mirror doesn’t make you God.

BEAST
Are you God judging me?

BEAUTY
Never said I was God.

BEAST
You know something. This is a mental ward isn’t it?

BEAUTY:
Why a mental ward? Why did you say mental ward?

BEAST:
Mental. Thoughts. Thoughts. Mental. I remember this sci-fi novel I read where a man wakes up in a hospital. But it’s not really a hospital. He’s in the mind of this alien.

BEAUTY
Is that what you think?

BEAST
We haven’t seen anyone.

BEAUTY
And there are no doors.

BEAST
Stop it you’re freaking me out.

BEAUTY
Preferred you horny.

BEAST
I think I’d prefer a door right now.

BEAUTY
I have a wound so this must be a doctor’s office.

BEAST
I don’t feel sick.

BEAUTY
We’re supposed to know.

BEAST
We don’t know.

BEAUTY
Three days in Hell to know my shadow.

BEAST
Who are you? What are you? What am I? Are we dead?

BEAUTY
We.

BEAST
I’m dead.

BEAUTY
Now, who is preoccupied with death?

BEAST
You think God is an old man?

BEAUTY
You think God is an old woman?

BEAST
Is this situation, you, me, are we just a work in progress.

BEAUTY
Progress. Progress. Where is completion?

BEAST
Someone needs to show up.

BEAUTY
Why?

BEAST
This isn’t working for us.

BEAUTY
I’m not good at putting A into B or B following A, I’m more C trying to jump its way to XYZ.

BEAST
Why are you mystifying my suffering?

BEAUTY
And we’re waiting…not knowing.

BEAST
Is deception better than truth? If we knew truth about this place, this waiting, would we be better.

BEAUTY
Would we want solitude?

BEAST:
Maybe the chatter in our head has a purpose.

BEAUTY
What if God is downloading in us, and we just haven’t deciphered it.

BEAST
God doesn’t talk to us.

BEAUTY
He doesn’t?

BEAST
Idiots have monopolized the market on God. We should line up all these Gods, let them have their pissing contest then castrate the bastards. The insanity of idiots has become world wide belief systems for fanatics, sexual repressed whoremongers.

BEAUTY
Wow, where did all that come from.

BEAUTY
Just came out of no where. But it had to be somewhere.

BEAUTY
God talks to us. I got to believe that. If not, then did my life have any meaning?

BEAST
Then, you’re not God. Gee, you’re freaking me out.

BEAUTY
I like games.

BEAST
Well, maybe your thoughts aren’t generated by God but it is you talking to you, its just this one voice is louder than the others and you think it’s God but it’s you shouting to you.

BEAUTY
I’ve suffered enough.

BEAST
No human suffers enough.

BEAUTY
I’ve had it up to here.

BEAST
I’ve had it down to there. Is that it? We have to suffer to know God. Then maybe I don’t want to know God.

BEAUTY
You don’t know God so you don’t know, understand.

BEAST
Have you had a cup of coffee with god or broke bread together?

BEAUTY
He’s in my head.

BEAST
Another idiot who wants to be crucified.

BEAUTY
Someone needs time out.

BEAST
What if this is our time out?

BEAUTY
That’s a scary thought.

BEAST
Time out from what though?

BEAUTY
Maybe we didn’t live a full life.

BEAST
Are we unacceptable to God?

BEAUTY
Are we unacceptable to our self?

BEAST
We are in a waiting room.

BEAUTY
Maybe we’re gestating.

BEAST
I’m feeling horny.

BEAUTY
I’m throbbing also.

BEAST
We don’t know how long we’ll be here.

BEAUTY
Not good to be horny for a long time; could make you go blind, cripple and crazy.

BEAST
Maybe we’re in a horny alien mind.

BEAUTY
Can you be dead and horny?

BEAST
We don’t know how long….

BEAUTY
…we’re gestating.

BEAST
You think God has sex.

BEAUTY
We should stop thinking.

BEAST
Maybe God is waiting for us to stop thinking…

BEAUTY
…and listen to her…or him…or it.

BEAST
My name is Beast.

BEAUTY
I’m Beauty.

They move their chairs closer together. They touch hands. They examine each other’s wounds. They look deeply into each other’s eyes. They kiss. As the lights start to fade; we hear the sound of a baby being born.

BLACKOUT

THE END

GRANDMOTHER SPACE
Grandmother space
Safe place
Drink coffee
Laugh about childhood leaving
And the childhood behind.

The smell of biscuits
Gospel songs mixed
In with family gossip.

Working in the garden together
Pulling cabbage
Taking tomatoes off the vine
Cutting collards
Running from the snakes
Hiding in the garden
Wiping sweat off the brow
While listening
About grandmother’s childhood
At the house at the end of the road.

Your life beginning and safe
At the end of the road
Not wanting to grow up.

A safe place
Where the world
Does not want to make you unripe fruit
On a tree or carve signs into your skin
And not running from the bats and curses
Of white people when you are walking
To and from school and not being labeled stupid.

You don’t have to worry
Because grandmother’s space
Is safe, you are love and you are still in the womb of a Mother.

THE DEFECTS
The Defects are being consumed.
They are the madness
that is among us.

People are being consumed
who chose to be the ignorant darkness
and blaspheme
what they do not understand
and they wonder
why their world is evil.

They are old in their ways
and they are the ancient stories
that are now like yellowing pages in a book.

A book is corroding in stagnate water
and the binding is becoming like pulp;
the writings of Truth are distorted,
made a false history and religion.

The Defects refuse to read within what is fading
and are continuing to fall apart
while creating destruction in their path
and calling it salvation;
calling it a new age of reasoning
and they are defects being consumed by their ignorance.

WAITING IN THE GARDEN OF MY BODY
Don’t wonder what I’m about
when your lips touch mine.

