CrackWeasel 2.0 (unfinished play from 2002)

[eneuent]

Chanel No. 5
crackweasel

Superfly
two point oh

Biotch
copyright two thousand and two by inhaesio zha…all rights reserved

Kung Fu
this is my play…I wrote it…if you try to steal it I’ll come to your house and kill you…I’ll kill you..understand!?

Biotch
fucking bitches

Kung Fu
fucking copyright bitches

Biotch
fucking copyright motherfuckers

Kung Fu
motherfucking copyright bitches

Superfly
two point oh

Chanel No. 5
crackweasel–

Superfly
no you idiot..we’re done with that part!

Chanel No. 5
then why did you say it?

Superfly
that was bitches two point oh..not crackweasel two point oh…see?…copyright bitches…copyright motherfuckers…two point oh

Chanel No. 5
why is it two point oh anyway?

Superfly
because that’s what version we’re up to

Chanel No. 5
oh

Superfly
crackweasel version two point oh…the most sophisticated spy pen in all of recorded history

Chanel No. 5
what’s a spy pen?

Kung Fu
crackweasel aint no fucking spy pen..dweeb–

Biotch
hold up…wait a minute…you fellas are always getting confused about what version it is…that’s the essence of your whole argument here…see…you’re talking about crackweasel version two point oh..the spy pen…and you’re talking about crackweasel version five point seven..the chain sword

Chanel No. 5
what’s a chain sword?

Kung Fu
the chain sword is a relic handed down through countless generations of my ancestors…the chain sword is the ultimate harbinger of peace and justice in the ancient struggle between the original practicioners of my most divine religion and transcendental art

Chanel No. 5
and what is that?

Kung Fu
kung fu martial arts fighting skillz

Arapahoe and Stratahoochie (The Chemical Bitches)
weasel two point..weasel two point..weasel..weasel..two..two… weasel..weasel..weasel two point…weasel two point oh…def mo be flippin it in the sun

Arapahoe
strippin it

Stratahoochie
trippin the sun…def mo be grippin the weapon..kids…you got that..motherfucker?…grippin it in the fist…rippin the back up…neck high..you know what I’m sayin…takin that shit to your muthafuckin head..ya’ll jive…fat straight–

Arapahoe
come down..momma…fat straight..them kids be jivin full force with the weight of it all..be sure…chill..momma…kids be jivin full force…grippin..to..in their own way

Stratahoochie
fat force..read?–

Arapahoe
kids read..momma..no worries…kids stay out of momma’s way

Kung Fu
I will call you

Biotch
what are you gonna call me?

Kung Fu
on the telephone…I will ask you on a date–

Biotch
I know what you meant..bonehead

Kung Fu
sorry

Biotch
so you wanna ask me out on a date..huh?

Kung Fu
yes

Biotch
well how you gonna do that when you don’t even have my number?

Kung Fu
I–

Biotch
twotwothreefoursixthreeone

Kung Fu
two..two–

Biotch
twotwothreefoursixthreeone…you can remember it because it spells out a word on the telephone…b..a..d..g..o..d..one…badgod..one…got it?

Kung Fu
got it…I will call you

Biotch
okay…hold up hold up!…give me a kiss!…that’s more like it…see ya later..beautiful…such a fucking stud

Superfly
you’re so predictable..it’s pathetic

Biotch
well who’s pathetic..little guy…maybe you should get laid once in a while

Superfly
I have too much work to do…I’ve been developing the latest version of a spy–

Biotch
spy pen..yeah..i know…you already told us

Superfly
anyway there’s no time to get laid…I’ve a specific schedule I have to keep to if I’m going to finish version two point one in time.

Biotch
in time for what?

Superfly
I can’t tell you…it’s top secret

Biotch
some kind of war or something?

Superfly
classified…anyway what do you care?

Biotch
aint gotta be so touchy..little guy–

Superfly
and stop calling me little guy–

Biotch
well what then..double oh seven?

Superfly
my name…is Superfly

[There is a startling and elaborate light, sound, set transformation, during which Superfly orchestrates the rapid deconstruction of the entire environment of the theatre, everything comes unhinged, and then, just as quickly, all goes back together again, with Superfly and Biotch in exactly the same positions. Beat.]

Biotch
mutual..I’m sure

Arapahoe
mutual…mutual satisfaction

Stratahoochie
mutual first federal

Arapahoe
mutual first federal satisfaction

Stratahoochie
mutual first federal satisfaction motherfucker

Arapahoe
motherfucker?

Stratahoochie
motherfucker motherfucker

Arapahoe
oh I see how it is

Stratahoochie
you don’t see nothin

Superfly
I see a great deal more than you think

Biotch
yeah..like what?

Superfly
I see the pain behind your eyes

Biotch
well I see more than you think..too..little guy

Superfly
like what?

Biotch
like the way you look at her

Stratahoochie
Chanel Number Five…the fairest in all the land…if this was a fairytale we’d be callin her Snow White or Cinderella or–

Arapahoe
actually we’d probly call her Arial

Stratahoochie
fuck Arial shut the fuck up I hate fuckin Arial…anyway we’d probably call her Pocohontas nowadays or…what was that chick from the Lion King?

Arapahoe
there weren’t any chicks in the Lion King

Stratahoochie
anyway..we’re not callin her any of that because we’re callin her Chanel Number Five because her name’s Chanel Number Five because this aint the fuckin Disney channel..okay..this is America..and her name…is Chanel Number Five

[Chanel No. 5 dances, a sexy dance, letting her hair flow with her movement under blue light. She is in slow motion. She sings, abstractly, slowly, in low, chilling tones.]

Chanel No. 5
oooooo…ooohhh…aaaaaa

[exeuent] [~2000 lines]

CrackWeasel 2.0 (unfinished play from 2002)

My Arrangement of Carbon and Bullshit (incomplete)

Carbon and Bullshit: shot list x

[c: male character]

[b: female character]

c: in one second a bullet from a gun travels three thousand feet.
b: in one second a particle of light travels one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles.
c: according to the Big Bang Theory our universe expanded from something smaller than a piece of dust to approximately its present size in a tiny fraction of a second.
b: that first second is always the longest one.
c: I look down at my watch, and for the first three or four seconds, nothing changes. the seconds stay the same. then they finally move, one, two, and after that first one they’re going the right speed. but the first one, which was actually probably shorter since you looked down somewhere in the middle of it, takes forever. it’s like your watch hasn’t realized you’re looking at it and it takes it a while to start doing its job again. Julian says that by looking at a clock you actually stop time. time. noun. system of distinguishing events. a dimension enabling two identical events occurring in the same point in space to be distinguished, measured by the interval between the events.
b: you keep looking at your watch. are you–
c: I’m sorry, I’m–
b: no, it’s okay, I just wondered if you were–
c: no, no–
b: waiting for something to happen, or–
c: I just do that–
b: if you have somewhere else you have to be–
c: no. time. noun. period with limits. a limited period during which an action, process, or condition exists or takes place. elapsed time.
b: if I drink too much espresso in too short a time I get very existential. bad existential. I can drink coffee okay but after two or three double espressos I always get very existential in a completely scary way. like an existential dread sort of way. I start thinking about how I’m alive, and how that is all there is for me, and how it’s going to eventually stop, and how there won’t be me anymore, and even though when I’m not jacked up on espresso that seems like a good thing, somewhat good, at least acceptable, after two or three double espressos the thought that I will someday cease to exist is…really…very…bad.
c: double espresso.
b: thank you.
c: okay so like we’re sitting here and we’re eating Big Macs and fish sandwiches, and we’re playing Disney trivia, and we’re having fun. you and I are great friends. and we can look at it that way. I can say to myself, you and I have a great relationship. we have great connection, incredible rapport, we experience joy and enlightenment every time we get together. we can say it that way. we can say, I’m sitting here across from you and I feel a deep degree of support and understanding. I feel loved. now that’s very nice, and it makes me feel good, but it’s also very high level and abstract. if I think about my relationship with you I can say, I love her, I like her, we get along well, we’re a good match, we click. I can talk about my experience with you and I can say, it was a very romantic evening. we had a good time. we made love. but what’s really going on here? are you and I sitting here having a deep, spiritual moment? you can call it that if you want, but what does it really mean? what does a deep, spiritual moment really look like? well, I would say that we are having a spiritual moment right now. would you agree with that? … absolutely. and what are we doing that makes it so? well, we’re sitting upright, on soft seats, in the air conditioning rather than outside. we’re eating good food–no, what is good? we’re eating familiar food, food that we’ve had exact copies of a thousand times before. it is food that we know well. we are breathing comfortably, matching each other’s posture and tonality. fucking…Anthony robins, right? we are talking. we are involuntarily digesting food. but digesting is too general. refinement. our stomachs and intestines and pancreas are secreting bile and other acidic juices, acids, and we’re breaking down that Big Mac and this fish sandwich into the basic elements from which they are formed. we are turning this pre-processed, assembly-line soybean burger back into the carbon and bullshit that it came from. that’s all that’s going on. that’s all that’s happening here. we may interpret it as a spiritual moment. we may give it deep meaning. but another way to look at it is just as a complex array of organic processes. that’s all it is. and that’s no reason to get upset. that’s no reason to get depressed. the only way I would get depressed is if I walked in here expecting to find a spiritual experience, instead of digestion, or if I decided not to interpret this digestion as a heavenly thing. I can do it either way. I can see this moment as an abstract metaphysical phenomenon, or I can leave it like it is, like carbon and bullshit, and that…is an abstract metaphysics all its own.
b: I’m just a Big Mac.
c: and massive amounts of caffeine.
b: what are you?
c: fish mostly.
b: massive amounts of caffeine.
c: massive.
c: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit eats a sandwich.

