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UNCUTContinued...
THE LADY A show? THE POWERFUL It's been too long. THE FOOL I've got the barn! And Gramma's got material to sew! THE POSITIVE We do it fast then leave! They'll never know. CENSOR 1 It's art and terrorism! CENSOR 2 Here we go. HE-SHE Continue in this vein, it does intrigue. A walking show we now already are. We've plenty of originals to sing, Some pleasure, too, and passion like a star (MUSIC UP) That leaves a trail of wisdom in its wake. It knows not where it's traveling or why, It simply travels for its simply sake. THE POSITIVE So guide us to an open village square, A central garden, marketplace, or park, Where with the morning sun we raise a curtain Shining early light upon the dark! (The Positive sings) LIFE ALONG THE FOOTLIGHTS NEVER SHOULD BE MORE THAN EXPECTED OF LIFE ALONG THE FOOTLIGHTS YOUTH AT ANY AGE THE POSITIVE and HE-SHE TO BE OR NOT TO BE... THE FOOL IS MORE THAN DEBATABLE ALL THREE LIFE ALONG THE FOOTLIGHTS LIFE ALONG THE (AS THE OLD SAYING GOES) WICKED STAGE
NEVER DO WE KNOW A MOMENT THAT IS DULL OR IMPOSSIBLE NEVER DO WE KNOW A MOMENT SOLITAIRE A MERRY, MOMENTARY, LITERALLY FAIRY-LIKE LIFE ALONG THE FOOTLIGHTS UNLIKE ANYWHERE... (They do a passable soft-shoe as CENSOR 1 speaks) CENSOR 1 A merry band of revelers, how enchanting. Just the thing to clear the dust away. Some food for thought, the Gypsy cart, the tarot, and the thyme. And me without a penny - only bank cards. CENSOR 2 Here's a dime. NOMADS SLICE OF HEAVEN! HOW WE EACH OF US ENJOY OUR LOT A LOT MORE THAN NORMAL FOLK WHO SIT AND SAY: MAYBE SOMEDAY!
WE'RE ACHING TO BE ACTING ACTING TO BELONG TO THE THEATRE RECOLLECTING SOMETHING SEEN ONCE IN A SCENE BELIEVING IN THE LOVE AND LAUGHTER OF LIVING THE LIFE ALONG THE FOOTLIGHTS INSANE AND SO SERENE!
THE BETTER Cut! CENSOR 1 The signs are ominous for these poor souls Who seem to think they travel Heaven's road. What think you?
CENSOR 2 Of my youth. Or, what's remembered. How time becomes more frivolous than friend. CENSOR 1 What think you of these fools! CENSOR 2 Oh, yes! The ground... I'm felling slightly giddy from their sound. What think I? Not at all. Or, nothing real. I think right now, I'm lucky but to feel. CENSOR 1 Be wary, friend, there's flush upon your cheek. CENSOR 2 They move me not. CENSOR 1 See to it. CENSOR 2 Here I stand. 'Tis but a mem'ry faded so I thought. A mem'ry here too suddenly at hand. CENSOR 1 We'll stop this nonsense. (Censor 1 places hand on cape's brooch) CENSOR 2 No! Is it not fair At least to let them know the danger there? CENSOR 1 A warning? CENSOR 2 We should give to people strange, Unknowing of our ways, perhaps they'd change. 'Tis not a thing forbidden. CENSOR 1 Nor been tried. CENSOR 2 Then now's our time of honor with The Law. To test it, therein, testing but ourselves We find our placement in it, how we fit, And how it sits with us, or if it does. CENSOR 1 It's nonsense. Why the worry and debate? We know their plan,'tis useless now to wait. We go, report,'tis simple when 'tis done. CENSOR 2 And wash our hands to dirty them again. CENSOR 1 And so, The Law seems dirty in your eye? There's information worthy of report. CENSOR 2 I simply advocate another side. CENSOR 1 The Devil's? CENSOR 2 Yes, perhaps, if needs be done. CENSOR 1 But why the need to warn? We know the end. CENSOR 2 My friend, you see the future? I know not. CENSOR 1 This goes against The Law! CENSOR 2 These nomads? CENSOR 1 No. Well, yes, of course, but, too our tampering here. These pirates to our purpose matter not, 'Tis just a while before we see them fall. We tread most gingerly on wicked ice, With recent cracks that creak beneath us all. A sailor's grave, most dark and out of sound Below us waits, and fingers at our feet. I have no deep desire to test the ground And have but watery lungs for my receipt. CENSOR 2 In this, our land of sad, untempered rage, We tip-toe, like the Indian at night We sense the quiet danger of the age, And carry with us only what is light. We creep as creatures new to no restraint, And hide before the haunted hunting call (Which cuts the cloaked darkness like a saint Gone mad from fearful thinking of his fall.) Fear's neither made of substance, nor of form, Nor neither, too, contained in naught but air, But someplace in-between: 'tis eye and storm. And so like Man; convinced that it is there. What tangled tangibilities could teach Were they unbraided, sorted, and laid out. What Truths before unseen would bless the eye? What knowledge claimed? What passion drained of doubt? If God's pure light and nature's denser glow Were ready made apparent, would we know? This many-layered mask which hides our woe Would drop away, revealing Man below. CENSOR 1 You speak it longingly. CENSOR 2 If somewhat long. CENSOR 1 Too harsh. Our stakes are higher than the most. The matter's not so measurable to Man When Man but thinks he's merely walking ghost. CENSOR 2 I sense we share a melancholic mood Toward our society. CENSOR 1 No. Not so blind. For sadness and responsibility Are brothers linked, forever intertwined. CENSOR 2 Who, but for us, is granted private counsel? CENSOR 1 Shall we go to share what fears foretell? In