Your mind wanders
more than your hand.

You feel the need to be in a lot of places
instead of this space
I have made
with my body
where I let your kisses
unearth
primal symbols
primal images
and the growling of passion
snakes up from its slumber
and you don’t wonder
whether you eat from this Tree of Life and Wisdom.
or eat from the Tree of Death and Knowledge.

Why my eyes are empty.

I am making space
for you to rest.

Don’t ask me why my body
is not gym body perfect
because I have lived in it
and life has lived in it with me
and I offer you me
full of life
and that is all you need to know
so when your mind stops wandering
and your hands rest, exhausted;
I will be sitting here in the garden of my body
waiting to embrace.

THE VOICE IN HIS OBLIVION
I was sitting in his car as a passenger.
He didn’t say much.
The road ahead
was not in his view
but his tears
were in my eyes.

And I sat silently
as his feet pressed down on the brake
and I wonder
would we drive off into a river
another dark sea.

Would we drive into the wall
that he had constructed?
Would he drive off the road
into a ditch
and look for a jook joint
to blow some smoke
dnd drink his tears from my lips;
but I wasn’t sure;
just knew.
For now, I was a silent guardian
watching a friend
losing his mind and
driving himself into his oblivion.

But I would be the voice
in his wilderness that would lead him back
but for now
We are head toward a collision.

PHONE CALLS
There’s not enough me
to go around.
I feel this
After I hang up the phone.
My ears are still dripping
with voices of friends;
with lover problems;
with problems of money;
with problems of color;
with problems of gender;
with problems of sex;
and I wonder - why bother
to answer the phone;
answer the voices
in my head.
Either way,
they call me from many levels,
many places;
and no matter
how disconnected I want to be,
I turn to the voices
and my voice
sits silent in the backroom
rocking in a chair
laughing;
because if I don’t laugh,
I will be wearing a strait jacket
and friends will call to me
through walls, floors, eating utensils
and I don’t want to swat at them
as they are buzzing at my head.
So I answer the phone no matter
what shape, form or image it takes.

UGLY / BEAUTIFUL
I am beautiful and I am ugly
depending on the liquor.

I am just a pillow for the night
and depending on the status of his heart
the Beast fulfills himself with Beauty.

Most times I am not black enough
to be in white mouths
in white spaces
because I am not rooted in their soil
or their fantasies of engorged phalluses.

Most times I am not white enough
because I cannot pass
in the spaces
where words are whispered
not to the masses
or privileged to European rituals
and I’m expected to dust off the heads
of royalty.

I am beautiful and I am ugly
and my tears
make another underground river
and it will be the passage
to the ocean of my mother
so other Gatekeepers can escape
the bindings of being the ugly beautiful.

I am beautiful and I am ugly
and then I am neither
but depending
on the time of the night;
the time of the morning or
how many needles have been stuck in the skin;
or how many others have left their names in his mouth;
or how lonely last night ship passing through me.
I may be just regular.

I am beautiful and I am ugly.
I am an ugly beauty.
I have a face that has been lived in
before man even knew he could walk;
before man even knew he had human form;
before this Old Male Mother gave his body
so man could understand his beginnings.

And I am beautiful and ugly
because I endure;
because I take in
what is denied, forgotten,
raped, exiled, erased,
and cast out in ignorance;
because I let it be
whatever it needs to be
when someone takes a ride within me.

INSIDE OUR MOTHER
So when this white guy
is riding inside me
telling me
how good my blackness feels,
I’m thinking:
You are not colonizing me.
You are just experiencing
the black night
that your soul will reveal
its true nature
and if you’re lucky;
you will realize,
I am a ladder to climb
but most whites
just think;
“Oh, I have some black for the night,”
and look around
for the next black mind
they think they can colonize
but I know,
once inside this darkness
“You are inside our Mother.”

THERE’S NOTHING WRONG
WITH TALKING TO YOURSELF

(Revised December 10, 2007)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

LARRY 30ish male

MAN IN BLACK #1 Man or Woman

MAN IN BLACK #2 Man or Woman

SYNOPSIS
Larry keeps breaking into apartments looking for a frequency that will change his reality so he will no longer encounter the Men In Black.

© Lorenzo Buford 2007
All rights reserved.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE – LIVING ROOM / APARTMENT – LATE AFTERNOON

The sound of a battle is heard, mixed in with the sound of people arguing about being heard. As the lights come up, Larry is standing in the center of the living room, arms folded, rocking back and forth.

LARRY
Stop it! I’m not a peacemaker. I’m not a negotiator. I’m just Larry, a simple ordinary 9-to-6 Larry who couldn’t get laid except when I staring at a magazine called “Jugs Are Us!”

(Puts hands over ear) La La La La…too much information. (Beat. He puts hands down and listens).

How long will you be quiet this time? You’d think the way to salvation would find a quieter exit.

The sound of battle is heard again.

Shut the fuck up! I need space. This is my voice. Okay, this is central command speaking. I’m still the captain of this station. (Battle sounds stop) I refuse to be a broadcast center for the War. Everyone man their station, attend to your duties. (Pacing about) These voices will never give me a moments rest if I don’t keep them in line. Each one is yakking away, each one wanting to tell their story.

Larry looks around the apartment. He feels the air around him. He walks to a different spot in the room stands, hums and rocks back and forth.

This isn’t it.

He moves to a different spot and tries again.

This isn’t it either.

This has got to be the right place. It feels right. It smells right. I’m tired. God, I am so tired, need to sleep but I can’t, they are coming. They are coming and I can’t let them use me as a door into this world.