b: time. noun. method for measuring intervals. a system for measuring intervals of time. sidereal time.
c: central daylight time.
b: I dream of the moon. I dream of tides.
c: I dream of music, of singing and drums and bagpipes and a night at the orchestra.
b: orchestra. noun. large group of classical musicians. a large group of musicians playing classical music, consisting of sections of string, woodwind, brass, and percussion players, and directed by a conductor.
c: orchestra. people who get together and play instruments. and what is an instrument? it is a piece of wood or metal or catgut that has moving parts that make sounds. and what is sound? it is vibration. that’s all it is. it’s little tiny particles of gas moving back and forth.
b: time. noun. tempo of music. the relative speed at which a musical composition is played.
c: okay. theoretical. let’s say you have a box of rice, and you open it up and throw in some maggot eggs. you close the box, and wait however long. at some point, when you open up that box, there’s not going to be any rice left. you’re going to have a swimming mass of maggots, some maggot shit, and no rice. so what is life? what is a maggot’s life, essentially? a maggot is the magic trick that turns a box of rice, or whatever, into maggots and maggot shit and then, eventually, dead, decomposing maggots. see what I’m saying? a maggot is not a thing. it’s not a creature or a being. it’s the name we have for the transformation that took place inside the box. everywhere in the world situations like boxes full of rice are turning into different situations, like boxes full of whatever is left when maggots decompose, and then whatever’s left when whatever that is decomposes, or is assimilated into another process of life. not that life isn’t life, that life isn’t living. it is. everything is always in the process of changing. some categories of change are called movement. some are called decay. some are called life.
b: time. noun. time as a causative force. time conceived as a force capable of acting on people and objects. time’s ravages.
c: life is a process of getting from point a to point b.
b: life is a box of maggots.
c: life is a magic trick.
b: the trick that turns a bunny into doves.
c: the trick that turns Big Macs and oxygen into dust and books and buildings.
b: that spawns similar processes called offspring.
c: imagine if you could visually trace the historical path of all the atoms that were part of your body when you were born. imagine that each one of them leaves a red trace line in space. these atoms of your infant body would have come from the air, from the ocean, from other planets.
b: they would have been part of other people who lived before.
c: there would be a cord of trace lines spiraling into your mother’s mouth from every part of the universe. a glowing ball of red inside her body, forming you. after you were born, even before, some of your atoms would constantly be leaving what we call you, to float away in the air and get stuck on a couch and then rub off on another person.
b: we’re constantly trading matter. we’re made of the same stuff.
c: the very same.
b: you just organize it differently than me.
c: and in a recognizable way so that you always know who I am.
b: with that model it doesn’t make sense to consider anything in isolation. it would be meaningless to think about me outside the context of me and you.
c: or you outside the context of your Big Mac.
b: and massive amounts of caffeine.
c: or of any of us outside the context of all the items that surround us, compose us.
b: entertain us.
c: distract us.
b: annoy us. time. noun. minute of hour. the minute or hour as indicated by a clock. what time is it?
c: it’s Twinkie time.
b: what?
c: I don’t think you understood what I said. it’s Twinkie time.
b: oh, like it’s Little Debbie time?
c: yeah, like it’s hostess fruitcake time.
b: Pez time.
c: Bubble Tape time.
b: Nerds time.
c: Fruit Roll Up time.
b: Sour Patch Kids time.
c: Gummy Worm time.
b: Now and Later time.
c: Mike and Ike time.
b: Good and Plenty time.
c: eww. I hate Good and Plentys. they’re fucking disgusting.
b: I’m gonna get some more coffee.
c: coffee. noun. strong caffeine-rich drink. a drink made from ground or processed coffee beans that contains caffeine and has a mildly stimulating effect.
b: coffee may be drunk hot, often with cream or milk and sweetened with sugar, or iced.
c: theoretical. I saw this on the internet. you walk into a gallery and all around you are pedestals with blenders on them, and inside the blenders are goldfish swimming around oblivious to their situation. the blenders are plugged in. if you want, you can participate in the exhibit by going up to one of the blenders and pressing the button, throwing it into blend, or whip, or puree, or liquefy, or whatever.
b: I wouldn’t do it. … would you?
c: absolutely.
b: you would?
c: of course. why not? ninety percent of the work has already been done by whoever set up the exhibit. pressing the button or not pressing the button is nothing.
b: except that one way the fish die and the other way they don’t.
c: true, but so much of the work has already gone into setting up the fish’s deaths in a way that the execution can happen in an instant, by the hand of someone who five minutes before they press the button wasn’t thinking about doing anything of the sort. they’re having a normal day in their normal universe of events and then suddenly they are faced with a situation they would never have thought of themselves, and if they did, wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to actually create, and now, all they have to do, if they want to, is press puree and walk out of the gallery back into their normal life. they don’t have to think about it. it’s the fucking artist who put that shit together who spends the time thinking about it. premeditating the rapid potential of fish death, implicating gallery goers in fish murder. I don’t know.
b: to me, it’s whoever presses the button. it doesn’t matter how much planning the artist slash criminal mastermind puts into something, it’s the people who carry out the plans who are responsible for it happening. the person who pulls the trigger. the person who crashes the plane. the person who pushes puree.
c: I see your point, and I agree with you.
b: and I agree with yours as well.
c: time. noun. moment something occurs. a moment or period at which something takes place. at the time of her ninetieth birthday.
b: or, as in, the time of death.
c: time. noun. suitable moment. a moment or period chosen as appropriate for something to be done or to take place. the times for the games will be announced.
b: or…as in, now’s about the time I’d like to see clear water and a fish in a blender turned into murky water and essence of fish.
c: time. noun. unallocated period. a period that is not allocated for a particular purpose. I had time on my hands.
b: so I set up an art exhibit featuring goldfish in blenders.
c: time. noun. period needed. a period required, allocated, or taken to complete an activity. how much time?
b: does it take for a goldfish to die in a blender once someone has pressed puree?
c: about one second. time. noun. period with a particular quality. a period, activity, or occasion that has a particular quality or characteristic. often used in the plural. they’ve been through some rough times. we had an interesting time there. and, of course…it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
b: you are one hundred percent bullshit and zero percent carbon.
c: you are a toad beyond repair.
b: you are the acute angle of a hanger on the discount rack at Saks Fifth Avenue.
c: you are the glob of toothpaste between my teeth, hanging like taffy. gluey cotton–
b: cotton hair, gamma rays, deflector shields.
c: you are the Olympic torch submerged a thousand feet below the surface of the ocean, sealed in a glass bubble that is running out of air.
b: you implode into the shape of a flower, brilliant shards of an orchid.
c: you are that same orchid, in a brittle vase in the flatness of the Mojave desert.
b: you are a warplane, screaming across that desert, bracing to explode.
c: time. noun. appointed moment. a designated or customary moment or period at which something is done or takes place. it’s time to wake up. it’s time to wake up. love? love? oh my god. … hello?
b: what’s your emergency?

[scene 3]
b: coming through the tunnel. white rays shining in around the edges. bracing myself for the plunge. coming out the end of a waterslide. ahhhhhh! I can’t go I’m not ready I have one more thing I have to do before the end. this isn’t how it was supposed to be and I want a do-over. but you don’t get any do-overs in life and you don’t get to save your game and you don’t get any undos and half the time you don’t even get to say what you really feel. now you’re my baby and I’m self-pregnant with a second, you’re my baby lovely baby lovely lovely lovely baby boy you’re my one and only baby one and only yes you are you are so lovely and I’m going to protect you from everything and no one’s ever going to hurt you because I won’t let them and you’re never going to have to go through what I went through back there because no one should ever have to go through that. no they shouldn’t no one should no one should ever have to go through what I went through back there. you’re my baby. you’re my baby, baby boy.
c: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit has a baby. … and you always said your mother was such a bitch.
b: bitch. noun. offensive term. a highly offensive term that insults a woman’s temperament.

[scene 4]
c: now I’m writing your mother a letter. and why am I writing a letter to your mother when it was you I was in love with, not your mother, not your sisters, not your mom. therapy would recommend that I write a letter to you even though I’d have nowhere to send it. but whenever I do that it turns out to be a letter you’re writing me, telling me I’m stuck in fourth-dimensional pain, that I’m blind from where I am, that where you are it’s bright and you can feel no pain, that you are beyond what I for some reason still feel the need to struggle with and that I could, even in this world, if I wanted to, get past that struggle, that if I have any task in my lifetime it is to completely dismantle my concept of problem. problem. what is it that makes all these things a problem for me? what is its architecture, what is the construction of that judgment? can I not escape that vexing of self, can I not learn to live post-dichotomy of this or that into the wider space just beyond, of disregard, of replacing, redirecting my focus to a smearing together of the two, whichever two, into a nothingness of the before, beyond Nietzsche’s good and evil, beyond the having or not having of sexual pursuits, beyond pursuit, beyond the consciousnesses of having or not having themselves. you tell me that, in these letters. you tell me that and you tell me that I am foolish for not continuing to feel ecstasy, that even death is not a good enough reason to stop. but you aren’t here and you don’t know how it feels to be here, and you tell me that, too, that what I see is shrouded, looking through a veil, that you can see it clearly as it is, that in your light you can wrap yourself completely around my darkness, but from where I am I don’t even know what light is, I am so so shadowed by dark.

[scene 5]
c: bar on a Monday night. the trolley stop. this town is dead, I’m finally coming to realize that. nobody’s out. half the bars aren’t even open. the asylum’s not open. Sloopy’s ain’t open. canal street is dark. everybody’s at home and I’m sitting in the trolley stop drinking top shelf. teaching the bartender how to make drinks. the sign in front of me reads, you must be twenty one. well, I’m twenty one, and I’m a genius, and I’m lonely at the moment. I’ve done nothing productive at work for at least three weeks. just bullshitting and day trading. social life is lacking, and I’m trying to do something about that, but nobody else is out except other working men. I’d like to gain some hang out friends, have some casual sex, you know. I need to involve myself in some extra curriculars. people at work think I’m a little depressed, and they are concerned. they ask me about it, try to discern how I’m doing, invite me to their social gatherings, and generally care. I appreciate it, and I try to pretend that I’m okay, try to manipulate my voice and mannerisms into happiness. but it doesn’t work, they can tell anyway, sometimes can tell more than I can. I am thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s roommate. and the last waitress who gave me her phone number with the bill. I might call that number now. or I might not. as Julian sings, she might be pretty but I wouldn’t fuck her. I’m on my second purple rain now, sixty percent done, maybe seventy percent. in about twenty minutes. I may stop after this and drive home in an hour or one half an hour. starting to feel the drinks. starting to have the motion thing. thinking about buying a cigarette. pack, rather. nice construction. thinking better of it, thinking about cancer. thinking about alcoholism, drinking now once or twice a week. definitely feeling the drinks now, solidly feeling the motion thing. sipping my ice for traces of alcohol. thinking of Leaving Las Vegas, Nicholas Cage, having trouble with standing. feeling good. that fucking waitress. as far as I can tell she stood me up on our would be date last week. I want to call her but my pride prevents me. I want to fuck her but, again, pride prevents me.
b: time.
c: noun.
b: closing time. the time at which a bar or pub is legally required to close.

[scene 6]
c: tonight I throw a Triscuit in the sink with dirty dishes. talk with her for an hour and a half on the telephone about exes. watch clueless, drinking one fourth of a bottle of Absolut mandarin by myself. with sweet and sour mix. write a note that I’ve been planning on for days. drive drunk to her place in the middle of the night, park half a block away, walk to her porch and deliver the note to their mailbox. the door was open, lights on upstairs and down. wonder if she’s awake, if she’s there, if she’s alone, if she’s alive. open the mail box. put it in. the mailbox lid makes a sound. I wonder if it’s audible from within. I drop the letter. walk back to my car, not turning around to see if my sounds were heard. drive home past two cops investigating something infinitely more interesting to them than me, come home, write, collapse into sleep? tonight on the phone I said, enjoy the universe from your point of view. that was my closing to the conversation. I certainly will.

[scene 7]
c: I dream of drinking uncontrollably.

[scene 8]
b: hello sweetie. I am filling the day with your beautiful radiance. may this moment be full of peace. awww. yeah. I remember when I wrote that for you.
c: stop it. I’m dreaming.
b: no you’re not.
c: I dream you’re just beyond my reach, and I can never get you back.
b: I dream I’m lost.
c: you know what I love? I painted all day today and when I close my eyes I can see swirls of patterns…
b: oh, that’s wonderful.
c: it was so much fun…I just played…and art should be like that. it should only be play like a little kid plays.
b: yes.
c: yes, and a little kid plays…not expecting to be observed…a little kid is playing to their own, in their own world…
b: not for a grade, or to see what people think.
c: for their own…enjoyment.
b: I dream of toes.
c: I dream of fingers.
b: I dream of lust.
c: I dream I cheat.
b: I dream I laugh.
c: I dream I win.
b: time. noun. certain interval. a limited but unspecified period. we stayed for a time. you are pure form, Byron, Homer, Gauss.
c: you are Turing.
b: you are Hughes.
c: you are jazz.
b: you break yourself again and again and again.
c: you tumble over and over the hill, Jack and Jill making love in the fairytale.
b: I dream of the sea.
c: I dream of a desert at night.
b: I dream of snakes between my toes.
c: I dream rivers.
b: I dream blood.
c: I dream of silence rolling like waves.
b: I dream of salt.
c: I dream the deep.
b: I dream the sky.
c: I dream I float.
b: I dream I die.
c: time. noun. anticipated moment. a moment in which some important event such as a birth or death is expected to happen. she knew her time had come.

[scene 9]
b: I dream losing my virginity, losing my mind to passion enflaming, engulfing, enraging me to possess, enabling me to control you, comfort you, console you, eat you up, digest you, expel you, and bring you in again.