doing so, are we performing service To our God, these nomads, or to Hell? CENSOR 2 We go disguised, as travelers needing respite. Therein, to serve identity and place, We ferret out the facts before the morning: What fears foretell, the stars may well erase. (The Censors lower their hoods and "appear before the Nomads) CENSOR 1 Brave group! (The Nomads react swiftly with knives and other weapons) Well met! A moment of your while? Before you stand two worthiest of two Who, when in passing, pausing just to think A while gone now, should hap' upon a sou... A yen.., a coin.., a dime...my sudden friend, And heard your merry song upon the air, (Which lately stinks of platitudes and bile) And wondered for a moment of your while. THE WHORE So, hail you from the North? CENSOR 1 Why ask you? THE WHORE Plain. Your skin is of the thicker kind, and pale. CENSOR 1 And there you have it! North is where we're from. 'Tis hard, it seems, to keep a secret mine. THE POWERFUL No, not so hard as stupid. THE PARTURIENT Now, there's kindness. THE POWERFUL I speak as one once prone to self-made blindness. I know it when I see it. CENSOR 1 And what see you? THE POWERFUL The slightest hint of tanning 'round the eyes. THE WHORE 'Tis age. THE PARTURIENT And sorrow, too. THE FOOL And much regret. CENSOR 1 You speak not softly. THE FOOL So we won't forget. HE-SHE I'm He-she. CENSOR 1 Are you now? HE-SHE The both of me. We welcome you en toto for the while. THE STUDENT What people are you from? THE NEWEST Where hail you? THE POSITIVE Welcome ! 'Tis not a night to travel with but two. THE LADY Our camp is open. THE WHORE Welcome. THE BETTER Who among us Has thoughts to voice? THE ANGRY UNCUT! THE BETTER You always do. THE ANGRY I know you're from the North, but what's your business? As we're but Northerly in where we camp. Where head you? Why? And, furthermore, how cams't you So suddenly upon us from the dark? CENSOR 1 Just east of here you'll find another road But quarter mile away that even runs With this less-traveled road you sit upon. We heard some singing, laughter, and what have you, So thought we might attempt to sing along. CENSOR 2 We have no quarrel here, with you or others. But, neither do we owe our history. If truly welcomed, then, we stay as brothers. If not,'tis matter of but small degree. THE FOOL And so is mistrust cut and to the bone! You speak it well for most, if not for all. Our circle is but widened by your presence And by your presence too, may wisdom call. THE STUDENT An audience to try our stuff upon! THE BETTER You seem quite anxious now to start the play. THE STUDENT I've something special, never seen before, And think it cuts the issue to core. THE POSITIVE A play with music is our plan tonight, To usher in tomorrow's morning light. CENSOR 2 You're players? HE-SHE Of a fashion never seen. THE WHORE I want to do the naked speech! THE ANGRY Again? THE WHORE It works. And works quite well if I may say! THE BETTER A one-trick pony. THE WHORE Still...it serves the play. HE-SHE Do what you will. I've something new to show. A piece remarkable and apropos. THE BETTER You found a greater bargain than you thought In stopping here tonight. THE POWERFUL And now you're caught. CENSOR 1 Will you perform? THE FOOL Oh, twist our arms but once. THE WHORE Perform? We'll knock your socks off. CENSOR 2 Are there stunts? And poetry? And music? Skits in rhyme? It's been too long since I've seen pantomime. THE FOOL All this, and more, awaits your welcome eye! Perhaps you'll give suggestions as we go. Say, if, perchance, you smartly feel a yawn Begin to form, we'll know it's running slow. Or if, in one bright flash, you see some light Most blinding in its brilliance, tell us so. Yet, if a thing should move you not quite right, It might just be your shaky status quo. CENSOR 1 You seek to entertain, or proselytize? THE FOOL That view depends on he who has the eyes. For what appears to some most proper strange, For us may be some ladle stirring change. THE LADY Who first? THE BETTER Now, hold! I'm still not so convinced Performing is our one and only answer. This judgement, in my judgement, if it's made, Assumes a strong and dangerous approach. You've seen them all? The people of this place? SINGING SCOUT In awkward silence, wandering about. DANCING SCOUT They smile. THE BETTER 'Tis not enough to leave alone? But, in we come, commanding of them much. Too much, perhaps, to make the matter matter. This battle's not our battle. THE ANGRY Coward's chatter! THE BETTER Cut? THE ANGRY And Cut most rightly to the quick. THE BETTER UNCUT! THE ANGRY To cut my cutting? This allow: That Truth is more important in the telling Than what the worst may bring to any now. THE WHORE The worst? THE STUDENT The worst is death. THE OTHER ONE The death, or dying? THE ANGRY The dying or the death,'tis all the same When Hell or cowards try to Heaven tame. THE BETTER You speak of Heaven as if Heaven-sent. I wish I had the wisdom you possess. Almost as if you knew what Heaven meant. But Heaven cares for braggarts even less. THE ANGRY I speak of Heaven here for stakes are high. What one of us can hide from Heaven's eye? THE PARTURIENT In how we live we're judged. THE BETTER But just reward Is not a guarantee you'll see your Lord. THE POWERFUL All wax too philosophic for debate. NOMADS We'll wait. THE FOOL The play is not the thing required of us. There is no weapon to a head or heart. And, neither, must each one of us partake, Nor, either, thought a fool for taking part. 'Tis but a play. A frolic. Something done. Which, when undone, is done, results to see. Whoever chooses to shall play his piece. Whoever chooses not may do so free. We each are on a separate road in one, Our unity is that which keeps us strong. As many spots on microcosmic suns, We all are held together and belong. And, thus, the universe is filled with light By many different sources, each as bright. What matter if we take or if we bring? 'Tis but a play. The playing is the thing.