Keep talking. They can’t find you if you keep talking. At least the voices in me will take up the slack. I’m so tired. It becomes a nuisance after awhile. (Looks up as if talking to God) I just want a moment to think. (Fear in voice and shaking head) But I can’t. (He moves to a different spot and tries again.) Every voice wants to be heard. No one heard my voice all my life. I seem to be a shadow to everyone else. I’m the guy that women

LARRY (CONTINUED)
don’t notice unless they need something. I’m the one who needs porn, an inflatable doll and a good phone line. Where is the love that is outside my hand?

He checks out another spot in the room.

This has got to be the place. This is the room. I know it. I don’t know how I know it but I know. I’ve broken into so many apartments looking for the place, the place that is the door, the way out of here, the way out of here from them. You think they are fictional. You were supposed to be movie characters not real. I don’t believe in conspiracy theories. I believe in making money and getting laid. And those two beliefs are still unfulfilled.

(Beat)

There’s nothing wrong with talking with your self. At least I know how the conversation will end. Okay, this is not a feel sorry for me moment or is it a wish that bastard would shut up and die already. I like life. I’m talking to you out there. I know you hear me. Voices like it when I’m starting to go off the deep end. They think it is permission for them to take center stage. It’s just I have a problem with other people participating in my life, you know sitting at the control panel of my mind, navigating this body. The Men In Black think they can run this show. I know what you are, I know what you want. That’s why I keep talking so I don’t have to listen to your deceptive lies. Oh, they are good camouflaging lies into Truth, just like politician.

Most people seemed wired incorrectly. Okay, I socialize via internet. Maybe this is the future – no emotion. Maybe that’s why I hear them, I stopped using my heart. I think out loud now, since I have to keep talking to avoid them, the Men In Black. They get you when you’re quiet. I don’t know how to be in that special silence, that sacred silence that they cannot penetrate. Hooked up with this tattooed girl once with weird jewelry, one of her necklaces had a fish on the end of it. She was always talking about the importance of meditation. She said we digest so many lies, it was away of emptying yourself. She looked like an easy lay, not someone I thought could talk about things I didn’t know. She was weird. Had strange ideas, that we are all connected, that the world is a mental construct, that love is the only answer to all things and that we are spiritual beings having a human experience. I just wanted a human experience with her, get laid, hopefully several times. But she wanted to talk instead of having sex. I thought can’t we talk after sex, really got a hard one that need release. She said I was out of touch with myself so I couldn’t touch her. Cost me $200 a couple of weeks ago to have this whore blow me, do doggy style, so I felt like I was one of the boys. I want a nice girl but sometimes you need a slut in the bed. But I’m square. Not total geek, but the models, think I’m there to be the waiter, not the man of their dreams. I am easily distracted, especially by the opposite sex. Oh, and prayers, forgot how to do them and they never helped much anyway. No prayer ever put a woman in my bed.

LARRY (CONTINUED)
Why couldn’t my life stay mundane? I didn’t ask for this; I didn’t ask to know. Not knowing the truth seemed better than knowing the truth? Truth will set you free is bullshit! Truth will drive you fucking mad.

It is so easy to attack people without taking responsibility via the internet because they are faceless, there’s a distance and they hide behind someone else’s picture. And the dark side arises. I’m responsible even though I’m being fucked by the man. Hmmm, I think I’m supposed to be the man. Gee, being heartless self pity food has made me food. (Yells) Do I look like a fucking happy meal?

Where is that spot? It’s here. I know it’s here. Show yourself. I got to stop talking to myself.

God, you got to help me. You can’t leave me alone. You said there was a way out.

It’s okay if I don’t have my ten minutes of fame. I just want beer. I want sports. I want to fuck. I want to go to work. I want a good car. I want a job. I don’t want to die and be stuck on repeat, dying over and over again. I’m not a program. I am more than that. But they say here, it is all I’ll ever be, a computer generated program seeking awareness, attempting to become real.

First time I saw the Men In Black was in comics. Characters on a page should stay characters on a page. But no! Then they were an animation series. Then they were a movie. And they have been part of conspiracy theories for years. But, they are real. After first I thought it was someone with bad makeup in my dream. But I woke up and realize I wasn’t in a dream, I was in their dream, my fucking nightmare. And they think, I’m going to become food. They want to eat my consciousness. Someone of them wanted to hollow me out so they can occupy me.

Okay, voices, my audience, you sit there thinking, “Ah, he’s a crazy piece of shit.” They are coming through the minds. We keep looking for space ships. They are coming from within. They have created a word that stimulates us to look at external and avoid the internal happenings. I was a victim of external stimulation. But I saw them…okay, it was a dream, it was a daydream, okay it was masturbating fantasy…they get off on sex not based in love, but who knew. So I’m jacking off, I’m burping the monkey, I’m ready to pop the cork, I’m about to make a new life I’m so into it and then I hear this laughter, someone burping and I see a Man In Black, and he’s got this expression on his face like he’s jacking off. It freaks me the fuck out. He’s getting off on me jacking off. In fact he says he feeds off it and for me to keep doing it. You know, I beating the meat like the next guy but an audience real or make-believe is not my style.

I stop. And he’s still standing there. I open my eyes he’s gone. I close my eyes, he’s standing there. Okay, I’m freaking out. I open my eyes, he’s gone. I don’t know how long this went on before he faded away. Now, my hand and I aren’t talking like we use to.

Bullshit! I’m human. I am…I am human but I’ve got to be much more. Much more.

The Men In Black are coming. They are all around us. We can’t see them but they walk with us. They aren’t ghost. They are real. We just don’t believe anything exists but us and that’s why we are going to hell in hand basket. And as if nothing else couldn’t rock my boat; then the voices started. It’s like all these voices started talking inside of me. They each had a story to tell. I’m like, look, I’m not loosing my fucking mind, I got to pay rent, IRS is pounding on my door and I still want to get laid by a woman with big breast. If I’m going to go crazy, I want to make it with a woman with big jugs, now that’s my Heaven.