[scene 10]
c: time. verb. schedule something. to plan the moment for something, especially in order to receive the best result or effect. to time an entrance.
b: my song song song song song oh oh sing sing sing ohhhhhhhhhoahhh this voice is mine this voice is mine this voice is mine. you can sing anything you want with this voice.
c: oh, your singing.
b: soon, I promise, soon I wont shy away, dear oh, soon, I want you, soon, I want to, soon, whatever you say…even now, when you’re close and we touch, and you’re kissing my brow, I don’t mind it too much, but you have to admit I’m endearing, I help keep things humming, I’m not domineering, what’s one small shortcoming? soon, soon, soon…soon…soon…
c: soon.
b: soon. ooh I want more, ooh I love it. I love it. oh, yeah yeah yeah yeah.
c: I would never tire of you.
b: oh, never. same with you, darling, same with you. loo loo loo. look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree, and I feel like I’m clinging to a cloud, I get misty the moment you’re near. you can say that you’re leading me on, but that’s just what I want you to do…don’t you notice how hopelessly I’m lost…I’m too much in love…
c: I could fly with you.
b: mmm hmmm … and we remind each other, we do. I can’t say love enough.
c: I know.
b: we need to think of a new word for love.
c: there is no word to express love.
b: no, no, no.
c: wow.
b: wow.
c: exactly.

[scene 11]
b: time. noun. historical period. a period in history, often characterized by a particular event or person. often used in the plural. in Shakespeare’s time.
c: ancient times.
b: I dream of then.
c: I dream of how.
b: I dream of when.
c:I dream of treasure.
b: I dream of trouble.
c: I dream of tyranny.
b: I dream of revolution.
c: I dream of empire.
b: I dream of dust.
c: I dream of space.
b: I dream the stars.
c: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit looks at the stars.
b: remember spending like four hours in the bathroom and we were painting our faces for that party and the party turned out to be really stupid but we had so much fun getting ready painting and…we must have painted our faces like eight times and that was so much fun I have so much fun when I’m with you you know that? I do, I do.

[scene 12]
b: ommmmmm…
c: ommmmmm…
b: all space is here.
c: all time is now.
b: here…now.
c: here now. … time. noun. somebody’s lifetime. a period during which somebody is alive, especially the most active or productive period in somebody’s life. she’d been a well-known athlete in her time.
b: we didn’t worry about such trifles in my time. … you are my captor. you lavish me with incense. you cradle me and kiss me. I am your slave.
c: you are my twin. you mirror me. you play with me.
b: you turn me over and over.
c: rolling.
b: over and over and over again and again and again and again and again and again and again…
c: rolling over and over and over and over…
b: he. sweetly. dances. to. smoky. red. blushing. as. we. nourish. the. silhouette.
c: that day. that day never happened.
b: then where am I?
c: you’re still here somewhere. you’re hiding.
b: I would miss you too much to keep hiding this long.
c: you might not miss me after a while. you might get used to being gone.
b: are you used to me being gone?
c: I don’t think about you as much as I used to.
b: but you’ll never get used to me being gone.
c: in a sense, I am used to it. I don’t expect you to show up all of a sudden.
b: do you still wish I would?
c: I have lists of things I would give up for that to happen. but no matter how long these lists get, there’s no one to bargain with. no one can grant my trade.
b: do you still dream about me?
c: I still do.
b: I remember how we used to walk around the neighborhood and we would only go three streets in each direction because if we stayed in that little area we could pretend that we were in England. we would wear clothes we thought looked British and talk in an English accent the whole time and we’d be cold on our walk and we’d snuggle together and hold each other like we were colder than we actually were and afterwards we’d go back to your place and we’d have tea. remember?
c: time. noun.
b: season. a period during which particular climactic conditions prevail.
c: the rainy times of the year.
b: the English times of the year.

[scene 13]
c: this morning I woke up feeling so bad because I realized it had been over two weeks since I moved out of the old apartment and I still hadn’t called to give you my new number.

[scene 14]
c: you are the monkey.
b: you are the hawk.
c: you are brevity.
b: you, elaboration.
c: you are lyric.
b: you are song. … where are you?
c: I’m in the hospital. I’m in room fourteen-oh-six. and you’re there, but you’re sleeping. and we’re playing music for you. and you’re not making any sign that you hear it but you hear it, and you’re singing along in your head. none of us are singing, though. we’re whispering to each other and taking turns going up to you to lay our heads down next to yours. that’s where my head is now, laying next to yours on that pillow. and I’m holding your hand and I’m brushing your cheek with my fingers. and touching your hair. and I’m whispering to you in your ear.
b: what are you saying?
c: may. oceans. savor. breezes. for. you. brilliant. yesterday. I. am. building. an. eternity. from. my. impressions.

[scene 15]
b: oh, I love kissing you.
c: actually, I love kissing you, too.
b: oh, really?
c: uh hmm, a lot.
b: remember that first long kiss we had? we couldn’t stop.
c: ohhhh, and I remember our very first kiss was…
b: delicate, and…
c: yeah.
b: yeah, that was wonderful.
c: I like that second one, too…
b: yeah.
c: and that first night, coming home from the dance club, I was like, I think she likes me and I really hope she likes me, but I wasn’t sure…
b: oh!
c: and then we kissed…
b: oh, that’s so cute…
c: my goodness, I was so nervous.
b: oh!…I always thought you were cute…awww…that’s so cute.
c: I hope she likes me I hope she likes me. I hope she likes me the same way I like her…and then we kissed…
b: awww…hold me.

[scene 16]
b: you’re not with me.
c: I’m just thinking about…
b: tell me what you’re thinking.
c: I’m thinking about when we met.
b: when was that?
c: college.
b: debt.
c: credit cards.
b: credit system.
c: debt system.
b: debt ratio.
c: p/e ratio.
b: rising.
c: falling.
b: market.
c: model.
b: cheating.
c: learning.
b: writing.
c: composing.
b: performing.
c: opera.
b: arias.
c: songs.
b: songs?
c: songs. the songs in my head. play too loud. I can’t think. one minute I’m a genius, the next I am an idiot. I feel I am barely maintaining certain elements of my life, like my job and relationships with people, while I advance other elements in huge strides overnight. this month I have finished twenty six paintings, made ten drawings, and mixed five songs. I toggle between wanting to stop all progress in my life and trying to move on. between grotesque transfixion on you and transcendent obliviousness. on the whole I hate people more than I ever have before, but I tolerate and occasionally enjoy the company of my close friends. I am monstrously critical. I see every flaw and inconsistency available in the idiotic behaviors of others and me. more and more all I have to say to people is, don’t you realize how stupid you are? but more and more I censor my critical anger and say nothing at all, even to people I care about. these are not my problems. it is not my duty to help. I used to be the host, helping everyone I know feel at home when they are with me. I am less hospitable now. I am not here to entertain. I am not even here to exert a reasonable level of respect. in the past tarot readings consistently turned up the hanged man card to describe me, one who has such mental mastery of the world, such clear understanding of it, that it hinders his ability to actually live. in the card he has suspended himself by his feet, and hangs looking at the world upside down. now my reading is twofold. to characterize me, the card devil’s play, the most diabolic passion and creativity. divine playfulness. lack of inhibition. irreverence. originality. spontaneity. self declared freedom. laughing away my fears and sorrows. dancing to my success. and then I pull a second card, asking, what is the seed, what is the basis for this devil’s play? the card I pull is sorrow.
b: you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. this is going to take a long time to go through. in some ways… in some ways you’ll be going through this for the rest of your life. it will get better. I promise it will get better. but it will always be a part of your life. what have you been eating?
c: low fat butter.
b: Parkay!
c: butter.
b: paraplegics.
c: paraplegics?!
b: mmm…yummy with butter. paraplegics.
c: veterans.
b: hippies.
c: boomers.
b: republican.
c: affair.
b: scandal.
c: cover up.
b: J.F.K.
c: Marilyn Monroe.
b: fucking Madonna. I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to stay up all night talking with you.
c: I love this.
b: so do I.
c: and the great thing is, after tonight, we’ll have tomorrow…and the day after…

[scene 17]
b: a section of brick walkway lined with young trees whose branches merge into a canopy completely covering me. leaves from above collect on the bricks. I walk this tunnel wishing I had frog or spider eyes and could see in all directions at once, pained knowing that whatever beauty I choose to admire jealously holds me in its fidelity, and I am incapable of looking elsewhere. soon it will be winter, and there will be no leaves, but only black and white, dirt and sky lie together.

[scene 18]
c: I’ve been thinking about things in new ways lately, realizing how my mind proceeds and tweaking that, rearranging the wordless logic of each moment. I went camping this weekend and had the most deeply moving spiritual experience of my life. the only way I can talk about it is to say that I danced with a hawk. the next day I laughed and cried and screamed and sang all at once. I laughed behind all, beyond all, laughed like the bottom of the ocean. I find myself more and more at home in diverse portions of the world, and simultaneously becoming less and less compatible with other portions, to the extent that I hardly need to converse with some of it in order to fully understand, and I have absolutely no need or desire to converse with other portions of it in order to know that I can never understand at all… I feel more and more in love and more and more alone as life goes on.

[scene 19]
b: where did you go, just then? where are you?
c: I’m just laying here, and the waves… the waves are washing over and over and over…
b: time. noun. now. the present as distinguished from the past or future.
c: I remember waking up and seeing your face in the sunlight. I remember sleeping with you on the roof in summer rain. I remember hearing you breathe. I remember kissing your neck and feeling your fingers slide along my back. I remember you saying my name. I remember that party. the dance club. the thrift store. our English walks. that night I drove you home. I remember our first kiss. so delicate. so slow…
b: time. verb. measure of how long something takes. to measure or record the duration, ratio, or speed of something.
c: you can say we were making love and that gives a general idea of what’s going on. you can say it was good, but what really happened is that you were laying in the front seat of your car with your head against the door and your legs spread. you were rubbing your clitoris with your fingers and my dick was inside of your body. you were gasping, I was moaning, or grunting or something, and we both cum rushing with various juices, catching each other like the rhythm of a train, I’m looking at your face, your mouth is open, your forehead lines rising like a chevron, your fingernails digging into the small of my back. is that making love? is that desire? is that happiness? some people would interpret it as happiness. some people would see it as an achievement, a score. some would feel that they had gained power over another human being. some would feel ashamed, or guilty if they had attached the idea of moral wrongness to these acts. I think I would call it joy. I would feel a great sense of connection. and love. so I say I am joyful, and I say I am in love, but what does that mean? what does that equate to? well, it equates to having your head pressed up against the passenger door of your car, it equates to having your legs spread, it equates to feeling my dick inside your body. it equates to gasping. it equates to moaning. it equates to grunting. it equates to rushing with juice. it equates to seeing your face when you cum. it equates to feeling your fingernails cut into the small of my back. it equates to falling, at the end, tired and sweaty in each other’s arms.
b: you’re so full of shit.
c: do you really mean that?
b: no. I want to fuck you and all you want to do is screw around.
c: so what’s the problem?
b: forget it.
c: I’m just kidding.
b: I’m tired of kidding. I want adulting.
c: I’m not in the mood for adulting.
b: I know.
c: you have me down.
b: yeah. I do. … I’ll be out with the girls.
c: I’ll be right here… time. verb. set the time of something. to regulate or set the time of something such as a clock or a train’s schedule.

[scene 20]
c: I dreamt I lied to you. I dreamt I had sex with a demon.
b: did you like it?
c: why do you need to know that?
b: you did like it then.
c: of course I did. … what did you dream?
b: that you lied to me.
c: time. noun. playing period. a period of play in a game. I dream of negligence nagging me past tense. of writers and fame and parties where I stood on the rim.

