Polylogue
Time Project Polylogue.
Click this link to see all comments: Link.
Five Archetypes and Premise:
We don't know where we are, we are isolated.
Continuing Polylogue
- Let's try to be online 6-7ish every evening.
- Be provocative! Affect your surroundings.
- Characters: don’t use archetype as a “sign” you hold up. Allow the characters to develop.
- When Reading, allow the possibility of error, parody and sarcasm. Don't be overly sincere.
Click this link to see all comments: Link.
Five Archetypes and Premise:
We don't know where we are, we are isolated.
Continuing Polylogue
- Let's try to be online 6-7ish every evening.
- Be provocative! Affect your surroundings.
- Characters: don’t use archetype as a “sign” you hold up. Allow the characters to develop.
- When Reading, allow the possibility of error, parody and sarcasm. Don't be overly sincere.
posted by Dustin at 9:37 p.m.
191 Comments:
FWO: Can anyone hear me?
I can hear you but only in my head and I cannot feel or see you, are those important?
I hate this empty electronic space
Yes i know what you mean. I feel as though Im in a void - sending a message out into the dark. I think I know where I am but Im confused about where you are.
Why dont you identify yourself?
I am a self too...I think
Amnesiac: What the hell is going on? You're all a bunch of nutters.
what do you mean 'nutters'?...
I think of squirrels?
or peanuts? or wallnuts?
do you know these...
but they aren't selves like us...Funny, I just remembered the taste of wallnuts.
I am a squirrel and every year I bury my nuts in the yard and every year I lose them. I am looking for my nuts, have you seen them?
Dear Squirrel,
I was going to say you are nuts but I changed my mind, thats balls.
Everyone quiet down. I can't hear the background over the din. If we are to look for something that we must think, not bicker.
WHAT'S ALL THIS TALK ABOUT SQUIRRELS????
FOCUS.
We are here for a reason.
What is it?
And...how can we escape?
But we have to know where from...I can't see you all. But I feel you close. Lets move closer.
Whether we move closer or further away from each other is irrelevant. I am looking for the words to express the strange situation that we are currently in but all I spend my time doing is searching through a thesaurus, through the wanted ads, through time and never coming closer to it.
Did you ever dream of looking at the world without consequence, without the ability to intervene, without any complicity? I am seeking this ultimate truth or experience so that like you I can see the world anew, would anyone else like to come with me?
I feel it is impossible in this medium. What is there besides dots on a screen and the possibility of consciousness behind them?
yeah how do I know you aren't me?
Amnesiac: Why is everyone here so insane? Where am I? Why does nothing seem familiar here? I remember that I was just in my car, fast asleep, why am I ...
Amnesiac: Well, Mister, I know you aren't me cos' you clearly are not talking from my mouth.
LISTEN to your SELVES... "yeah how do I know you aren't me; where am I; dot-dot-dots on a screen..." Your lips are flapping but nothing is coming out AND NOW I am going to impose the threat of meaninglessness on all future comments if this dribble does not end. Stop grovelling over your own identity because it is beyond your control.
POST NO FURTHER MESSAGES
______________________________________________________________________
I enjoy the challenge.
"What might some archaeologist of the future make of these strange secreted offerings?"
What we need are triggers, mnemonics, and codes that will create the rules for our game of time criminality. Who is guilty and when are they guilty. We know what the punishment should be but now we have to define the crime.
Someone mentioned that when stripped of time they almost got over their cold but when real time was present again their sickness returned in full. What does this mean for our construction project?
I am looking for the rules so that I can begin to punish. Help me find the rules so that we can punish those that do not hear tick-tock all the time.
I know what it feels like when time stops and life goes on. I dont mean what I said. I dont want to punish anyone. I just want to know what happened. I want to go there again. Where time had stopped.
Amnesiac: I remember when time stopped. I was walking in the park with my love, and that day time certainly stopped. It was as if... everything slowed down just for us. It was as if we halted time, made it deccelerate.
But then, I don't remember anything that happened between the car trip and now. Does anyone of you know?
Buddy:
Well now that you mention it, time sort of...stopped for me too. It also has to do with a love but isn't so lovely.
My husband left me six weeks ago.
I stayed inside, devastated, alone, a recluse from the world. Every movement I made reminded me of him.
I stopped answering the phone, didn't open the blinds. I laid in bed holding on to the smell of him that still lingered in the sheets. I lived off tears, I think.
I didn't check my mail during that time; the letters and bills piled under the door.
I suppose I could have, would have stayed that way, if my sister didn't threaten to come here from Montreal and break the door down.
When I emerged, there was a letter.
Many letters. But yes, a letter.
Who was it from?
I should have opened it earlier.