CENSOR 2 If I may speak? NOMADS UNCUT! CENSOR 2 I must admit To serving but myself and selfishly. I ache to see expression of the arts, If what you are is what you claim to be. The heart, which heavy sank a while gone now, Became a different organ in mine eye. So fresh, the young, fresh face of early heart, To turn and turn as years and years go by. In growing up, our dear soul's bitter view Confuses what the innocent heart knew, Who, shortly, in confusion then, forgot Belief in love, or life, or God, or not. Regardless. To the point, for I digress, Some merriment! Please, sing. For then you bless.
(INSERT SONG - AS YET UNWRITTEN) CENSOR 1 How cams't you all together now to roam? THE NEWEST 'Tis simple: simple folk who look for home. THE POWERFUL My home I've found. It matters not to me Should we continue walking all our lives. THE LADY But, when your bones find protest in the path You'd just as soon have comfort of the bath. THE POWERFUL 'Tis true, I am still young, but, age be damned, I'1l wander till I can no longer stand. THE POSITIVE But, truth, if needs be known, I would prefer To have but solid ground beneath my feet. A ground which stays the same both night and day And waken to some old, familiar street. THE WHORE Not I. Save not for me the welcome grave Of soft, malignant comfort. Such is death. I've seen results of those who acquiesce: Too soft too soon, their bodies and their breath. For what the body sits upon will show What little or how much the mind may know. Too soft the derriere; too soft the life. The fattier the flesh of judges, say, or lord Cannot compare to harder, firmer stuff. The brain is but a muscle, after all. THE BETTER I often do my thinking in the buff. CENSOR 1 What nature are you of? THE WHORE Of nature true: More natural in my living than the most Who judge me by my actions as they do. Refer to me as Lady Evening's host. THE PARTURIENT She pretties up her language for our guests. CENSOR 1 And prettily received to hear some more. THE LADY I've never known her tongue so nicely dressed. THE WHORE Behold it now, then, naked: I'm a whore. CENSOR 1 I've always said:'tis such a better blend When work will suit the worker in the end. THE WHORE The end it is, if end is where you're feeling. For what care I which view you most prefer? For up, or upside-down, or down and kneeling, It matters not to me which pot I stir. For it's the eating in the end will matter. Not how it's been prepared, nor how 'twas won. I hold, the more the fingers in the batter, The more 'twill please the tasting when 'tis done. THE STUDENT I wonder why I have a sudden hunger? THE NEWEST Perhaps because you've never tasted food. CENSOR 1 And you, my man, what story now to tell? THE STUDENT 'Tis nothing. CENSOR 1 What of nothing, then? THE STUDENT No tale. CENSOR 1 What were you, then? Before the Change. THE STUDENT Much younger. CENSOR 1 Yes, that is clear as day, as were we all. But, such a Change must, by its being, shatter What we were once before. THE STUDENT Then what's it matter? CENSOR 2 And so, his tongue stays silent. Leave him be. (Else if we press too hard might cause some pain.) Your eyes, my little one, are hard to see From such a distance. Might I move more close? THE STUDENT 'Tis world that's close to free. CENSOR 2 Yes, so it is, And in its' turning learn we day by day That freedom is elusive and too coy For children, then, to grasp it in their hand And hold it in their heart as would a toy. THE STUDENT Is freedom, then, a thing to come with age? CENSOR 2 As to that matter we've no guarantee. But, if wanting of the freedom causes rage, Then anger causes man to not be free. THE LADY If freedom is the subject, I've a voice. THE STUDENT Uncut. THE LADY This earthbound freedom leaves no choice. As long as there is something we must share, True freedom will not be found anywhere. THE BEAST That's bullshit, man! Forgive me if I curse. THE LADY As Heaven would. THE OTHER ONE If Heaven only could. THE POSITIVE I want to thank The Beast for speaking out And sharing with the group his worthy word. THE POWERFUL He hides behind opinion! So devout In keeping to himself what should be heard. For simply blurting out what will offend Will hardly serve our purpose in the end. THE BEAST Do not assume my purpose is of yours. We all have separate missions in our lives And so our lives are served. What one adores Is bullshit in another's sightful eye. DANCING SCOUT He speaks! He