[scene 21]
b: time. noun. military service. a term of military service.
c: time. noun. period worked. the period during a day or week that somebody works.
b: working half time.
c: time. noun. pay. a rate of pay.
b: paid double time.
c: time. noun. geologic division. a chronologic division of geologic history.
b: time. verb. stay in rhythm. to keep time to a rhythmical or musical beat. old English tima, period of time from a prehistoric Germanic base meaning, to extend, which is also the ancestor of English tide.
c: all in good time.
b: no sooner than is appropriate. all the time.
c: continuously. at one time.
b: at a time in the past.
c: simultaneously. at the same time.
b: simultaneously.
c: nevertheless. at times.
b: sometimes. behind the times.
c: out of touch with modern fashions, methods, or attitudes. for the time being.
b: for a short period of time starting from now. from time to time.
c: occasionally. have no time for somebody or something.
b: to regard somebody or something with dislike or contempt. have the time of your life.
c: to have a very enjoyable experience. in good time.
b: early enough. we were in time for the concert. in time.
c: after some time has passed. he’ll understand in time that you were trying to help him. in time.
b: in the correct rhythm. clapping in time to the music. in your own time.
c: at a speed or pace that feels natural or comfortable. keep time.
b: to show the time accurately. keep time.
c: to do something in the correct rhythm, or in the same rhythm as somebody or something else. live on borrowed time.
b: to enjoy an unexpected extension of life. make time with somebody.
c: informal. to pursue somebody as a sexual partner. on time.
b: at the scheduled time. on your own time.
c: not during work hours. pass the time of day with somebody.
b: to engage in casual conversation with somebody. take your time.
c: to take whatever time is necessary. take your time.
b: to do something unacceptably slowly. time after time. time and time again.
c: repeatedly. … I dream of sex.
b: I guess you do.
c: I dream of strawberries and hot tubs and chocolate and ice. I dream of lace and panties and bras. I dream of sweat and showers.
b: I dream of undressing myself for you. I dream of riding you like a horse. fucking you. licking your ears, sucking your dick.
c: I dream of feathers and cotton.
b: I dream of tickling you with my hair.
c: I dream of here and there.
b: I dream, I dream, I dream…

[scene 22]
b: you’re a cutie.
c: you’re a demon.
b: you’re so hot.
c: stop.
b: why?
c: okay, keep going.
b: why am I a demon?
c: it’s not a bad thing. I call my favorite girl satan.
b: I’m not your favorite girl? how come I’m not satan? how come I’m only a demon?
c: you’ve still got your clothes on. you’re still pretty much on your side of the room. how can you be anything more than a demon?
b: well, I just got here…give me a second…
c: take five.
b: time. noun. timeout. nibble. succulent. psychedelic. mold.
c: organic post clinical psychotherapy.
b: Woody Allen movies.
c: prescription drug abuse.
b: depression.
c: mania.
b: insanity.
c: antisociality.
b: perverse eccentricities.
c: senile dementia.
b: health insurance.
c: co-payments.
b: hypochondria.
c: disease envy.
b: coping fantasies.
c: coping strategy.
b: the overboard.
c: the underground.
b: suits in porno shacks.
c: masters of the universe.
b: Tom…?
c: Wolfe.
b: Wolfe.
c: vampire.
b: gladiators.
c: talk shows.
b: L.A.
c: Athens.
b: Rome.
c: Carthage.
b: Carthage. noun. site of an ancient city, founded by the Phoenicians on the northern coast of Africa in eight fourteen b.c.
c: soldiers returning from battle, wheelchair bound, destined for the psych wards, damned to wander civilization’s peacetime misplaced, crippled heroes dosed with Thorazine, Zoloft dinner partners popping pill compartments at the roadside diner.
b: violence, as the technological pill eclipses its own pharmacist, and the elite behave inhumanly, while the reflexive murder perpetrated among the mass of the poor makes them more understandable, more sensible, less prone to induce the tones of hell than the lonely parasite they feed.
c: parasite. noun. organism living on another. a plant or animal that lives on or in another, usually larger host organism in a way that harms or is of no advantage to the host.
b: time. noun. instance. a separate occasion of a recurring event. I told you three times.
c: looking at clocks is a fairly recent thing for me. I look at the clock six times each night before I go to bed. I look at the clock eight times in the morning when my alarm goes off. if someone asks me what time it is, I look at my watch twice before I tell them what time it is. then I look at my watch three more times, looking away in-between each glance, and then I usually tell the person what time it is again, by that time it’s usually the next minute and if it is I tell the person the new time. my watch shows the seconds but when people ask me what time it is I don’t tell them the seconds, because most people don’t really care all that much about the seconds. the seconds are everything. eight fifty-seven and forty-nine seconds is a completely different animal than eight fifty-seven and thirty-two seconds. thirty-two seconds is maybe roundable to thirty seconds, thirty-two seconds is maybe roundable to thirty-three or thirty-five seconds. forty-nine seconds is almost fifty and fifty is almost a minute. you could never round forty-nine seconds down to forty-five, it just wouldn’t make sense, you’re already there, you’re at fifty, you’re practically through with the minute. when I’m at fifty-nine seconds I’m already at five or ten after. fifty-nine is over by the time you think about it, thinking about fifty-nine at fifty-nine is basically a moot point, you know, you might as well start planning on the next ten or fifteen seconds, at least five, just to give yourself a heads up. most of the time when I’m on fifty-nine I’m already at twenty again, but, but, as I was saying my obsession with actually looking at the numbers on clocks is a fairly recent thing. when I was a kid I used to go out on the street and throw clocks down on the asphalt and take hammers and smash them into little bits when I was a kid I would take clocks apart, you see?
b: you are madness.
c: you are gall.
b: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit goes to the beach.
c: eight fifty-seven a.m. tired of looking at my watch, but apparently unable to break the habit with thought alone, I enact a foolproof solution which I have been considering for some time.
b: time. noun. prison term. a term in prison. informal. serve time for robbery.
c: you are the criminal.
b: I am the crime.
c: you are subliminal.
b: I am sublime.
c: you are the beat.
b: I am the beat. I carry you forth. I strike your heart. I entrance your ability to breathe until your life is a pebble in my phantom hand.
c: you are a phantom.
b: I am the phantasm. I walk among flesh, screech as the wind. I take on any form that makes me laugh and my laugh is your thunder, siphon crushing shores of sand and cyclones searing waves of grain. my laugh is the terror you feel upon waking from a dream. my laugh is sheets of salty rain beating on tin. my laugh is ancient ruin, statues cast in blood screaming at you in a tongue composed of clicks and babbles, whispering at you in a spiral you can never catch, slicing you open again with the knife you just handed me, scratching your eyes out with nails, disarming you, birthing you, bleeding you like a gutter. … beat.
c: beat.
b: beat. beat.
c: beat. beat.
b: time. noun. musical beat. the number of beats per measure of a musical composition.
c: you are the tower.
b: I am a column of fire with wings.
c: you are the phoenix. you rise.
b: like an angel.
c: like inferno.
b: like a mushroom. Hiroshima.

[scene 23]
c: I bet I can make a card house that’s five hundred stories tall.
b: I bet I can write a book for every letter in the alphabet.
c: I bet I can hold my breath for six minutes.
b: I bet I can make an ice cube out of a hairdryer.
c: I bet I can add up all the numbers from one to five hundred in my head.
b: I bet I can train a worm to sing.
c: I bet I can pick up a car with my bear hands and lift it above my head.
b: I bet I can swallow a snake.
c: I bet I can make a bus fly like a bird.
b: I bet I can write a poem that will make you cry.
c: I bet I can lead a revolution.
b: I bet I can predict your future.
c: I bet I can make you cum, twice, just by breathing in your ear.
b: I bet you can.
c: I bet I can make a train travel faster than light.
b: I bet I can write eight hundred symphonies by the time I’m thirty.
c: I bet I can paint the world on the tip of a needle.
b: I bet I can eat eighteen boxes of macaroni and cheese in half an hour.
c: I bet I can memorize the first one hundred thousand digits of pi.
b: I bet I can make a machine out of sand that will add and subtract.
c: I bet I can make it add, subtract, multiply, and divide.
b: I bet I can make it do formulas.
c: I bet I can make it recognize fingerprints.
b: I bet I can make it beat you in chess.
c: I bet I can make it think. I can also make it so small that it fits in the palm of your hand.
b: I can make it so small you can’t even see it.
c: I can make…a bomb…out of a single atom…that can destroy the entire universe.
b: you’re such a freak.
c: freak. noun. strikingly unusual person, animal, plant. a person, animal, or plant that is strikingly unusual, and appears to be unique or occurs very rarely. somebody unconventional. somebody who behaves unusually or has unusual tastes or habits.
b: Baryshnikov.
c: Michael Jackson.
b: Picasso.
c: Busta Rhymes.
b: Shakespeare.
c: Feynman.
b: Derrida.
c: John Lennon.
b: Trent Reznor.
c: Tori Amos.
b: Madonna.
c: Basquiat.
b: fucking Warhol.
c: fucking Warhol. … Jesus.
b: Malcom X.
c: Joan of Arc.
b: Queen Elizabeth.
c: Lincoln.
b: Orville and Wilbur Wright.
c: Turing.
b: Mozart.
c: Mozart.
b: checkmate.
c: checkmate. noun. winning position in chess. a move or position in chess, in which a player’s king cannot escape check and the other player wins the game. … do you know how many definitions of time there are in the dictionary?
b: how many?
c: I don’t know. … I stopped reading after sixty two. time. noun. a dimension enabling two identical events occurring in the same point in space to be distinguished…by measuring the interval between the events.
b: time. in one second a bullet from a gun travels three thousand feet.
c: in one second a particle of light travels one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles.
b: according to the Big Bang Theory our universe expanded from something smaller than a piece of dust to approximately its present size in a tiny fraction of a second.
c: that first second is always the longest one.
b: that second before you start to wake up.

c: me. this is not me. I’m not here. I’m not hearing this. I don’t have to do this I never meant to come here I hate it here I’m never coming back I don’t know why you think this is necessary I can’t be seen no one can see me I don’t know what they’re doing I’ve never been to one of these before I didn’t know it would be like this it’s not what I imagined I wish it wasn’t I wish it wasn’t I can’t fathom how they’d feel that way they should hate me they should hate me want me dead they should kill me and want me in jail they should try to make me hurt they should kill me they should kill me but they don’t have to I will kill myself so they don’t have to look at me I will kill myself so they won’t have to think about me anymore, I will kill myself so I won’t have to think anymore, I will kill myself to make it even kill myself to make it even kill myself to make it even.

x.
– c, laying in bed asleep, from the point of view of b, who we see in the next shot

x.
– b, leaning backwards through an ajar door while looking into the room, then closing the door, closing herself out
– b: (whispering to him) everything. everything is happening.
– the rushing and pumping of blood, greatly amplified but still soft to us

x.
– c’s face, medium tight shot, slow motion, as he sits up, turns his head, looks for the alarm clock, sees it, blinks, leans forward and finally reaches out to hit snooze, all of this happens in the first few seconds of waking, red eyes, groggy, hardly conscious
– c: (vo) dreaming in bed at eight a.m. rolling over and the covers coming off my head. cold. the door is closing and my roommate leaves for work. I’m burying my head in the blankets, trying to keep my ears warm, but I can’t. the sun is coming in higher through the window and the mailbox is opening and closing. someone’s coming by later to fix the sink and I’m hitting
– blood rush sounds getting louder and louder

x.
– someone’s hand, tight shot, relentlessly tapping a finger on a flat surface]
[the sound of pumping blood becomes deafening, it stops completely on the last word “and”]
– c: (vo) snooze for the fiftieth time and I’m looking at the seconds, and they just keep coming, faster and faster and]

x.
– hands and arms in a McDonalds, medium shot, fast-motion, sorting Big Macs and other items into the appropriate slots, sliding the items down the metal chutes
– complete silence

x.
– people’s feet, legs, and briefcases, medium shot, fast-motion, on an ecsalator that is going up
– complete silence

x.
– people’s bodies, medium-wide shot, fast-motion, going up the escalator
– complete silence

x.
– people walking, overhead wide view, fast-motion, through an airport terminal, fade after fade to the same shot, at a future time, more people, different people, all moving in the same chaotic blur, as b whispers the scene slowly fades to white
– b: (vo, whispering) may. oceans. savor. breezes. for. you. brilliant. yesterday. i. am. building. an. eternity. from. my. impressions.
– piano music of some sort, starts here, soulful, aching rolls

x.
– the end credits are fade-in, fade-out stationary text, black text on a solid field of light
– the piano music washes in

My Arrangement of Carbon and Bullshit (incomplete)

Ash’s arrangement of Carbon and Bullshit

“I was going to call you, but I threw away your phone number when I thought I had
put it in my address book. So I suck and could you please send me your number
yet again? Thanks. Behn loved the script (which I’m sure he’s told you) and
he’ll make some cuts before he does it here (which he also may have told you).
Anyway, here’s my version.”
(Ash)

Exterior of a coffee shop. Follow a couple inside.