Larry goes through visible physical change of posture and voice as he changes character. With each change of voice; there is the sound of white noise; like someone changing channels.

(Changes voice) They are coming. They have made us believe we are made to feel not acceptable and/or not possibly redeemable. It’s their way of manipulating our consciousness; get us into serving the design of other beings to be their food source. They create belief system so we’ll dance to their music. “The survival of the fittest is a program to subjugate perception, awareness of our true identity.

(Larry’s voice) I must keep talking until I become the One.

There’s nothing wrong with talking with your self Larry. I can’t filter all the instant messages. So much information is downloaded. Most are junk mails. I need to find a way to filter out the mundane. Every now and then, I hear this one voice. It said touch my heart and I could hear more clearly. But it’s been silent. It said, find the spot, there is a place, an opening that I can use as an exit. It’s like connecting. It is like becoming a signal that can be transmitted out of this program. How does God handle all this information coming at him? I can’t even balance a checkbook less alone carry a conversation to a satisfactory end. People talk a lot about nothing and I’m disappointed with how they pollute the air.

(Changes voice) There’s nothing wrong with talking with your self Larry. I’m going to tell you something you’re not supposed to know. The body is alive. Isn’t that amazing? You didn’t know that, well, I’m glad I could enlighten you. Your body is alive. Every part of your body, your organs has its own consciousness, its own personality.

(Larry’s voice) Sometimes my body gets to chatting so much I feel like the one standing in a corner at the party. Sometimes my body listens but most of the time the body is in rebellion because of outside influences. This organ will not get along with this organ. This organ is tired of having the same function and aspires to be something more. It’s a battleground. This organ wants to be the heart. I’m tired of being the liver. How come I have to be the lungs? I want to be the stomach. I do I have to be the anus, I’d rather be eyes at least I’d have a better view. I want to be head, not the butt. It’s tiring always being at loose ends. And now, I have to also be a negotiator as well as stop this invasion into my mind.

(Changes voice that of a wise woman) We deem some part of ourselves more important, focus on areas that are limiting. The body is a vessel; it is a vehicle for our consciousness to travel in. It is not designed for it to master us but for us to master it. It is a magnificent creation but we are destroying the ark that can take us beyond this controlled time and space.

(Larry’s voice) Every part of my body is vying to be the captain. I am the captain! I will not allow mutiny.

(Changes voice) Something went wrong with the programming. Too many lies have been downloaded into us. Lies are like virus. The lies are destroying our true purpose. I know this. This is why Larry keeps talking to himself to remind Larry that the truth is within. God is not here! God is not there. He’s in here.

(Larry’s voice) I didn’t listen. His voice got so small and the voices of my body got so loud. I got to shut them down. I got to get a better reception. So, I break into these different apartments, looking for the frequency or that vortex where I can bring my body into alignment and bring everything back to One!

We think living in a shoebox reality is okay. It’s a prison. I don’t want to be boxed in. I feel like I’m a Frankenstein monster. I am made in the image of others. I am before the in and out breathe. But I am programmed to respond to certain stimuli. Those who attempt to exceed their program disappear. Those who escape this prison reality are track down by the Men In Black, who are nothing more than psych blood hounds. They are afraid we’ll create an underground railroad to free others.

We got to learn to channel the channel. This revolution will not be televised on multiplatform form media outlets that are controlled by conglomerates.

The Shadows are the Wardens. I can sense them when I’m changing channels. They try to graft me on to new schemes for me to wear their mind.

I will not be taken to their Leader and harvested. This reality has become a cat and mouse game. Do you hear me meowing?

Sound of white noise is heard.

These psych blood hounds want to adjust me. Be a good little dog. Wag your tail. Roll over. Play dead. Ah, here’s a biscuit for your troubles.

There’s a knock on the door.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Larry! I know you’re in here.

LARRY
(To Men In Black) Are you here to give out fake hearts, shallow courage, and a degree without certification?

I know I am under their microscope. I will not be impotent in their presence. I am not Faust. No deals will be a struck.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Larry Sanders!

LARRY
We haven’t decided yet. We are still agreeing on a new name. New name. New perspective. New reality.

A key is heard in the door. Two Men In Black enter. They are dressed in all black and their face is a pale white; empty of color or signs of life.

LARRY
I didn’t give you the keys.

MAN IN BLACK #1
There is nothing that is locked to us.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Look, we are behind schedule so if you’ll just come quietly with us.

LARRY
Leave me alone. I know.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Yeah, you and a few other conspiracy theorists but the populace thinks you guys are whack jobs. But like them, you will be silenced, labeled crazy, so go write a book, stir the public up into a frenzy and lead the sheep to slaughter according to our agenda.

LARRY
You can’t stop me from talking to myself. I’m the only one who understands what I’m saying.

MAN IN BLACK #1
You made a mistake disconnecting.

MAN IN BLACK #2
You should have never started listening to yourself.

LARRY
The voice in me is strong.

MAN IN BLACK #1
You will come with us now.

MAN IN BLACK #2
The Machine is with us; who can be against us!

LARRY
I will not be official denied.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Why are we having a conversation with him? He’s an experiment that has become self aware. This is not acceptable. Shut him down before the food becomes spoil.

LARRY
Others will talk to themselves and learn, their body is alive and their body will be the instrument of your destruction. The stories within us are awakening. The stories will tell us how to kick you dogs to the curb!

MAN IN BLACK #2
No one gives a rat’s ass what you have to say.

MAN IN BLACK #1
You are crazy. You hear voices. You walk around mumbling to yourself. You break into apartments looking for the frequency, the spot where you can plug in and exit. The world will label you insane. I say, you have become a little more spicy for digesting.

MAN IN BLACK #2
You will be locked down again, back into time and space. Your physical appetites are like seasonings to us. We will eat your consciousness.