puts together words in form! Now, there is something quite outside the norm. THE POSITIVE Well, in or out, I'm happy but to hear. THE STUDENT Then speak of freedom, Beast. HE-SHE You have my ear. THE BEAST My freedom is installed inside my breast, Which beats it's steady rhythm like a drum. Percussive: as a march of great unrest Finds unity in Pandemonium. This marching, steady rhythm in my veins Is far more powerful than eye can see. It's power tapped is twenty hurricanes! Which, when unleashed, is, by its power, free. To look outside for freedom is mistake. For outside forces cannot enter in. But here, within, my soul will not forsake The freedom gained by being more than skin. THE BETTER Your freedom is not easy, then, to share, So tightly held within your veins to stay. Where one will march, another will not dare To follow drum; lest marching lead astray. THE ANGRY As long as marching moves 'twill serve the cause. THE STUDENT But one man's cause is not the same for all. CENSOR 2 Still, one may march for many, may one not? THE POWERFUL This talk of marching darkens freedoms' call. I know too well the sounds of marching man, Whose eyes but disappear in blinded socket. 'Tis line too fine divides barbarian From person with a purpose in his pocket. Amazing what this blinded man can see: Some ghostly, filtered image of his dawn That pushes forth this passive refugee To what the king requires of the pawn. And woe to any who get in the way Should night decide to take command of day. CENSOR 1 Is morning, then, at war with later night? THE POWERFUL Should morning start to disappear, she'd fight. THE LADY My country was at war before the Change. A war within our borders, hard and long. My husband was the King, my son; the heir, Yet I was more of peasant stock, and strong. When soldiers came and marched upon our door, My mother took my baby from the room. And then came the explosions. Like before. Soon followed by the smell of dead perfume. When I awoke the earth had been turned 'round. My home was gone, my mother, and my son. At first I thought it all had been the war, And that the other side had finally won. But then, as time went by, I found the truth: That this was nature's war we all had lost. And with it, lost our place, and lost our youth, And still the count continues of the cost. And though I think it less as years go by, My heart is filled with mem'ries of caress. In hope of catching son's or mother's eye, I'1l always wear my royal crimson dress. THE BETTER It's lovely.
THE LADY Maybe, yes. But years will fade What little color's left it, I'm afraid.
(MUSIC UP FOR TRIO - The Positive, The Parturient, He-she. Ballad for The Lady)
THE FOOL I am a fool. THE WHORE We know. THE FOOL But know you why? THE WHORE I have my guesses. THE FOOL Better guess again. In guessing we are but allowed to try To test our guesses, hoping right will reign. And hoping, though 'tis fine in small affairs, Will only lead down difficulty's road. I much prefer to exercise my wares In hoping not to hope for Hope bestowed. CENSOR 2 Why hopeful not, my fool? THE FOOL I'm hopeful true. CENSOR 2 But, here, you said... THE FOOL You listen butt to word. And word on top of word will sentence make, And trap you in that sentence thought captured. You lose what Hope you find, for Heaven's sake! CENSOR 2 You turn my head around. THE FOOL And do it well! So, hiding there, my secrets not to tell. CENSOR 2 Have you a past? THE FOOL That brings us back to Hope: I hope I have a past or I'm a ghost. CENSOR 2 So, what of future, then? THE FOOL Of future-then? A past-tense future brings us back to place! CENSOR 2 What place? THE FOOL This hopeful future-then. To pass; Becoming only something thought in space. Like Hope, or Faith, or thought of something dreamed. 'Tis in the dreaming makes the Hope redeemed. CENSOR 2 I hope I dream a quiet night ahead. THE FOOL Then head into you head and hope for bed. CENSOR 2 'Tis like a finger puzzle when you speak. THE FOOL Unspoken riddles make the riddler weak. CENSOR 2 I've entered in and now would rather out. THE FOOL There's little hope remaining if you doubt. CENSOR 2 We're back again to Hope? THE FOOL As Hope remains To riddle Doubt with doubt of hopeful gains. CENSOR 2 A roller-coaster ride I've landed on! THE FOOL Which once begun must be but ridden out. 'Tis round and up and down and all in fun. CENSOR 2 This ride would make me queasy, I've no doubt. THE FOOL No Doubt allowed! The subject here was Hope. CENSOR 2 I'm hoping for the subject to return. THE FOOL We're wrapped around the subject like a rope! To speak of doubt, you'd have to take a turn. (The Fool spins Censor 2 in front of He-She) CENSOR 2 Are you the doubting Thomas, then? HE-SHE Much more. There's not a single name will fit He-she. I heard someone say "double eye" before, And thought it most appropriate to me. I'm half and half, you see, yet twice as whole As any of a single gender are. 'Twas surgery that started what you see And nature finishes anatomy. I dance the female dance of lighter hue To rhythms far more masculine and bass. This balance brings a balanced point of view To tilted heads who look to tilted place. 