A: in one second a bullet from a gun travels three thousand feet.

B: in one second a particle of light travels one hundred and eighty-sixthousand
miles.

A: according to the Big Bang Theory our universe expanded from something
smaller than a piece of dust to approximately its present size in a tiny
fraction of a second.

Girl Standing In Line (this is a voice over–her thoughts): that first second
is always the longest one. I look down at my watch, (CAMERA PANS FROM HER POV)
and for the first three or four seconds, nothing changes. the seconds stay the
same. then they finally move, one, two, and after that first one they’re going
the right speed. but the first one, which was actually probably shorter since
you looked down somewhere in the middle of it, takes forever. it’s like your
watch hasn’t realized you’re looking at it and it takes it a while to start
doing its job again. Julian says that by looking at a clock you actually stop
time. time. noun. system of distinguishing events. a dimension enabling two
identical events occurring in the same point in space to be distinguished,
measured by the interval between the events.

Her Boyfriend: you keep looking at your watch. are you–

Girl: I’m sorry, I’m–

Boyfriend: no, it’s okay, I just wondered if you were–

Girl: no, no

Boyfriend: waiting for something to happen, or–

Girl: I just do that

Boyfriend: if you have somewhere else you have to be–

Girl: no.

Girl, vo: time. noun. period with limits. a limited period during which an
action, process, or condition exists or takes place. elapsed time.

Hep Cat A: if I drink too much espresso in too short a time I get very
existential. bad existential. I can drink coffee okay but after two or three
double espressos I always get very existential in a completely scary way. like
an existential dread sort of way. I start thinking about how I’m alive, and how
that is all there is for me, and how it’s going to eventually stop, and how
there won’t be me anymore, and even though when I’m not jacked up on espresso
that seems like a good thing, somewhat good, at least acceptable, after two or
three double espressos the thought that I will someday cease to exist
is…really…very…bad. double espresso.

Disney A (boy)-to waitress: thank you. (to Disney B (girl)) okay so like we’re
sitting here and we’re eating Big Macs and fish sandwiches, and we’re playing
Disney trivia, and we’re having fun. you and I are great friends. and we can
look at it that way. I can say to myself, you and I have a great relationship.
we have great connection, incredible rapport, we experience joy and
enlightenment every time we get together. we can say it that way. we can say,
I’m sitting here across from you and I feel a deep degree of support and
understanding. I feel loved. now that’s very nice, and it makes me feel good,
but it’s also very high level and abstract. if I think about my relationship
with you I can say, I love her, I like her, we get along well, we’re a good
match, we click. I can talk about my experience with you and I can say, it was a
very romantic evening. we had a good time. we made love. but what’s really going
on here? are you and I sitting here having a deep, spiritual moment? you can
call it that if you want, but what does it really mean? what does a deep,
spiritual moment really look like? well, I would say that we are having a
spiritual moment right now. would you agree with that? … absolutely. and what
are we doing that makes it so? well, we’re sitting upright, on soft seats, in
the air conditioning rather than outside. we’re eating good food–no, what is
good? we’re eating familiar food, food that we’ve had exact copies of a thousand
times before. it is food that we know well. we are breathing comfortably,
matching each other’s posture and tonality. fucking…Anthony robins, right? we
are talking. we are involuntarily digesting food. but digesting is too general.
refinement. our stomachs and intestines and pancreas are secreting bile and
other acidic juices, acids, and we’re breaking down that Big Mac and this fish
sandwich into the basic elements from which they are formed. we are turning this
pre-processed, assembly-line soybean burger back into the carbon and bullshit
that it came from. that’s all that’s going on. that’s all that’s happening here.
we may interpret it as a spiritual moment. we may give it deep meaning. but
another way to look at it is just as a complex array of organic processes.
that’s all it is. and that’s no reason to get upset. that’s no reason to
get depressed. the only way I would get depressed is if I walked in here
expecting to find a spiritual experience, instead of digestion, or if I decided
not to interpret this digestion as a heavenly thing. I can do it either way. I
can see this moment as an abstract metaphysical phenomenon, or I can leave it
like it is, like carbon and bullshit, and that…is an abstract metaphysics all
its own.

Big Mac: I’m just a Big Mac.

Fish Sandwich: and massive amounts of caffeine.

Big Mac: what are you?

Fish Sandwich: fish mostly.

Big Mac: massive amounts of caffeine.

Fish sandwich: massive.

Girl (v.o.)(shot is from her pov looking at the couple on the sofa): eight
fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit eats a sandwich. time. noun. method for measuring intervals. a system for measuring
intervals of time. sidereal time. central daylight time.

Hippe A (female): I dream of the moon. I dream of tides.

Hippie B (male): I dream of music, of singing and drums and bagpipes and a
night at the orchestra.

Girl, vo
:
orchestra. noun. large group of classical musicians. a large group of musicians
playing classical music, consisting of sections of string, woodwind, brass, and
percussion players, and directed by a conductor. orchestra. people who get
together and play instruments. and what is an instrument? it is a piece of wood
or metal or catgut that has moving parts that make sounds. and what is sound? it
is vibration. that’s all it is. it’s little tiny particles of gas moving back
and forth. time. noun. tempo of music. the relative speed at which a musical
composition is played.

Boyfriend: okay. theoretical. let’s say you have a box of rice, and you open it
up and throw in some maggot eggs. you close the box, and wait however long. at
some point, when you open up that box, there’s not going to be any rice left.
you’re going to have a swimming mass of maggots, some maggot shit, and no rice.
so what is life? what is a maggot’s life, essentially? a maggot is the magic
trick that turns a box of rice, or whatever, into maggots and maggot shit and
then, eventually, dead, decomposing maggots. see what I’m saying? a maggot is
not a thing. it’s not a creature or a being. it’s the name we have for the
transformation that took place inside the box. everywhere in the world
situations like boxes full of rice are turning into different situations, like
boxes full of whatever is left when maggots decompose, and then whatever’s left
when whatever that is decomposes, or is assimilated into another process of
life. not that life isn’t life, that life isn’t living. it is. everything is
always in the process of changing. some categories of change are called
movement. some are called decay. some are called life.

Girl, vo: time. noun. time as a causative force. time conceived as a force
capable of acting on people and objects. time’s ravages.

Disney B: life is a process of getting from point a to point b.

Disney A: life is a box of maggots.

Disney B: life is a magic trick.

Disney A: the trick that turns a bunny into doves.

Disney B: the trick that turns Big Macs and oxygen into dust and books and
buildings.

Disney A: that spawns similar processes called offspring.

Disney B: imagine if you could visually trace the historical path of all the
atoms that were part of your body when you were born. imagine that each one of
them leaves a red trace line in space. these atoms of your infant body would have
come from the air, from the ocean, from other planets. they would have been part
of other people who lived before. there would be a cord of trace lines spiraling
into your mother’s mouth from every part of the universe. a glowing ball of red
inside her body, forming you. after you were born, even before, some of your
atoms would constantly be leaving what we call you, to float away in the air and
get stuck on a couch and then rub off on another person. we’re constantly
trading matter. we’re made of the same stuff.

Disney A: the very same.

Disney B: you just organize it differently than me.

Disney A: and in a recognizable way so that you always know who I am.

Disney B: with that model it doesn’t make sense to consider anything in
isolation. it would be meaningless to think about me outside the context of me
and you. or you outside the context of your Big Mac.

Disney A: and massive amounts of caffeine.

Disney B: or of any of us outside the context of all the items that surround
us, compose us.

Disney A: entertain us.

Disney B: distract us.

Disney A: annoy us.

Girl, vo, from her pov, camera pans to the door: time. noun. minute of hour.
the minute or hour as indicated by a clock. what time is it?

Teen A: it’s Twinkie time.

Teen B: what?

Teen A: I don’t think you understood what I said. it’s Twinkie time.

Teen B: oh, like it’s Little Debbie time?

Teen A: yeah, like it’s hostess fruitcake time.

Teen B: Pez time.

Teen A: Bubble Tape time.

Teen B: Nerds time.

Teen A: Fruit Roll Up time.

Teen B: Sour Patch Kids time.

Teen A: Gummy Worm time.

Teen B: Now and Later time.

Teen A: Mike and Ike time.

Teen B: Good and Plenty time.

Teen A: eww. I hate Good and Plentys. they’re fucking disgusting.

Hep Cat A: I’m gonna get some more coffee.

Girl, vo, camera follows Hep Cat A back in line: coffee. noun. strong
caffeine-rich drink. a drink made from ground or processed coffee beans that
contains caffeine and has a mildly stimulating effect. coffee may be drunk hot,
often with cream or milk and sweetened with sugar, or iced.

Boyfriend:…theoretical. I saw this on the internet. you walk into a gallery
and all around you are pedestals with blenders on them, and inside the blenders
are goldfish swimming around oblivious to their situation. the blenders are
plugged in. if you want, you can participate in the exhibit by going up to one
of the blenders and pressing the button, throwing it into blend, or whip, or
puree, or liquefy, or whatever.

Girl: I wouldn’t do it. … would you?

Boyfriend: absolutely.

Girl: you would?

Boyfriend: of course. why not? ninety percent of the work has already been done
by whoever set up the exhibit. pressing the button or not pressing the button is
nothing.

Girl: except that one way the fish die and the other way they don’t.

Boyfriend: true, but so much of the work has already gone into setting up the
fish’s deaths in a way that the execution can happen in an instant, by the hand
of someone who five minutes before they press the button wasn’t thinking about
doing anything of the sort. they’re having a normal day in their normal universe
of events and then suddenly they are faced with a situation they would never
have thought of themselves, and if they did, wouldn’t have gone to the trouble
to actually create, and now, all they have to do, if they want to, is press
puree and walk out of the gallery back into their normal life. they don’t have
to think about it. it’s the fucking artist who put that shit together who spends
the time thinking about it. premeditating the rapid potential of fish death,
implicating gallery goers in fish murder.

Girl: I don’t know. to me, it’s whoever presses the button. it doesn’t matter
how much planning the artist slash criminal mastermind puts into something, it’s
the people who carry out the plans who are responsible for it happening. the
person who pulls the trigger. the person who crashes the plane. the person who
pushes puree.

Boyfriend: I see your point, and I agree with you.

Girl: and I agree with yours as well.

Girl, vo : time. noun. moment something occurs. a moment or
period at which something takes place. at the time of her ninetieth birthday.
or, as in, the time of death. time. noun. suitable moment. a moment or period
chosen as appropriate for something to be done or to take place. the times for
the games will be announced. or…as in, now’s about the time I’d like to see
clear water and a fish in a blender turned into murky water and essence of fish.
time. noun. unallocated period. a period that is not allocated for a particular
purpose. I had time on my hands. so I set up an art exhibit featuring goldfish
in blenders. time. noun. period needed. a period required, allocated, or taken
to complete an activity. how much time? does it take for a goldfish to die in a
blender once someone has pressed puree? about one second. time. noun. period
with a particular quality. a period, activity, or occasion that has a particular
quality or characteristic. often used in the plural. they’ve been through some
rough times. we had an interesting time there. and, of course…it was the best
of times, it was the worst of times.

FairyGodMother
:
you are one hundred percent bullshit and zero percent carbon.
you are a toad beyond repair.
you are the acute angle of a hanger on the discount rack at Saks Fifth Avenue.
you are the glob of toothpaste between my teeth, hanging like taffy. gluey
cotton- cotton hair, gamma rays, deflector shields.
you are the Olympic torch submerged a thousand feet below the surface of the
ocean, sealed in a glass bubble that is running out of air.
you implode into the shape of a flower, brilliant shards of an orchid.
you are that same orchid, in a brittle vase in the flatness of the Mojave
desert.
you are a warplane, screaming across that desert, bracing to explode.

:

Girl, vo: time. noun. appointed moment. a designated or customary moment or
period at which something is done or takes place. it’s time to wake up. it’s
time to wake up. love? love? oh my god. … hello?

FairyGodMother : what’s your emergency?