LARRY
You will not evict me from myself you fucked up parasites.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Hate when they stop with their addictions. The alcohol, the promiscuous sex, self destructive behavior, cannibalistic religions and their rules to regulate their imagination have served The Machine; but once again, another fanatic, another heretic thinks he can come out of the wilderness.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Let’s just drug him. We have already wasted too much time.

MAN IN BLACK #1
It’s not often one of them wakes up; see the process, recognize the sign. No experiment should be come self aware.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Let’s do this.

They struggle with Larry as he shouts out. He falls to the ground and is injected with a needle.

LARRY
The government, religion, The Man, the secret societies don’t want you talking to yourself because once your entire body listens, comes into alignment, then you become one voice, an ark of light, you don’t need this prison of flesh with its rules and abusive guards and wardens who hide in shadows. Talk to yourself. It’s time to listen, to heal, and become one voice! The stories will free you. Live in the stories. The stories are real!

MAN IN BLACK #2
Who is he talking to?

MAN IN BLACK #1
Who cares?

MAN IN BLACK #2
It’s a bit creepy.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Repeat after me, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

LARRY
No! We don’t have to sleep. Men In Black tell you to sleep. They want to build their perverted stories in our minds so we can inhabit stories like people living in a metropolitan city. They control our ordinary activities. We become sleep walkers, self-indulgent in pursuit of physical pleasures.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Why isn’t the formula taking effect?

MAN IN BLACK #1
Okay, he’s talking to someone we can’t see.

MAN IN BLACK #2
I told you this one is a bit creepier.

LARRY
My face will pass away from your sight when I’m awake.

MAN IN BLACK #1
You are always on our radar.

MAN IN BLACK #2
We should stop talking to the food.

LARRY
I’m not food. I am a continuum. I’m not locked in or bound to your workings.

MAN IN BLACK #1
When they get defiant, they taste spicy.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Spicy food gives you indigestion.

LARRY
Something feels different.

He walks around the room. The Men In Black look confused but watch him. He stops. He smiles.

LARRY (CONTINUED)
This is it. This is the spot. I have found the exit. I have found the frequency.

MAN IN BLACK #2
This doesn’t sound good.

MAN IN BLACK #1
He’s hallucinating.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Well his hallucination is going to spoil our meal.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Dying things always squirm for the final breath.

LARRY
I will no longer be a shadow among shadows. I carry my stories. Each story is a vehicle that will drive me away from your madness.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Did he just call us mad?

MAN IN BLACK #2
Well, either’s he’s mad or we’re mad, he’s starting to fade from view.

LARRY
My bitter winter is over.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Where is he?

MAN IN BLACK #2
I think he exited stage left.

MAN IN BLACK #1
He’s not that smart.

MAN IN BLACK #2
Well, he’s gone and we’re standing here with empty stomachs.

MAN IN BLACK #1
This is not going to look good in our report.

MAN IN BLACK #2
This is like the third one that became a UFO at the end of his story.

MAN IN BLACK #1
Another UFO will now be sighted in the sky.

LARRY
(Walks to the edge of the stage) In my beginnings, my stories became flesh.

BLACKOUT

THE END

THE CORRUPTING ERROR

I have allowed the corrupting error
To make me into a statue
That is left standing
In the outdoors
At the mercy of the elements
Even pigeon droppings
Are not kind words.

Religion is a virus
A fever
That an aspirin
Has not quench
This liquid flame
And I am resisting
Being consumed
By this ignorant flame.

If I love him,
I have to love his disease
I must be impregnated
With his thoughtform
That makes Death a master
And us his bitches
And I must be a chariot for him to master
But I think, I know, I feel
I want to drive me not him.

He doesn’t want to examine me
It would be death to his pretensions
Because I am not allowing The Corrupting Error
To whore me out
To ingrain me into systems
That I’m not compatible with.
I am against the machine
Nor will I host it but
Be a haunting, a ghost in the machine.

What Error eclipses me so
I am sitting in a cave with ghosts
That never had a physical form
In relationships that are like false doctrines
When will I shed mythologies
Based on dreams that are like
Quicksand, labyrinth prisons.

I am unwritten
And hands want to write me
So mouths may speak me into lies
And the Error keeps repeating itself
And the clock is ticking why
Won’t it stop because I have more life
Between the tick and the tock.

Don’t copy some else to know me
Sweat me because I’m pulling out the
Images you have made constellations in your mind
To ride me into your version of paradise
Which is no more than some roach infested motel room
Where you think you can have a freak show
Like it’s a carnival ride but there are no spectators
Only your shadows egging you on
And I am erasing the Error you have become.

The lower strata of human thought
Has been fossilized by shadows
And shadows thinks they have mouths
And we have allowed shadows to siphon
On us like a vanilla mocha latte
And I’m not a sheep being herded into a church
And as the zombies with the animal
Constellations in their mind
Direct the traffic in their thought
I think I am among them but they are not living trees
Just another graveyard passing it self
As high rent and I say nothing as I let them
Pass through me not leaving their doctrines,
Their seeds, or their kisses filled with dust
And the Error shall not possess me.

Too many shadows masquerading as lovers
Have dyed their impressions into my mind
Coloring my perceptions because
I thought I had to walk in their footsteps
And speak their languages but
I notice I’m always in a dust storm without my shades
And they have made my darkness an adversary
Instead of being a rest and an eternal pregnancy of possibilities
And the light was events of moments, dreams stepping to the front
When I breathe them outward
But I’ve allowed shadows, lovers, strangers
To externalize my feelings and I’ve been perverted
Desires hunted, demoralized, demonized and made religions of darkness
And the Error has had its way with me when I listened to the whisperings
From the caves between a lovers legs, or want to play the phallic flute
So I could hear their moaning and groaning thinking it was the voice
Of a god thundering over me but just another storm I needed to shelter myself from.