'Tis such a thing as serving perfect balance. From agony, and tears, and words, and pain, And out of dismemberment of the flesh My world was made. I am the perfect carrot! My orange at the base does pull from earth Thus, sending nature's basic nature upward. The roots are deep.'Tis not of airy stuff This black of earth that feeds us through our root. It almost makes your cheeks a bit too rosy. And then, the top of me is reigned upon, When sudden burst of sun comes after rain. And then,'tis I who nourishes the earth. The balance of the carrot to maintain. 'Tis not an easy walking on the trail. Of trying to retain a balanced scale. I'm married to myself; both hat and veil. What's feminine about me is my male. CENSOR 2 And so, your Doubt is centered in between The balance and the balancing you keep? HE-SHE The doubt I feel is personal and clean. 'Tis others doubt that causes me to weep. For from their lack of balance comes the weight One-sided judgement carries very deep. So each of us must recognize the fear Our deepest doubt commands when it is near. Too, recognize and hold Hope's origin Identical to Doubt's: held deep within. CENSOR 2 There's not a night so scarce I can remember When such good conversation last was tasted. 'Tis chewy to the tooth and over-welcome. THE POWERFUL I tend to doubt the hope 'tis not been wasted. THE BETTER Yes. What of you? All separate stories shared Seem somewhat off in balance to the odds Of who has spoken when, and why, compared To little we have heard from either you. Since two of you there seem to be before, I'm sure your stories tell a tale or two. THE POSITIVE Yes, what of secrets kept inside your heads? The North, they say, is bitter in its air. Where once was cold but half the year, instead, There now is winter all the time up there. So, is it true? CENSOR 1 It is. THE POWERFUL And there you're caught! CENSOR 1 What mean you? THE POWERFUL Only this: that North of here Is not so near as cold as you confirm. CENSOR 1 This group is served by s/he who doubts the strange, For we are in a time of major doubt. But, know thee this: that since the day of Change There's nothing new will not be talked about. The stories vary, as does everything. First this is true, then that, then this again. It seems that when one story is begun It's ending changes briskly, suiting ten. We're from the North and, yes,'tis bitter chill. The further North the further tests the will. The stories change, my friend, as stories do. 'Tis hard these days to figure what is true. For human nature's kind is kind of base, Much lower in vibration than could be Would human kind discover but a trace Of true potential in the form we see. THE BETTER I smell philosophy. CENSOR 1 It does abound. But that's what makes us separate from the earth. The little hope in nature's chaos found Is, truly, what decides our human worth. THE OTHER ONE Let's not forget the action of this play! Move one, lest lack of movement makes us sway. HE-SHE Yes, what of you and you? CENSOR 1 And now we tell: In truth, I'm from the South where now we head. But upwards to the North I had just flown To visit with a friend who now is dead. The Changing of the earth made her her own. It's odd in retrospect how fact is found As I reflect on friends now underground, For many friends I knew had heard the sound Of coming change, and where the earth was bound. But, how the ear can close when it should hear. As if the wax had doubled in its size. 'Tis either out of comfort or of fear That we must all deny what we should prize. Suffice to say, I, too, am headed home, And how my heart is split in destiny. For, with each step I take I ache to roam And not face facts of former family. Have you some news of what became of South? I welcome any news from any mouth. THE LADY So, too, you seek your family, like me. CENSOR 1 I seek them, yes, but with a sad regret. For last I saw them we were not as one, Except in how we, each of us, last met: Our faces twisted, angry, and undone. A picture of my father now I carry Within an empty pocket of my heart, Which features him distorted and contrary And hurt as I was heading to depart. Had I but missed connection, been delayed, Or changed my mind about self-serving cause. I know in looking back, I should have stayed For family is what is and always was. THE STUDENT What family doesn't argue? CENSOR 1 This I've thought. But, what of final word or love's goodbye? I picture now, my father's mem'ry caught Between the recollection and the lie. DANCING SCOUT Yes, that explains the sadness in you eyes Which look most longingly for something gone. Almost as if the yearning made you wise, Or offered up the outcome wished upon. CENSOR 1 I hold the floor too long. DANCING SCOUT This can't he done. The telling of the tale has made us one. THE POSITIVE I'm grateful for the Change for it changed me. I had a house, a garden, the whole scene. A lovely little place, if not a home. And once a week the help came in to clean. My husband wrote commercials for TV, And made a decent, white-bread collar wage. But somewhere down the aisle the colors bled, And bleached pseudo utopia to rage. The last I saw my husband was the best For he was at his worst, and on his way To driving me to drink, or into EST, Or