Lady with car seat : coming through the tunnel. white rays shining in
around the edges. bracing myself for the plunge. coming out the end of a
waterslide. ahhhhhh! I can’t go I’m not ready I have one more thing I have to do
before the end. this isn’t how it was supposed to be and I want a do-over. but
you don’t get any do-overs in life and you don’t get to save your game and you
don’t get any undos and half the time you don’t even get to say what you really
feel. now you’re my baby and I’m self-pregnant with a second, you’re my baby
lovely baby lovely lovely lovely baby boy you’re my one and only baby one and
only yes you are you are so lovely and I’m going to protect you from everything
and no one’s ever going to hurt you because I won’t let them and you’re never
going to have to go through what I went through back there because no one should
ever have to go through that. no they shouldn’t no one should no one should ever
have to go through what I went through back there. you’re my baby. you’re my
baby, baby boy.

Girl, vo : eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit has a
baby. … and you always said your mother was such a bitch. bitch. noun.
offensive term. a highly offensive term that insults a woman’s temperament.

Man on cell phone: now I’m writing your mother a letter. and why am I writing a
letter to your mother when it was you I was in love with, not your mother, not
your sisters, not your mom. therapy would recommend that I write a letter to you
even though I’d have nowhere to send it. but whenever I do that it turns out to
be a letter you’re writing me, telling me I’m stuck in fourth-dimensional pain,
that I’m blind from where I am, that where you are it’s bright and you can feel
no pain, that you are beyond what I for some reason still feel the need to
struggle with and that I could, even in this world, if I wanted to, get past
that struggle, that if I have any task in my lifetime it is to completely
dismantle my concept of problem. problem. what is it that makes all these things
a problem for me? what is its architecture, what is the construction of that
judgment? can I not escape that vexing of self, can I not learn to live
post-dichotomy of this or that into the wider space just beyond, of disregard,
of replacing, redirecting my focus to a smearing together of the two, whichever
two, into a nothingness of the before, beyond Nietzsche’s good and evil, beyond
the having or not having of sexual pursuits, beyond pursuit, beyond the
consciousnesses of having or not having themselves. you tell me that, in these
_letters_. you tell me that and you tell me that I am foolish for not
continuing to feel ecstasy, that even death is not a good enough reason to stop.
but you aren’t here and you don’t know how it feels to be here, and you tell me
that, too, that what I see is shrouded, looking through a veil, that you can see
it clearly as it is, that in your light you can wrap yourself completely around
my darkness, but from where I am I don’t even know what light is, I am so so
shadowed by dark.

Business Guy :…bar on a Monday night. the trolley stop. this town is dead, I’m
finally coming to realize that. nobody’s out. half the bars aren’t even open.
the asylum’s not open. Sloopy’s ain’t open. canal street is dark. everybody’s at
home and I’m sitting in the trolley stop drinking top shelf. teaching the
bartender how to make drinks. the sign in front of me reads, you must be twenty
one. well, I’m twenty one, and I’m a genius, and I’m lonely at the moment. I’ve
done nothing productive at work for at least three weeks. just bullshitting and
day trading. social life is lacking, and I’m trying to do something about that,
but nobody else is out except other working men. I’d like to gain some hang out
friends, have some casual sex, you know. I need to involve myself in some extra
curriculars. people at work think I’m a little depressed, and they are
concerned. they ask me about it, try to discern how I’m doing, invite me to
their social gatherings, and generally care. I appreciate it, and I try to
pretend that I’m okay, try to manipulate my voice and mannerisms into happiness.
but it doesn’t work, they can tell anyway, sometimes can tell more than I can. I
am thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s roommate. and the last waitress who gave me
her phone number with the bill. I might call that number now. or I might not. as
Julian sings, she might be pretty but I wouldn’t fuck her. I’m on my second
purple rain now, sixty percent done, maybe seventy percent. in about twenty
minutes. I may stop after this and drive home in an hour or one half an hour.
starting to feel the drinks. starting to have the motion thing. thinking about
buying a cigarette. pack, rather.

Business Guy’s Friend: nice construction.

Business Guy : thinking better of
it, thinking about cancer. thinking about alcoholism, drinking now once or
twice a week. definitely feeling the drinks now, solidly feeling the motion
thing. sipping my ice for traces of alcohol. thinking of Leaving Las Vegas,
Nicholas Cage, having trouble with standing. feeling good. that fucking
waitress. as far as I can tell she stood me up on our would be date last week. I
want to call her but my pride prevents me. I want to fuck her but, again, pride
prevents me.

Girl, vo: time. noun. closing time. the time at which a bar or pub is legally
required to close.

Coffee shop server: tonight I throw a Triscuit in the sink with dirty dishes.
talk with her for an hour and a half on the telephone about exes. watch
clueless, drinking one fourth of a bottle of Absolut mandarin by myself. with
sweet and sour mix. write a note that I’ve been planning on for days. drive
drunk to her place in the middle of the night, park half a block away, walk to
her porch and deliver the note to their mailbox. the door was open, lights on
upstairs and down. wonder if she’s awake, if she’s there, if she’s alone, if
she’s alive. open the mail box. put it in. the mailbox lid makes a sound. I
wonder if it’s audible from within. I drop the letter. walk back to my car, not
turning around to see if my sounds were heard. drive home past two cops
investigating something infinitely more interesting to them than me, come home,
write, collapse into sleep? tonight on the phone I said, enjoy the universe from
your point of view. that was my closing to the conversation. I certainly will.

Teen A: I dream of drinking uncontrollably.

Teen B: hello sweetie. I am filling the day with your beautiful radiance. may
this moment be full of peace. awww. yeah. I remember when I wrote that for you.

Teen A: stop it. I’m dreaming.

Teen B: no you’re not.

Teen A: I dream you’re just beyond my reach, and I can never get you back.

Teen B: I dream I’m lost.

Mom A: you know what I love? I painted all day today and when I close my eyes I
can see swirls of patterns…

Mom B: oh, that’s wonderful.

Mom A: it was so much fun…I just played…and art should be like that. it
should only be play like a little kid plays.

Mom B: yes.

Mom A: yes, and a little kid plays…not expecting to be observed…a little
kid is playing to their own, in their own world…

Mom B: not for a grade, or to see what people think.

Mom A: for their own…enjoyment.

Teen A: I dream of toes.

Teen B: I dream of fingers.

Teen A: I dream of lust.

Teen B: I dream I cheat.

Teen A: I dream I laugh.

Teen B: I dream I win.

Girl vo: time. noun. certain interval. a limited but unspecified period. we
stayed for a time.

Girl : you are pure
form, Byron, Homer, Gauss. you are Turing. you are Hughes. you are jazz.
you break yourself again and again and again. you tumble over and over the
hill, Jack and Jill making love in the fairytale.

Teen A: I dream of the sea.

Teen B: I dream of a desert at night.

Teen A: I dream of snakes between my toes.

Teen B: I dream rivers.

Teen A: I dream blood.

Teen B: I dream of silence rolling like waves.

Teen A: I dream of salt.

Teen B: I dream the deep.

Teen A: I dream the sky.

Teen B: I dream I float.

Teen A: I dream I die.

Girl, vo: time. noun. anticipated moment. a moment in which some important
event such as a birth or death is expected to happen. she knew her time had
come.

Hep Cat B: I dream losing my virginity, losing my mind to passion enflaming,
engulfing, enraging me to possess, enabling me to control you, comfort you,
console you, eat you up, digest you, expel you, and bring you in again.

Girl, vo: time. verb. schedule something. to plan the moment for something,
especially in order to receive the best result or effect. to time an entrance.

Guitar Girl ***NEED TO GET THE
RIGHTS FOR “A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC” BY SONDHEIM:
my song song song song song oh oh sing sing sing ohhhhhhhhhoahhh this voice is
mine this voice is mine this voice is mine. you can sing anything you want with
this voice.
oh, your singing.
soon, I promise, soon I wont shy away, dear oh, soon, I want you, soon, I want
to, soon, whatever you say…even now, when you’re close and we touch, and
you’re kissing my brow, I don’t mind it too much, but you have to admit I’m
endearing, I help keep things humming, I’m not domineering, what’s one small
shortcoming? soon, soon, soon…soon…soon…
soon.
soon. ooh I want more, ooh I love it. I love it. oh, yeah yeah yeah yeah.
I would never tire of you.
oh, never. same with you, darling, same with you. loo loo loo. look at me, I’m
as helpless as a kitten up a tree, and I feel like I’m clinging to a cloud, I
get misty the moment you’re near. you can say that you’re leading me on, but
that’s just what I want you to do…don’t you notice how hopelessly I’m
lost…I’m too much in love…
I could fly with you.
mmm hmmm … and we remind each other, we do. I can’t say love enough.
I know.
we need to think of a new word for love.
there is no word to express love.
no, no, no.
wow.
wow.
exactly.

Girl, vo: time. noun. historical period. a period in history, often
characterized by a particular event or person. often used in the plural. in
Shakespeare’s time. ancient times.

Guitar Girl: I dream of then.
I dream of how.
I dream of when.
I dream of treasure.
I dream of trouble.

Teen A: I dream of tyranny.

Teen B: I dream of revolution.

Teen A: I dream of empire.

Teen B: I dream of dust.

Teen A: I dream of space.

Teen B: I dream the stars.

Girl, vo: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit looks at the stars.

Coffee Shop Server Boy : remember spending like
four hours in the bathroom and we were painting our faces for that party and the
party turned out to be really stupid but we had so much fun getting ready
painting and…we must have painted our faces like eight times and that was so
much fun I have so much fun when I’m with you you know that?

Coffee Shop Server Girl: I do, I do.

Guitar Girl: ommmmmm…
ommmmmm…
all space is here.
all time is now.
here…now.
here now.

Girl, vo: time. noun. somebody’s lifetime. a period during which somebody is
alive, especially the most active or productive period in somebody’s life. she’d
been a well-known athlete in her time. we didn’t worry about such trifles in my
time.

Hippie Girl : you are my captor. you lavish me with incense. you cradle
me and kiss me. I am your slave.
you are my twin. you mirror me. you play with me.
you turn me over and over.
rolling.
over and over and over again and again and again and again and again and again
and again…
rolling over and over and over and over…

Hep Cat B: he. sweetly. dances. to. smoky. red. blushing. as. we. nourish. the.
silhouette.

Girl: that day. that day never happened.

FairyGodMother : then where am I?

Girl: you’re still here somewhere. you’re hiding.

FairyGodMother : I would miss you too much to keep hiding
this long. you might not miss me after a while. you might get used to being
gone. Are you used to me being gone?

Girl: I don’t think about you as much as I used to.

FairyGodMother: but you’ll never get used to me being gone.

Girl: in a sense, I am used to it. I don’t expect you to show up all of a
sudden.

FairyGodMother: do you still wish I would?

Girl: I have lists of things I would give up for that to happen. but no matter
how long these lists get, there’s no one to bargain with. no one can grant my
trade.

FairyGodMother: do you still dream about me?

Girl: I still do.

Girl: I remember how we used to walk around the neighborhood and we would only
go three streets in each direction because if we stayed in that little area we
could pretend that we were in England. we would wear clothes we thought looked
British and talk in an English accent the whole time and we’d be cold on our
walk and we’d snuggle together and hold each other like we were colder than we
actually were and afterwards we’d go back to your place and we’d have tea.
remember?

Girl, vo: time. noun. season. a period during which particular climactic
conditions prevail. the rainy times of the year. the English times of the
year.

Girl: this morning I woke up feeling so bad because I realized it had been over
two weeks since I moved out of the old apartment and I still hadn’t called to
give you my new number.
you are the monkey.

DeadLover: you are the hawk.

Girl: you are brevity.

DeadLover: you, elaboration.

Girl: you are lyric.

DeadLover: you are song.

Girl : where are you?

DeadLover: I’m in the hospital. I’m in room fourteen-oh-six.