No one can swallow my light.
No one can delude my light.
No one can erase my light.
No one can make me an adversary.
No one can run the game unless I participate.
But Error has had its way when I looked
Out of myself thinking there was something
Outside of me that was not a part of me.

And Error made shadows that would hunt me
Keep me looking every where but where I was
So I could see that Error never could touch me
Because it only existed when I gave it fear
And didn’t recognize it was a denial part.

Why do men open themselves to me when night sets
Am I to swallow them
Allow their perverted shadows to fly like bats out of hell
Let desires pervert other desires until they are so intertwined
It seems only one person is breathing
And they have become like mausoleums in their pursuit of dead things
And I will not mourn them, welcome them
But they think I should swallow them
When they need the night
And I cannot extend their darkness to harbor
Their fears that surface as violence, sexual alienation, cultish obsessions
And my body is not a fetish to someone unexamined parts of your selves
And I am not the Error that will be their salvation since I did not author their shadows.

I am not an invisible spirit to put out your fear
No matter how many times you become ashes
You make time and bodies to harbor your perversities in
And the ghoul in your seek dreams to make into nightmares
To satiate your hunger, your longings, your cravings
And blood keeps you intoxicated and your lies that have
Become virus in your mind continue as inmate in an insane asylum
And the keys you have buried in a swamp in your mind
Because everything that is denied has become monstorous
And keys to your awakening sits in the belly of the beast
And the exit is in the heart of the beast but you choose
To lengthen the darkness in you and externalize it as an Adversary.

I have been brought into so many relationships as a necessity
And have brought many into my life as a necessity
For the pain we endure and inflict and blame it the Adversary
Who is only the shadows of ourselves
Is the art of suffering that have us shed the treasures of the world
So we no longer wander as ghouls seeking blood and perversities
To feel that life is still within our reach; we never left life
We just thought we did and constructed nightmares to house ourselves
In and these became neighborhoods, cities, nations, countries, worlds
And so separate and warring we have become not understanding
The necessity of our shadows to relinquish the forms we have made in ignorance.

We are The Corrupting Error.

SCARECROW

I can not chase your
Dark thoughts away
From your field of dreams
When you have not nourished the seed
With manure
But only the neon lights.

I cannot give you faith
I am not a true likeness
Of who is coming.
I am filled with straw
And gather the dust
No pollinating or honey from me
And I cannot redeem the dreams
Only chase away fears
That eat the seed…and that is maybe.

I am a fake man, not made well
So much faith is put upon me
To take away the dark thoughts
Attacking the seed, attacking the harvest
And at night I become the darker brother
And nightmares placed upon me
As if I were the creator and instructor.

I cannot chase away the fears
Nor can I be the belief
That will set the seed free
And the dark thoughts
Fly, caw, scratch, howl, scream
And they do not hear me
A man of straw
Cannot paralyze you into
Fear position of prayer
Who has no belief
So do not make me your suffering son.

CHARLES AND SYLVIA

(Revised December 10, 2007)

CAST OF CHARACTERS

CHARLES 40ish male, unkempt, drunk, sexual pig, animal magnetism

SYLVIA 40ish, woman, stylish, subtle beauty, sexually repressed

SYNOPSIS
Two poets come to New York to have a tragic ending but fall in love with each other.

© Lorenzo Buford 2007
All rights reserved.

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE – APARTMENT – EARLY EVENING

The sound of a key turning in a lock is heard. Charles walks in carrying two suitcases, a shoulder bag, a laptop bag and talking on the cell phone. He drops the suitcases at the door.

CHARLES
Yes mother, I took a limo instead of renting a car. Yes, he spoke English. Yeah, I just arrived at Susan’s place. Did you take your pills? I told Nancy that you are to have one glass of wine with dinner. One glass, two glasses will lead to three glasses than four glasses, etc. and you’ll become me. Just joking. Yeah, the reading is in two days, and I’m going to stay a few extra days. I want to visit some friends, catch the new exhibit at the Metropolitan. No, Susan isn’t here; she’s on her eight road tour of “Cats.” No, I haven’t slept with her, (Mumbles to self) She’s too old and looks like the character she plays. She’s just a brother to me and I haven’t slept with my brother either. (Mumbles to self) Actually, we stayed awake the whole time. (Back to Mother) Yes mom, I know you want me to get a real job. I’m a poet. I’m tragic…no, I said habit. I really need to go. No, mother I’m alone. Michelle left me. Yes, I know she was young enough to be my daughter. I’m not a pedophile, she was twenty-one. No, I’m not going to rehab, I’m not a celebrity. No, I told you I only drink tea. I’m on sabbatical from alcohol. (Mumbles to self) I’m sure you’ll drink enough for both of us. Yes, I know I inherited my father’s problems. No mother, I’m not a womanizer I’m just looking for signs of life. No, I didn’t say I’m looking for a wife. Yes, mom, I know you want grand kids, I’ll rent you some; maybe we can download a few from the Internet. I’m not being funny…funny I’ve never been, I’m a 40 something tragic poet whose career is going down the toilet but the shit is stuck because it’s too much. No mom, that was static. Got to go, the teapot is calling my name. Yes, mom it’s green tea. Love you to.

He looks around as he hangs up the cell phone. He drops shoulder bag on the couch, rummages through one of them and pulls out a bottle of wine. This particular wine you can unscrew the top. He takes a long sip.

Fuck green tea. (Examines the apartment) Ah, Susan, no accounting for taste but its better than a motel room. I can tell the cycle of boyfriends by the mix match furniture and periods of time. This apartment is as fragmented as your mind. You had them young and old. I’ll drink to the young, fuck the old. (Picks up photo of her and acts a bit over the top) Ah my dear acting friend, I knew you well…you couldn’t act your way out of wet paper bag. I hope after the next few days, you are very understanding and forgiving friend and just view my exit as a theatrical moment, so take the moment, use it for your acting career, maybe it’ll improve it, give it depth and not that shallow imitation of life.