to some other fashionable cliche. But then, our mother earth removed the plague That held me to the kitchen and the bed, By cracking herself open like an egg And swallowing my reason and my dread. I kiss the earth in kind for what she's done For never had I known what power was Till power came and with it brought the sun That shines upon me still and always does. And how I lasted for so long before, before I knew the power held within, Confounds me still. But, hindsight's eye is strong, And hindsight tells of power's origin. I'm grateful for those days of petty wife, Subservient to nothing less than man. But glorified giving now is life. Complete in taking care of what I can. CENSOR 2 You've found some freedom, then, in giving true To others; therefore giving life to you. THE POSITIVE Yes, it is in the giving one receives The love in loving; love's what love retrieves. THE ANGRY A little thought that carries little weight; Such cozy universes tarry not When threatened with the harder, harsher state Of man in bloody conflict's bloody thought. THE BETTER Why is it you insist on spotting joy? You know of nothing when it comes to love. THE ANGRY Oh, as opposed to you, who daily changes With the wind; like wind-socks chasing air. I hold opinion strong, and stand here firm. THE BETTER The middle of the road is not so wide As what one would imagine it to seem. It takes a certain talent there to ride Avoiding either side of the extreme. Perspective comes, for me, by standing still, Unwavered by insistent push and pull Of life and living's testing of the will. I stand firm in the middle. THE ANGRY God, how dull. THE BETTER For you,perhaps, but, then, that's only you. And though, for sake of argument, I grant We're all allowed opinion to report, When my opinion stands here next to yours Your views turn somewhat dwarfish: falling short. THE ANGRY Yet, I would sooner seem in other's eyes A dwarf, than towering in my compromise. THE BETTER To weigh our options varied makes good sense. Instead of flying off some handle blindly. I'd rather aim the gun and find the target, Before I pull the trigger but half-cocked. To fire in the face of quiet logic I guarantee of shooting off your leg. For logical conclusion to will out, One shoots at prey... (The Better pulls out a gun and points it at The Angry) ...and not at powder keg. CENSOR 1 We are of double mind, or, so would seem. I too have little liking for extreme. (CENSOR 1 puts hand on gun and The Better slowly lowers it) THE BETTER It serves no purpose far as I can tell. CENSOR 2 What story, then, from you to test our ears? THE BETTER A tax-collector was my former life. Position taken gladly at the time. I, too, was deeply rooted; child and wife, Until the Change did undercut my prime. CENSOR 2 And what of them? THE BETTER 'Tis subject far too close To speak about with two so recent met They are no longer breathing, out or in, And there we leave it, hoping to forget. CENSOR 2 I didn't man to pry. CENSOR 1 We only hope To pass the evening quickly through some talk. THE BETTER And pass it then, I do, to worthy foe. What secrets for our guests will you bestow? THE ANGRY Tonight I'd like to speak of expectation, And how it does appoint itself supreme: Controlling how we step and make our judgements By what turns out to be deferred dream. I hold,'tis best to let the fates control The uncontrollable in living life. And so, I live by instinct and by soul, By hidden voice, by vision, and by knife. You're walking in the woods, let's say, at night, And so convinced of something evil there, You lighten up your step and whisper not For fear of the expected wolf, or bear. And, as this expectation leads your way, And ears are poised for grounded branch's snap, You close your eyes against the dark to pray And step, most firmly, into someone's trap. The less you do expect the more you gain. For future things are not for us to learn. A candle doesn't dwell upon the flame, The flame does not expect itself to burn, They both, in tandem, offer man their light. And so is mankind lifted from the dark. The future is invisible to see, Yet man insists on focusing his eye On what he hopes, or wants, or needs to be. He curses Heaven then when Heaven's die. My future is unplanned and so will stay. THE OTHER ONE Until you disagree with Heaven's way. CENSOR 2 What form is this that barely speaks at all? THE DANCING SCOUT The Other One. CENSOR 2 Another one of many. How cams't it here? THE DANCING SCOUT 'Tis not an it, my friend. It has a gender. Once s/he had a name. A name of some renown the truth to know. A doctor then, a healer still, I hold, Who, out of mere misfortune caught the worst Of what the Change did offer in her wrath. 