Date: unknown
Dear Buddy,
I hate to be the one to tell you but everything you feared has come true. Where have you been? I have tried calling to no avail and when I went by your place everything was neat and tidy but I couldn't find you. Do you think that I would forget about you and stop looking for you? Did you think that by forgetting it would leave you blank?
I kind of worry about you... sometimes. Do you even know what its like, to worry I mean?
I hate living with possibilty, negation, guess-work. I look at the things that once brought us together but now separate us. The telephone that would ring; the mailbox that would accept your letters. They are all still there but they remain empty.
Please answer this letter.
Signed
gddjfghdfgfh
I haven't had a breath of fresh air in days. My mind is running circles around the decisions that I have to make. When will it end?
Stop! Stop now!!
Not a word. Not a thought 'til I get answers.
What the hell is going on?
Don't tell me to stop. Who do you think you are? Weren't you there, didn't you look into their eyes? The sadness, the sorrow, the pain was all there. You know whats going on so stop being so naive. Don't you remember?
ANON (to be the promised one)
I remember...but memory here is different. I remember then and now. It's like everything that happens here has been already, but this time it is tired...and spent...like Deja Vu instead of the real thing...I dunno
It's funny - this place...I mean we should be happy here. right? What's so bad? We are warm enough - not hungry or tired. there is no pain. well...I know I am not in pain, at least... but then why are people yelling, what is there to be angry at. I don't feel anger, I just...am. We all just are...but we aren't being or doing anything
...I am talking nuts now. or nutters. That's funny...I think...
I think. I sound....crazy. IF someone would just, if I could just, I dunno...laugh...laugh at me, I don't care...just LAUGH!
I think you hold the solution. The mind is a small camera that can capture images and give them a voice. I urge you to take some snapshots and maybe they will stimulate your senses.
Tonight I almost witnessed someone hit by a car on their bike. Every moment of the CRASH was played out in my mind, the face of the push biker and the sorriness of the driver. But the thing is the biker was able to avoid even though the car was oblivious. I was powerless and I loved it. I wasn't responsible, it was that moment that I had been searching for, you know, without responsibility.
I hate being here. I hate this fucking place.
just...just...just stop.
No no... you're right I am not in pain, not hungry, although I am a little tired. I just want to move, to be free of...
Do you ever feel trapped?
Yes of course I do. What traps you though? I don't think its the same as my cage...
Not the SAME as my cage.
Entrapment. You feel that right in your chest, the tightness.
I think some people set up traps for themselves. Sometimes.
Did you know that entrapment means to catch in or trap but also to lure into danger? Are you luring me into something?
My chest is a sort of cage I suppose. Is that what you mean?
Did you know that entrapment means to catch in or trap but also to lure into danger? Are you luring me into something?
My chest is a sort of cage I suppose. Is that what you mean?
ARGH! Just shut up. You all speak and speak. Life isn't a fucking talking-heads dialogue. I can't even feel you, maybe I'm going insane.
I don't remember asking for this. Stop speaking, I can't stand it. Just, if you can hear me, get me out. I can't
I can't feel anything, ugh. Its, I'm a puppet.
I hold the strings.
Fancy that, you didn't even feel me tugging.
Can you feel me now?
I daresay that you people are just going crazy. Thinking that we are puppets? And I thought I was a little... a little... a little... What was I saying?
You say you didn't ask for this. What a luxury it is to ask for things.
shhhh. YOU, you trailed off. I don't know your name...
But You were just about to show me the way, I know it.
Continue.
Continue.
Hello? Continue what? Did I miss a story? A bedtime story? What's it about?
Er... continue, then... whoever you are.
Can I tell a story?
Yes, please do.
Oh, all right, I'll tell a story.
Once upon a time, there was a very blue planet. This planet had other sister and brother planets that liked to revolve around it. And as one year passed on the planet, several hundred years passed on its brothers' and sisters' surfaces.
And what else was there in the story? ... Oh yes.
The end.
nice story... Ha
Ha
Let me tell you a little story about Copnericus. He discovered that our Universe is not geocentred (blue-planet centred) but is in fact heliocentered.
Translation: "brother and sister" planets don't revolve around blue planet they all revolve around the same sun.
In the future please tell stories that are relevant and try to remember what happens at the end.
People are slobs you know, well most of the ones that stay here are.
There isn't much to say for the people that stay here. They are here for only a few nights, sometimes more, sometimes less but they always leave. I can rarely tell who stayed in which room, I guess it doesn't matter, after a while they all look the same. I always get the sense that what they leave behind is important ; you know like when You are travelling and you forget a piece of clothing or an earring or the telephone number of the person you were supposed to call.
These little fragments I filter and sometimes, just sometimes, I keep them.
These little items are what breaks the monotony of my days. It feels like Daja Vu everyday until I find something really interesting.