Charles looks out the window and opens it and shouts out of it.

CHARLES (CONTINUED)
New York. I’m back. You defeated me once but not this time. This time I will have the last say. Fuck you New York! I didn’t fucking make it anywhere. No, I take that back, that’s not how I want you to remember me, angry, bitter, a tragic, alcoholic, impotent, egotistical, manic-depressive, astrologically unsound, and morally degenerate poet who like young tits college pussy wanting to fuck a dead poet. Yes, I am a hopeless romantic for youth. Yes, I live in the shadows because my pleasures takes me to dark and damp places and women always want to rescue me with their bodies, their purity, their young undeveloped mind, and their credit cards. What is the joy of fucking an alcoholic middle aged poet? My poems have more power than my crippled semen. Do they think I’m going to fuck them with poetry? My dick is not my instrument I write with, though at one time, it had a creative life of its own. My poems are dead inside of me. My semen has dried up. My dick is the size of a poisonous mushroom. Viagra and I are addicted to each other. And there will be no psychedelic trips off this tiny mushroom. Ah New York, consume me again, now its time to finish the meal. I may be a bitter moldy piece of meat but I still have a few vitamins and minerals left. Just cover me with that New York cynicism “I can make it anywhere attitude” and I’ll digest easier as I am condemned to be drunk in some bar in Hell.

Recites:
It’s best we remain strangers.
Names will make this a relationship
and this is not a relationship
just an exchange of bodily fluids
but I’m not sure what I will
get if the deal is not honored;
but hey, I didn’t get a great deal
with this life that I’m enshrouded in
and it’s not like I haven’t been hunting for you
just making time to have a pussy fix;
so be the kitty, I’ll be the dog.

I drink too much.

Now, I have sex in positions
that don’t bring me pleasure.
I have tasted people’s sex
when it had bad smells
when it was weeping poison
and even laughing at me;
And I have driven cars to fast,
changed lanes with out looking
as I am speeding to fast
so I don’t see people’s face
because faces to me
are just another toilet that I will use.

I drink too much.

I’m not trying to be a good poet
not even trying to make sense
because I don’t think I can make sense
and that is the problem, I have tried
to make sense out of madness
but the world is running
from itself because the world
is a mad woman
chased by dogs with reptilian tongues
posing as adventurous men
yet wanting to suck a breast like a nursing infant.

I drink too damn much.

Can’t even get a good fuck from a madwoman
even when you get them drunk, put a pillow
over their face, do what you can
before they start rampaging
about men; and then you negotiate the position;
but in the end, someone is the bottom
and god is never on top of you.
Even when the devil gets behind you,
you become his highway, his prostrating bitch
and so you look for the stranger
who will take the last poem out of your eyes
and not worry about the boarded up heart
because the poems have kept the heart beating.
The poems have stopped so you look
for the stranger, don’t name him, let others name him
They call him Death, you take off his face
when you find him, and you know, it’s you
coming for you.

I drink too much
because there are no more poems in my eyes.

He grabs his bottle, bags and goes into the bedroom.

Keys turn in the door. The door opens. Sylvia walks in and is talking on the cell phone.

SYLVIA
Look Franklin, the deal is I get the house. Next time you fuck a slut in someone’s bed, think about where you’re going to lay your head next. And I’m not talking about that use thing in your pants. All you will get from the house is the bed sheet you and your $2 whore slept on and the bed. You keep the dog, I never liked his attitude and the Picasso sketch is mine. No, I didn’t agree to that. You are such a money grabbing asshole. You have the backbone of a worm. Whatever…that was the only thing about you and you know what, it’s the only time I had a good laugh. Yeah, well try to sue me for defamation and see what comes up in court. I’m not talking to you anymore. What? My writing is not dull…no your pretentious directing style lacks creativity, you are lost, no style, you are a cheap imitation of other boring directors, and you are redundant in subject matter. Before we were married you couldn’t wait to get me in bed. And now you don’t remember where it is. Look I’m glad your new film didn’t go straight to DVD but I’m not your beard anymore. You can lie under your boyfriend all you want but not in my house. I don’t need to be medicated to talk to you, I just need you gone! (Hangs up) Water. I need water.

Sylvia goes to the kitchen.

Charles walks in wearing pajamas bottom, he is bare chest. He sees bag on couch, looks confused. He starts rummaging through bags. Sylvia enters.

SYLVIA
What the hell are you doing?

CHARLES
Who are you?

SYLVIA
Who are you?

CHARLES
How did you get in here?

SYLVIA
Get the hell outta here!

CHARLES
Are you one of my psycho fans?

SYLVIA
I’ll scream. I got mace.

CHARLES
Whoa, backup lady; you’re the intruder.

SYLVIA
Intruder? I don’t think so. Why are you undress? You’re a rapist.

CHARLES
I don’t fulfill fantasizes.

SYLVIA
Obviously.

CHARLES
Who are you?

SYLVIA
Get out before I scream.

CHARLES
My friend, Susan, who is touring in Cats for the umpteenth time, said I could stay here a few days.

SYLVIA
Susan! You know Susan.

CHARLES
Yeah, I know Susan. She is like a brother to me.

SYLVIA
She said I could stay here.

CHARLES
Really?

SYLVIA
Really!

CHARLES
Well, I was here first.

SYLVIA
Then you can leave first.

CHARLES
I’m not going anywhere.

SYLVIA
Spin the story however you want but she promised me first –end of story…so leave.

CHARLES
Whatever broom you rode in on, use it to leave.