Girl: and you’re there, but you’re sleeping. and we’re playing music for you.
and
you’re not making any sign that you hear it but you hear it, and you’re singing
along in your head. none of us are singing, though. we’re whispering to each
other and taking turns going up to you to lay our heads down next to yours.
that’s where my head is now, laying next to yours on that pillow. and I’m
holding your hand and I’m brushing your cheek with my fingers. and touching your
hair. and I’m whispering to you in your ear.

DeadLover : what are you
saying?

Girl: may. oceans. savor. breezes. for. you. brilliant. yesterday. I. am.
building. an. eternity. from. my. impressions.

Girl: oh, I love kissing you.

DeadLover: actually, I love kissing you, too.

Girl: oh, really?

DeadLover: uh hmm, a lot.

Girl: remember that first long kiss we had? we couldn’t stop.

DeadLover: ohhhh, and I remember our very first kiss was…

Girl: delicate, and…

DeadLover: yeah.

Girl: yeah, that was wonderful.

DeadLover: I like that second one, too…

Girl: yeah.

DeadLover: and that first night, coming home from the dance club, I was like, I
think she likes me and I really hope she likes me, but I wasn’t sure…

Girl: oh!

DeadLover: and then we kissed…

Girl: oh, that’s so cute…

DeadLover: my goodness, I was so nervous.

Girl: oh!…I always thought you were cute…awww…that’s so cute.

DeadLover: I hope she likes me I hope she likes me. I hope she likes me the
same way I like her…and then we kissed…

Girl: awww…hold me.

Boyfriend: you’re not with me.

Girl: I’m just thinking about…

Boyfriend: tell me what you’re thinking.

Girl: I’m thinking about when we met.

Boyfriend: when was that?

Girl: college.

Boyfriend: debt.

Girl: credit cards.

Boyfriend: credit system.

Girl: debt system.

Boyfriend: debt ratio.

Girl: p/e ratio.

Boyfriend: rising.

Girl: falling.

Boyfriend: market.

Girl: model.

Boyfriend: cheating.

Girl: learning.

Boyfriend: writing.

Girl: composing.

Boyfriend: performing.

Girl: opera.

Boyfriend: arias.

Girl: songs.

Boyfriend: songs?

Girl : songs. the songs in my
head. play too loud. I can’t think. one minute I’m a genius, the next I am an
idiot. I feel I am barely maintaining certain elements of my life, like my job
and relationships with people, while I advance other elements in huge strides
overnight. this month I have finished twenty six paintings, made ten drawings,
and mixed five songs. I toggle between wanting to stop all progress in my life
and trying to move on. between grotesque transfixion on you and transcendent
obliviousness. on the whole I hate people more than I ever have before, but I
tolerate and occasionally enjoy the company of my close friends. I am
monstrously critical. I see every flaw and inconsistency available in the
idiotic behaviors of others and me. more and more all I have to say to people
is, don’t you realize how stupid you are? but more and more I censor my critical
anger and say nothing at all, even to people I care about. these are not my
problems. it is not my duty to help. I used to be the host, helping everyone I
know feel at home when they are with me. I am less hospitable now. I am not here
to entertain. I am not even here to exert a reasonable level of respect. in the
past tarot readings consistently turned up the hanged man card to describe me,
one who has such mental mastery of the world, such clear understanding of it,
that it hinders his ability to actually live. in the card he has suspended
himself by his feet, and hangs looking at the world upside down. now my reading
is twofold. to characterize me, the card devil’s play, the most diabolic passion
and creativity. divine playfulness. lack of inhibition. irreverence.
originality. spontaneity. self declared freedom. laughing away my fears and
sorrows. dancing to my success. and then I pull a second card, asking, what is
the seed, what is the basis for this devil’s play? the card I pull is sorrow.

Boyfriend: you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. this is going to take a
long time to go through. in some ways… in some ways you’ll be going through
this for the rest of your life. it will get better. I promise it will get
better. but it will always be a part of your life. what have you been eating?

Girl: low fat butter.

Boyfriend: Parkay!

Girl: butter.

Boyfriend: paraplegics.

Girl: paraplegics?!

Boyfriend: mmm…yummy with butter. paraplegics.

Girl: veterans.

Boyfriend: hippies.

Girl: boomers.

Boyfriend: republican.

Girl: affair.

Boyfriend: scandal.

Girl: cover up.

Boyfriend: J.F.K.

Girl: Marilyn Monroe.

Boyfriend: fucking Madonna.

Girl: I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to stay up all night talking with
you.

DeadLover: I love this.

Girl: so do I.

DeadLover: and the great thing is, after tonight, we’ll have tomorrow…and the
day after…

Girl: a section of brick walkway lined with young trees whose branches merge
into a canopy completely covering me. leaves from above collect on the bricks. I
walk this tunnel wishing I had frog or spider eyes and could see in all
directions at once, pained knowing that whatever beauty I choose to admire
jealously holds me in its fidelity, and I am incapable of looking elsewhere.
soon it will be winter, and there will be no leaves, but only black and white,
dirt and sky lie together. I’ve been thinking about things in new ways lately,
realizing how my mind proceeds and tweaking that, rearranging the wordless logic
of each moment. I went camping this weekend and had the most deeply moving
spiritual experience of my life. the only way I can talk about it is to say that
I danced with a hawk. the next day I laughed and cried and screamed and sang all
at once. I laughed behind all, beyond all, laughed like the bottom of the ocean.
I find myself more and more at home in diverse portions of the world, and
simultaneously becoming less and less compatible with other portions, to the
extent that I hardly need to converse with some of it in order to fully
understand, and I have absolutely no need or desire to converse with other
portions of it in order to know that I can never understand at all… I feel
more and more in love and more and more alone as life goes on.

Boyfriend: where did you go, just then? where are you?

Girl
: I’m just laying here, and the waves… the waves are washing
over and over and over…

Girl, vo: time. noun. now. the present as distinguished from the past or
future.

Girl: I remember waking up and seeing your face in the sunlight. I remember
sleeping with you on the roof in summer rain. I remember hearing you breathe. I
remember kissing your neck and feeling your fingers slide along my back. I
remember you saying my name. I remember that party. the dance club. the thrift
store. our English walks. that night I drove you home. I remember our first
kiss. so delicate. so slow…

Girl: time. verb. measure of how long something takes. to measure or record the
duration, ratio, or speed of something.

DeadLover: you can say we were making love and that gives a general idea of
what’s going on. you can say it was good, but what really happened is that you
were laying in the front seat of your car with your head against the door and
your legs spread. you were rubbing your clitoris with your fingers and my dick
was inside of your body. you were gasping, I was moaning, or grunting or
something, and we both cum rushing with various juices, catching each other like
the rhythm of a train, I’m looking at your face, your mouth is open, your
forehead lines rising like a chevron, your fingernails digging into the small of
my back. is that making love? is that desire? is that happiness? some people
would interpret it as happiness. some people would see it as an achievement, a
score. some would feel that they had gained power over another human being. some
would feel ashamed, or guilty if they had attached the idea of moral wrongness
to these acts. I think I would call it joy. I would feel a great sense of
connection. and love. so I say I am joyful, and I say I am in love, but what
does that mean? what does that equate to? well, it equates to having your head
pressed up against the passenger door of your car, it equates to having your
legs spread, it equates to feeling my dick inside your body. it equates to
gasping. it equates to moaning. it equates to grunting. it equates to rushing
with juice. it equates to seeing your face when you cum. it equates to feeling
your fingernails cut into the small of my back. it equates to falling, at the
end, tired and sweaty in each other’s arms.

Actor A: you’re so full of shit.

Actor B: do you really mean that?

Actor A: no. I want to fuck you and all you want to do is screw around.

Actor B: so what’s the problem?

Actor A: forget it.

Actor B: I’m just kidding.

Actor A: I’m tired of kidding. I want adulting.

Actor B: I’m not in the mood for adulting.

Actor A: I know.

Actor B: you have me down.

Actor A: yeah. I do. … I’ll be out with the girls.

Actor B: I’ll be right here…

Girl, vo: time. verb. set the time of something. to regulate or set the time of
something such as a clock or a train’s schedule.

Coffee Shop Server Boy: I dreamt I lied to you. I dreamt I had sex with a
demon.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: did you like it?

Coffee Shop Server Boy: why do you need to know that?

Coffee Shop Server Girl: you did like it then.

Coffee Shop Server Boy: of course I did. … what did you dream?

Coffee Shop Server Girl: that you lied to me.

Girl, vo: time. noun. playing period. a period of play in a game.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: I dream of negligence nagging me past tense. of
writers and fame and parties where I stood on the rim.

Girl, vo: time. noun. military service. a term of military service.
time. noun. period worked. the period during a day or week that somebody works.
working half time.
time. noun. pay. a rate of pay.
paid double time.
time. noun. geologic division. a chronologic division of geologic history.
time. verb. stay in rhythm. to keep time to a rhythmical or musical beat. old
English tima, period of time from a prehistoric Germanic base meaning, to
extend, which is also the ancestor of English tide.
all in good time.
no sooner than is appropriate. all the time.
time. noun. geologic division. a chronologic division of geologic history.
time. verb. stay in rhythm. to keep time to a rhythmical or musical beat. old
English tima, period of time from a prehistoric Germanic base meaning, to
extend, which is also the ancestor of English tide.
all in good time.
no sooner than is appropriate. all the time.
continuously. at one time.
at a time in the past.
simultaneously. at the same time.
simultaneously.
nevertheless. at times.
sometimes. behind the times.
out of touch with modern fashions, methods, or attitudes. for the time being.
for a short period of time starting from now. from time to time.
occasionally. have no time for somebody or something.
to regard somebody or something with dislike or contempt. have the time of your
life.
to have a very enjoyable experience. in good time.
early enough. we were in time for the concert. in time.
after some time has passed. he’ll understand in time that you were trying to
help him. in time.
in the correct rhythm. clapping in time to the music. in your own time.
at a speed or pace that feels natural or comfortable. keep time.
to show the time accurately. keep time.
to do something in the correct rhythm, or in the same rhythm as somebody or
something else. live on borrowed time.
to enjoy an unexpected extension of life. make time with somebody.
informal. to pursue somebody as a sexual partner. on time.
at the scheduled time. on your own time.
not during work hours. pass the time of day with somebody.
to engage in casual conversation with somebody. take your time.
to take whatever time is necessary. take your time.
to do something unacceptably slowly. time after time. time and time again.
repeatedly.

Disney A: I dream of sex.

Disney B: I guess you do.

Disney A: I dream of strawberries and hot tubs and chocolate and ice. I dream
of lace and panties and bras. I dream of sweat and showers.

Disney B: I dream of undressing myself for you. I dream of riding you like a
horse. fucking you. licking your ears, sucking your dick.

Disney A: I dream of feathers and cotton.

Disney B: I dream of tickling you with my hair.

Disney A: I dream of here and there.

Disney B: I dream, I dream, I dream…

Coffee Shop Server Girl: you’re a cutie.

Coffee Shop Server Boy: you’re a demon.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: you’re so hot.

Coffee Shop Server Boy: stop.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: why?

Coffee Shop Server Boy: okay, keep going.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: why am I a demon?

Coffee Shop Server Boy: it’s not a bad thing. I call my favorite girl satan.

Coffee Shop Server Girl: I’m not your favorite girl? how come I’m not satan?
how come I’m only a demon?

Coffee Shop Server Boy: you’ve still got your clothes on. you’re still pretty
much on your side of the room. how can you be anything more than a demon?

Coffee Shop Server Girl: well, I just got here…give me a second…

Coffee Shop Server Boy: take five.

Girl, vo: time. noun. timeout.

DeadLover : nibble.
succulent. psychedelic. mold.

Girl: organic post clinical psychotherapy.

Boyfriend: Woody Allen movies.

Girl: prescription drug abuse.

Boyfriend: depression.

Girl: mania.

Boyfriend: insanity.

Girl: antisociality.

Boyfriend: perverse eccentricities.

Girl: senile dementia.

Boyfriend: health insurance.

Girl: co-payments.

Boyfriend: hypochondria.

Girl: disease envy.

Boyfriend: coping fantasies.

Girl: coping strategy.

Boyfriend: the overboard.

Girl: the underground.

Boyfriend: suits in porno shacks.