'Tis not an it, my friend. It's here s/he lives. And through her dying often sheds great light. S/He's closer now to Heaven than you know And shares God's final wisdom with her voice. CENSOR 1 And so, s/he separate sits to not infect? THE DANCING SCOUT She's welcome here with any. It's her choice THE WHORE The proof of her infection is not proved. THE STUDENT 'Tis merely speculation that it spreads. But for our sake, she always trails behind And follows but the slightest to the side. THE DANCING SCOUT 'Tis not and it, my friend. CENSOR 2 Yes, so you've said. My sorrow sits most heavily on you. THE OTHER ONE 'Tis not a load appreciated well. The need does not the energy require. I've made my peace with Heaven, God, and Hell. CENSOR 2 And so it is. In peace may you find comfort. THE OTHER ONE And you as well, should peace be what you need. THE NEWEST In being now, the newest of the group I must admit, at first, to feeling queer And awkward with her presence being near. But, judging from what little I have heard I miss already what I once did fear. She speaks a cadence never known before With wisdom of a place beyond us all. How sad to think on other Other Ones Now gone, who never were allowed to call: To speak the special vision of the brief, And benefit our temporary state. THE DANCING SCOUT There were some Other Ones outside my town Who tried one day to venture through the gate. The people of my home were normal folk Whose faces turned with ignorance and hate Into some kind of twisted masquerade Which danced its own most hateful rhythm home, Infecting dance and dancer's promenade. In perfect sync is hatred's metronome. I left soon after, hoping other plains Would dance a different dance to different strains. (Censor 1 sits within the circle for the first time.) CENSOR 1 And have you found it different? THE DANCING SCOUT No, not much. For mankind everywhere must have his crutch. And ignorance forever takes the lead Whenever Man decides to intercede. CENSOR 2 Is Man the problem, then, or spirit fault? THE PARTURIENT In matters flesh and spirit, I've a thought. CENSOR 1 And so, think on, my lucky, happy bride, And share with us the thoughts of pregnant Pride. THE PARTURIENT The Pride you speak already entered in. 'Tis not a thing was made of Pride I own. This life within my living came from sin, A sin in secret, too, and never shown. A father of the church my baby has, A rancid, holy host and fool of God Who, in his dispensation, and his place Did place me down beneath him, face to face. I still smell breath of Hell through Heaven's mouth, Who's fleshy, burning tongue command its prey. His cross began to beat upon the door Till sanctuary opened there to close And hide him, deep inside the altar warm To drop his sin, where now his sin still grows. So, spirit matters are of matter formed When flesh and spirit issue sinners born. THE STUDENT I've never heard this tale, nor now I can. If Heaven curses purity, what then? This earth is soiled by petty, precious Man Whose poison spittle murders pious men. Parturient, I now do hear your name, Which baffled me before, I must confess. My sweetest, nearest mother, do not judge The all of us by what the worst did bless. When Man's abomination is made clear, My pity, look to me, for I am near. (He kisses her) THE SINGING SCOUT I thought a show was in our plans tonight. THE FOOL A show within a show is what you see. THE SINGING SCOUT No program notes? No clue to what was said? THE FOOL The notes are chipper-quavers in my head. THE POWERFUL But hold, one story more before the play. A captive audience is hard to find. I shall not move until I've heard you pray To deity or devil left behind. CENSOR 2 The devil and the deity are lost To prison locked too tightly in my mind. For pictures from forgotten holocaust Will not reveal my truest nature kind. A prison made with self-imposed wall Will keep the prisoner kept, therein contained. 'Tis not a substance thicker, nor as tall As built by prisoner, by spirit chained. I know of prisons, know them sturdy built. For many years I viewed the world through stone. How complicated are the shadow forms Of life outside of life within; alone. The distance offers comfort of a sort, A voyeuristic, looking kind of ease, Which, though allowing sight, will but distort That which is looked upon. It does not please. For judgement made with lack of even fact Is somewhat arbitrary in its field, So, what we view through foggy cataract Must not be then assumed as truth revealed. And yet, if partial sight is all we own What else can draw conclusion for the eye? We only know of what the world has shown, And must assume the colors of the sky. We all possess a different set of sight, And look to see the separate thing the same. But, look again, some eyes will see some light Where others do insist on darkness, plain. A painting is but canvas soothed by paint, Which artist aches himself there to express, And, hoping for observers to acquaint, Familiarize, behold, and acquiesce. But, hidden art will only ego stay And confiscate to eat the art away. The water and the bread cannot delay The artist or the prisoner's decay. THE OTHER ONE You speak as if familiar with the art. CENSOR 2 I thought it so, but nothing is that clear. Where mem'ry serves another when 'tis called, My past continues to but disappear. Occasionally a glimpse, but nothing more. The facts forever hidden and not shown. It pains the mind in always looking for What still remains elusively unknown. THE SINGING SCOUT I thought a show was in our plans tonight. (IT IS AT THIS POINT THAT THE SHOW CHANGES ABRUPTLY. THE
NOMADS BECOME THE ENSEMBLE OF WHATEVER ACTORS HAVE BEEN CAST IN THE PARTICULAR PRODUCTION.