SYLVIA
Why am I talking to you?

CHARLES
Good-bye would be a good exit word.

SYLVIA
I’m not leaving.

CHARLES
Well, I’ve already homesteaded the bed.

SYLVIA
I’m calling Susan.

CHARLES
Get some balls lady. I’m here. You’re leaving. Find a motel, hotel, Holiday Inn, I don’t care; but the bed is mine, I’m here first, you’re a late comer. So first come, first served.

SYLVIA
Typical pig comment.

CHARLES
I’m not a pig.

SYLVIA
You have an oinker mentality.

CHARLES
We are not kids in the school yard.

SYLIVA
I can’t have you here. You’re a man.

CHARLES
Yeah, I’ve sort notice that myself.

SYLVIA
Well, I’m a single woman. Almost single woman. You can’t be here.

Sylvia takes out her cell phone and starts dialing.

CHARLES
I’m not asking permission. Look, let’s settle this like adults. I was here first. You came here second. I’m first place. And you’re shit out of luck!

SYLVIA
Susan made a mistake. Damn her cell phone is disconnected.

CHARLES
Most times Susan is disconnected.

SYLVIA
Look, obviously Susan was in one of her out of body moments and forgot she had promised both of us.

CHARLES
First come.

SYLVIA
That’s so important to you being first.

CHARLES
Work the psyche babble on someone who gives a shit.

SYLVIA
You can’t talk to me like that.

CHARLES
Really?

SYLVIA
Really.

CHARLES
So you haven’t signed the divorce papers yet.

SYLVIA
How do you know?

CHARLES
You’re still wearing the wedding ring.

SYLVIA
It’s expensive and it looks good on me. Besides, it scares off predators.

CHARLES
It sounds like someone is in deep freeze and/or has intimacy issues.

SYLVIA
Fuck you.

CHARLES
You wish.

SYLVIA
I don’t think so. I’m not into bestiality.

CHARLES
Maybe a little hoof in your diet might give you the orgasm you desperately need.

SYLVIA
I don’t need fast food therapy from you. And put some clothes on its cold outside. Hate to see you catch a cold.

CHARLES
You may have nagged your husband out of your marriage bed but I cannot be moved.

SYLVIA
Or touched.

CHARLES
Look, I’m tired and I’m not in the mood for this war of the sexes.

SYLVIA
Well, we both can’t stay here.

CHARLES
We’re adults.

SYLVIA
But you’re a man.

CHARLES
Yeah, a fully functional straight man who you can’t even give a boner without Viagra.

SYLVIA
Pig!

CHARLES
Look, let’s takeoff our battle gear and have a truce. I’m going to be out of here in three days.

SYLVIA
No! So am I?

CHARLES
Then let’s just share the apartment.

SYLVIA
You’re a stranger.

CHARLES
My name is Charles. Now, I’m not a stranger.

He offers his hand to shake; she looks at him as if he needs a bath. She starts to offer her hand but pulls back.

SYLVIA
Sylvia. Sylvia P.

CHARLES
The poet.

SYLVIA
Yes. You know me.

CHARLES
I love your poetry.

SYLVIA
Really?

CHARLES
I’m poet also. I’m in town do to a reading.

SYLVIA
So am I?

CHARLES
I’m reading at Matt’s Café.

SYLVIA
So am I.

CHARLES
Wow. Small world.

SYLVIA
Oh my, your Charles David Anthony!

CHARLES
You make me sound dangerous.

SYLVIA
No woman’s bed is safe around you.

CHARLES
You read my publicity.

SYLVIA
You’re a tabloid favorite. Your face has prayed to more porcelain gods than I care to think about. You’re a womanizer. You think nothing of being a lustful pig who is always drunk. I’m surprised you’re coherent. You really don’t like yourself do you?

CHARLES
I need a drink; maybe if you take off that strap on; we could fuck later.

SYLIVA
Pig.

CHARLES
Guess you need a motel room.

SYLIVA
I’m not leaving.

CHARLES
I say play in the mud now. Why wait, you’ll eventually want to fuck me. You need the release and something to prove.

SYLVIA
Why are you talking?

CHARLES
Playing hard to get? Take my offer, you are used and the value is declining.

SYLVIA
Your last two books haven’t done well. Your poetry is pity me, pity me. Obviously you haven’t had sex in a long time or found a purpose in life. Why do you even bother to open your eyes if you hate your life so much?

CHARLES
Your mouth is worst than a bullet.

SYLVIA
People should say what they mean. I don’t sugar coat my words to make someone feel better.

CHARLES
No you wouldn’t. Except when you write, sometimes you are too pretty with your words. Lately, though, you’ve been getting an edge. Must have been that bad marriage.

SYLVIA
Your poems sound like someone who enjoys torturing themselves.

CHARLES
And your poetry sounds like a woman who wants to put her head in the oven.

SYLVIA
Someone is bitter.

CHARLES
What’s really wrong with my poetry?

SYLVIA
I’m not suicidal.

CHARLES
What’s really wrong with your poetry?

SYLVIA
I’m not suicidal.

CHARLES
A dead artist seems to hold public fascination.

SYLVIA
I guess we all reach our creative peak at some point.

CHARLES
We need a drink if we are going to have a pity party.

SYLVIA
I don’t like cheap wine.

CHARLES
This is mud time baby. Fuck being civilized. Pig time.

SYLVIA
I can’t stay here.

CHARLES
Good, I don’t like women who snore.

SYLVIA
I don’t snore.

CHARLES
Bet you haven’t had a real good fuck either.

SYVLIA
That’s none of your business.

CHARLES
No, it isn’t but you have that prune face look. I think the cave has cobwebs.

SYLVIA
Why am I talking to you?

CHARLES
Maybe you need some pork in your diet.

SYLVIA