Girl: masters of the universe.

Boyfriend: Tom…?

Girl: Wolfe.

Boyfriend: Wolfe.

Girl: vampire.

Boyfriend: gladiators.

Girl: talk shows.

Boyfriend: L.A.

Girl: Athens.

Boyfriend: Rome.

Girl: Carthage.

Girl, vo: Carthage. noun. site of an ancient city, founded by the Phoenicians
on the northern coast of Africa in eight fourteen b.c.

FairyGodMother: soldiers returning from battle, wheelchair bound, destined for
the psych wards, damned to wander civilization’s peacetime misplaced, crippled
heroes dosed with Thorazine, Zoloft dinner partners popping pill compartments at
the roadside diner. violence, as the technological pill eclipses its own
pharmacist, and the elite behave inhumanly, while the reflexive murder
perpetrated among the mass of the poor makes them more understandable, more
sensible, less prone to induce the tones of hell than the lonely parasite they
feed.

Girl, vo: parasite. noun. organism living on another. a plant or animal that
lives on or in another, usually larger host organism in a way that harms or is
of no advantage to the host. time. noun. instance. a separate occasion of a
recurring event. I told you three times.

Girl: looking at clocks is a fairly recent thing for me. I look at the clock
six times each night before I go to bed. I look at the clock eight times in the
morning when my alarm goes off. if someone asks me what time it is, I look at my
watch twice before I tell them what time it is. then I look at my watch three
more times, looking away in-between each glance, and then I usually tell the
person what time it is again, by that time it’s usually the next minute and if
it is I tell the person the new time. my watch shows the seconds but when
people ask me what time it is I don’t tell them the seconds, because most people
don’t really care all that much about the seconds. the seconds are everything.
eight fifty-seven and forty-nine seconds is a completely different animal than
eight fifty-seven and thirty- two seconds. thirty-two seconds is maybe roundable
to thirty seconds, thirty-two seconds is maybe roundable to thirty-three or
thirty-five seconds. forty-nine seconds is almost fifty and fifty is almost a
minute. you could never round forty-nine seconds down to forty-five, it just
wouldn’t make sense, you’re already there, you’re at fifty, you’re practically
through with the minute. when I’m at fifty-nine seconds I’m already at five or
ten after. fifty-nine is over by the time you think about it, thinking about
fifty-nine at fifty-nine is basically a moot point, you know, you might as well
start planning on the next ten or fifteen seconds, at least five, just to give
yourself a heads up. most of the time when I’m on fifty-nine I’m already at
twenty again, but, but, as I was saying my obsession with actually looking at
the numbers on clocks is a fairly recent thing. when I was a kid I used to go
out on the street and throw clocks down on the asphalt and take hammers and
smash them into little bits when I was a kid I would take clocks apart, you see?

DeadLover: you are madness.

Girl: you are gall.

Girl, vo: eight fifty-seven a.m. carbon and bullshit goes to the beach. eight
fifty-seven a.m. tired of looking at my watch, but apparently unable to break
the habit with thought alone, I enact a foolproof solution which I have been
considering for some time. time. noun. prison term. a term in prison. informal.
serve time for robbery.

PT A: you are the criminal.

PT B: I am the crime.

PT A: you are subliminal.

PT B: I am sublime.

PT A: you are the beat.

PT B: I am the beat. I carry you forth. I strike your heart. I entrance your
ability to breathe until your life is a pebble in my phantom hand.

PT A: you are a phantom.

PT B: I am the phantasm. I walk among flesh, screech as the wind. I take on any
form that makes me laugh and my laugh is your thunder, siphon crushing shores of
sand and cyclones searing waves of grain. my laugh is the terror you feel upon
waking from a dream. my laugh is sheets of salty rain beating on tin. my laugh
is ancient ruin, statues cast in blood screaming at you in a tongue composed of
clicks and babbles, whispering at you in a spiral you can never catch, slicing
you open again with the knife you just handed me, scratching your eyes out with
nails, disarming you, birthing you, bleeding you like a gutter.

PT A: beat.

PT B: beat.

PT A: beat. beat.

PT B: beat. beat.

Girl, vo: time. noun. musical beat. the number of beats per measure of a
musical composition.

PT B: you are the tower.

PT A: I am a column of fire with wings.

PT B: you are the phoenix. you rise.

PT A: like an angel.

PT B: like inferno.

PT A: like a mushroom. Hiroshima.

Teen A: I bet I can make a card house that’s five hundred stories tall.

Teen B: I bet I can write a book for every letter in the alphabet.

Teen A: I bet I can hold my breath for six minutes.

Teen B: I bet I can make an ice cube out of a hairdryer.

Teen A: I bet I can add up all the numbers from one to five hundred in my head.

Teen B: I bet I can train a worm to sing.

Teen A: I bet I can pick up a car with my bear hands and lift it above my head.

Teen B: I bet I can swallow a snake.

Teen A: I bet I can make a bus fly like a bird.

Teen B: I bet I can write a poem that will make you cry.

Teen A: I bet I can lead a revolution.

Teen B: I bet I can predict your future.

Teen A: I bet I can make you cum, twice, just by breathing in your ear.

Teen B: I bet you can.

Teen A: I bet I can make a train travel faster than light.

Teen B: I bet I can write eight hundred symphonies by the time I’m thirty.

Teen A: I bet I can paint the world on the tip of a needle.

Teen B: I bet I can eat eighteen boxes of macaroni and cheese in half an hour.

Teen A: I bet I can memorize the first one hundred thousand digits of pi.

Teen B: I bet I can make a machine out of sand that will add and subtract.

Teen A: I bet I can make it add, subtract, multiply, and divide.

Teen B: I bet I can make it do formulas.

Teen A: I bet I can make it recognize fingerprints.

Teen B: I bet I can make it beat you in chess.

Teen A: I bet I can make it think. I can also make it so small that it fits in
the palm of your hand.

Teen B: I can make it so small you can’t even see it.

Teen A: I can make…a bomb…out of a single atom…that can destroy the
entire universe.

Teen B: you’re such a freak.

Girl, vo: freak. noun. strikingly unusual person, animal, plant. a person,
animal, or plant that is strikingly unusual, and appears to be unique or occurs
very rarely. somebody unconventional. somebody who behaves unusually or has
unusual tastes or habits.

Teen A: Baryshnikov.

Teen B: Michael Jackson.

Teen A: Picasso.

Teen B: Busta Rhymes.

Teen A: Shakespeare.

Teen B: Feynman.

Teen A: Derrida.

Teen B: John Lennon.

Teen A: Trent Reznor.

Teen B: Tori Amos.

Teen A: Madonna.

Teen B: Basquiat.

Teen A: fucking Warhol.

Teen B: fucking Warhol. … Jesus.

Teen A: Malcom X.

Teen B: Joan of Arc.

Teen A: Queen Elizabeth.

Teen B: Lincoln.

Teen A: Orville and Wilbur Wright.

Teen B: Turing.

Teen A: Mozart.

Teen B: Mozart.

Teen A: checkmate.

DeadLover : checkmate. noun. winning position in chess. a move or
position in chess, in which a player’s king cannot escape check and the other
player wins the game. do you know how many definitions of time there are in the
dictionary?

Girl: how many?

DeadLover: I don’t know. … I stopped reading after sixty two.

Girl: time. noun. a dimension enabling two identical events occurring in the
same point in space to be distinguished…by measuring the interval between the
events.

DeadLover: time. in one second a bullet from a gun travels three thousand feet.

Girl: in one second a particle of light travels one hundred and eighty-six
thousand miles.

DeadLover: according to the Big Bang Theory our universe expanded from
something smaller than a piece of dust to approximately its present size in a
tiny fraction of a second.

Girl: that first second is always the longest one.

DeadLover: that second before you start to wake up.

Girl: me. this is not me. I’m not here. I’m not hearing this. I don’t have to
do this I never meant to come here I hate it here I’m never coming back I don’t
know why you think this is necessary I can’t be seen no one can see me I don’t
know what they’re doing I’ve never been to one of these before I didn’t know it
would be like this it’s not what I imagined I wish it wasn’t I wish it wasn’t I
can’t fathom how they’d feel that way they should hate me they should hate me
want me dead they should kill me and want me in jail they should try to make me
hurt they should kill me they should kill me but they don’t have to I will kill
myself so they don’t have to look at me I will kill myself so they won’t have to
think about me anymore, I will kill myself so I won’t have to think anymore, I
will kill myself to make it even kill myself to make it even kill myself to make
it even.

DeadLover : everything. everything is happening.

Girl: dreaming in bed at eight a.m. rolling over and the covers coming off my
head. cold. the door is closing and my roommate leaves for work. I’m burying my
head in the blankets, trying to keep my ears warm, but I can’t. the sun is
coming in higher through the window and the mailbox is opening and closing.
someone’s coming by later to fix the sink and I’m hitting snooze for the
fiftieth time and I’m looking at the seconds, and they just keep coming, faster
and faster and-

Ash’s arrangement of Carbon and Bullshit

Treatment for MOVE

written by Suzanne Temple
from a story by Suzanne and Matthew Temple
Copyright 2002 MOO-COW. All Rights Reserved.

We see Jill’s skatewheels rolling. She’s weaving around a desolate intersection, early morning, doing stunts on her skateboard. She hops it up on the curb, swerves it back and forth, does a wheelie. She reaches down and picks up objects she finds: a computer disk, something else, and a lighter. We see her pocket these things and head down into the subway, lighting a cigarette with the lighter she just found as she goes down the stairs. Jack is going up as Jill is going down. Jill races down the length of the platform performing a dangerous trick, cigarette between her teeth. Jill slumps into a seat on the train behind 2 kids. We see jack running down the stairs and barely making it on the last car of the train. Jill whips out a pad of paper and a chewed Bic pen and begins taking down what the kids are saying. Jack comes bumbling through, he’s been moving up the train from car to car. As he passes, Jill sees something in his movement that is like the movement of her skateboard. She gets up and follows him. Jill sits down opposite Jack in the car that he has settled on. She looks up at him but he doesn’t see her. He is looking at some papers in his lap, trading them for other ones from his attache case, looking into space, and generally involving himself inside his own head. He is nervous. Jill is relaxed in posture, possibly playing with her lip ring or a chain. We see what he sees and we see what she sees: He sees myopic views of the train, the time on his watch, the wheel on the skateboard across from him, and the words on his pages. We hear his voice reading the words of some business/office/financial mumbo-jumbo report, but the sentences keep turning into Walt Whitman poetry, or Wordsworth, sort of trailing off. She sees the lights of the train track playing on him, and she tries to place him based on her observations. If she sees his tie very tightly drawn, she imagines him doing it up in the morning being very proud of himself being a businessman. Then she sees details incongruous with his overall uptight impression: white athletic socks where there should be dress socks, and she thinks of him not being able to find his socks. Red eyes or trembling hands or sniffing/pushing at his nose and she imagines him snorting cocaine. These things happen as she follows him from train to train. Jill loses Jack as he is getting off a crowded train, or she wasn’t paying attention and he got off, and we see her looking after him. We see Jack going to his place of work, a big downtown office building, and we see the same corporate symbol that was on the disk or a paper sticking out of the folder he’s carrying. We see Jill coming off the subway and skating behind the kids she was watching before. Jack is in the bathroom, washing his face, pacing, or otherwise getting himself together. It looks like he’s going to cry. Jill is doing tricks off of some downtown curbs, picking things up. The disk is in her pocket. Jack goes into a stall or a corner and does start to cry. There is poetry going on in his head. We see Jill drop the disk, and absentmindedly pick it up again. Jack emerges from the bathroom, looking numb, head silent. He goes into the conference room, the other people motion him up and take their seats. He stands at the podium, opens a laptop, and everything goes silent, frozen. Jill’s wheels sound in the background. She bursts through the door of the conference room, strides purposefully up to the front, presses the disk into Jack’s hands and gives him a huge kiss on the cheek. Jack grins widely–innocent relief and pleasure–then he realizes what is in his hand, turns to Jill and says hi.

Treatment for MOVE