IT IS NECESSARY TO NOTE THAT ANY WORDS SPOKEN, TUNES SUNG, VOICES HEARD ARE THOSE
OF THE INDIVIDUAL CAST MEMBER HIM/HERSELF. ANYTHING MUST BE ALLOWED. CAST MEMBERS MAY
CHOOSE TO SAY NOTHING. THE ONLY REQUIREMENT IS THAT "THE OTHER ONE" PERFORMS
"REVELATION" WHICH ENDS THE SHOW WITHIN THE SHOW. THE ONLY THING THAT MAY BE
EFFECTED (CENSORED) IS THE RUNNING TIME AND THE ORDER. THE CHOICES OF THE ACTORS MAY
CHANGE FROM NIGHT TO NIGHT.
THE OTHER ONE WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU LOOKED IN A MIRROR? WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU LOOKED IN YOUR EYES? UNDERSTANDING TIME IS NEARER IT SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE THAT THESE ARE THE DAYS OF REVELATION THESE ARE THE DAYS OF OLD IS NEW LOOK AT THE WAY WE'RE HEADED CARDS ON THE TABLE SPREAD REVELATION TIME IS DUE...
THERE IS A SILENT WONDER WHISPERING ARE YOU IN ON SOMETHING TOO? TIME IS SHORT, AND THIS IS HISTORY WHAT'S A DEITY TO DO? LISTEN CLOSE TO EVERY WHISPER WHAT THEY'RE TELLING YOU JUST MAY BE TRUE NATION AGAINST EACH NATION NOTHING IS STATIONARY REVELATION DUE...
(The rhythm changes to a march. The Nomads suddenly stand and sing)
NOMADS HERE WE GO, ONCE AGAIN, HERE WE GO CAN'T YOU SEE MY FRIEND, JUST A MEANS TO AN END HERE WE GO
(The Nomads turn and face out. Their faces have now turned flat and manic. As they sing, they slowly step forward. The Censors slowly back up as The Nomads continue to stare blindly ahead.)
SO WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU LOOKED IN A MIRROR? WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU LOOKED FOR THE SIGNS? DON'T YOU WISH THEY'D MADE IT CLEARER? SO HARD TO READ BETWEEN THE LINES BUT, THESE ARE THE DAYS OF ANGELS WALKING (MARCHING) HERE THEM TALKING, HEAR THEM, WHAT THEY SAY? TALKING IN RHYME AND REASON MARKING THE CHANGE OF SEASON SAYING FIND ANOTHER WAY...
(The Nomads turn toward village and advance. They appear to be out of control but in unison. Fanatically, they continue.)
TALKING IN RHYME AND REASON MARKING THE CHANGE OF SEASON REVELATION HERE TODAY... TODAY... TODAY... TODAY... TODAY... TO... (CENSOR 2 slams the brooch on the cape. By a quaint theatrical device, thunder is heard, smoke appears, a laser beams down onto the stage, killing each member of the tribe. The dust settles.)
CENSOR 2 How art and suicide are closely linked In serving but the one and only one. Complete in selfishness to the extreme. 'Twas not a thought of sharing in their heads. No more than God would share what God would dream Were God a thing which, truly now, I doubt.
(CENSOR 2 drops to his/her knees. Pause.)
No answer. Now. No answer when I call. An emptiness responds with naught to say. What answered there before? I can't recall. In not recalling now, it does betray. (To CENSOR 1) Our actions are our purpose. Nothing more? The answer's far too high for me to reach. But reaching, still, I try, though can't ignore My firmly planted feet and hollow speech. This God...this empty attic filled with dust Which filters down like poisoned acid-rain devours us. But to it we adjust. Fearing to lose what little we attain.
(CENSOR 2 looks around at The Nomads)
I loved them all, these motley-headed fools Who vastly underestimated me. Since God will play by separate sets of rules: Existence is our only guarantee. CENSOR 1 Avoiding now your God you wait to see What answers lie but in eternity? (Indicates bodies) What answers here? What recourse? What to do? This emptiness where once was something there Shall not go unforgotten though 'tis through. If purpose served is Heaven gained, beware. For purpose is of individual stuff. Each one, each Heaven one, must then be served By individual hand that's strong enough To strike for Heaven. Heaven to preserve. Our Heaven's all observe from up above. Great distances provide a truer eye Than what our meek involvement's worthy of. The earth is smaller once you've seen the sky. But now, these souls whose bodies rest on ground Are freer than they've ever been before To travel on in circles more profound, With lighter music now to underscore. (CENSOR 1 helps CENSOR 2 up) Be not so heavy here. I shall embrace... (CENSOR 1 embraces CENSOR 2) ...And send you out of Hell to find your place. (CENSOR 1 stabs CENSOR 2 as The Other One sits up, having been outside the circle. CENSOR 1 and The Other One look to each other. CENSOR 1 takes off cape and drapes it over CENSOR 2. CENSOR 1 finds the altar and removes one of the props. The Other One meets CENSOR 1 Center and picks up flashlight. They exit. First CENSOR 1, then The Other One, trailing the slightest bit behind and to the side.)
CURTAIN |