Everyone has their way of counting. I figure that once the things I collect amount to what might be considered a history, then I will leave here.
Each item that I collect is a missing piece in the puzzle. Something that I can use to make another connection but sometimes no connection at all. It is always exciting though, the discarded and forgotten become the constellations of a new universe.
Astrology is funny because it forgot to take into account the fact that the universe is expanding. Predictions that were once valid don't even line up any more. Someone has to link the scattered stars to form new constellations.
Hosseus please don't forget anything when you leave this place.
Why are you always talking about leaving here? I quite like it here.
LOOK around you... What do you see?
I see nothing except emptiness. Everything has been gouged out of here and there is nothing left... even you seem haggard and fixated on emptiness. FORGET for a SECOND... ahh never mind...
Boom-ba-boom, boom-ba-boom, boom-ba-boom...
Only in your dreams are you able to excape this place. And sometimes not even then.
I cannot fall asleep. I cannot dream.
Without dreams. Without hope. Without a faint glimmer of anything but what is in front of you. I wish I could change something, anything for you. But I can't.
I dream of being separate, of being part of everything. there is nothing like a mischievious dream that fades away as the sunshine washes into your head.
buddy, you said that you cannot sleep and cannot dream but are those one and the same? I dream of being asleep while I am awake and awake while I am dreaming.
I fall asleep when I'm awake, though. I did that today.
What walls do you see? I don't see any walls here. Do people really come and go?
Does anyone want a cup of coffee? I noticed there was some in one of the rooms. An urn. Some milk. Seemed fresh.
...
That has to mean someone put it there in the last few hours. Did anyone see anything?
...
I think we are being toyed with. Or maybe its one of you. How can we tell that we are all here for the same reason or that we have all been put here against our will? Perhaps one of you brought us here. Or maybe one of you has a friend who brought us here and you are the one chosen to watch us. Suffer. Struggle.
...
Does anyone want a cup of coffee?
I want dreams of magical places, I want out of body dreams, timeless dreams.
I cannot sleep because my dreams destroy me. I cannot sleep becuase I must forget. I dream of sleep without dreams.
Since you mentioned coffee I cannot stop smelling it! How did you do that? Is it my imagination?
I don't know about you but I work here. any job will seem like it keeps you against your will but I need the money.
...
I have plans though. I am not going to work here forever.
...
I am here a lot but I don't see much of any of you. if anyone brought you here against your will, it was you. no one is confining you.
...
I would love a cup of coffee.
Where is everyone? I have been wandering around here for days. Won't anyone say ANYTHING?
I am here. I have walked with you. haven't you seen me? I wish someone would notice me. I am alone in myself.
...
Please notice me.
I'm beginning to think that all the people here are self-centred and stupid. All the talk about wanting attention. "Notice me! Notice me!"
You fool. Of course you should have noticed it long ago. Everyone's just begging, like drivelling dimwits, "Hear me, hear me, talk to me, I'm scared, I'm lonely, I want to talk to someone."
Everyone in here is so full of themselves that they can't hear anything else.
Shut up, everyone!
What is it that some say: "They can't hear anything else for the silence?" Or is it "but the silence?"
What a useless waste of time.
I drank too much coffee today.
Sorry if I have not seen you but my place is no longer anything but a point in my indefinite movement. As I continue to move, my place loses location and I am lost in space. The further away I move from the beginning the more infinite is my reach.
...
I have to move to avoid the inevitable crush of... I don't yet know what... but I feel it.
This place keeps getting more crowded and our propinquity increases. The cycles of our circulation are more regulated and I can no longer move freely as I once could.
Let me out of here.
I can't hear the background over the din. Someone said that a minute ago didn't they? I can't get that out of my head.
When I blink an eternity passes. An eternity! Should I not blink?
An eternity? What do you know of eternity? What do any of us know?
Whine, complain, provoke, lie. What difference does it make?
Hickory Dickory Dock. The mouse ran up the clock.
...a ten minute bus ride and a five minute walk...
...a five minute walk and a ten minute bus ride...
...a fifteen minute walk...
...a fifteen minute bus ride...
...about 4 minutes to hail a cab, 9 minutes there, 2 minutes to pay...
that's all it would take to escape...
You are not.
...
I can't believe that he just up and left without hardly saying goodbye.
there is something envigorating about him just LEAVING; leaving us, leaving everything. trust. intact. a mess. organized.
did you even notice which way he went? I don't think that we could even follow if we knew the way.
...
I hate goodbyes anyway
I didn't see anyone leave. What the fuck are you talking about?
No one ever leaves.
remind me of that story you used to tell
Shut up
What? Who are you talking to? Which story?
You used to put your head on my shoulder. I would be reading. Feigning indifference. But my heart was beating fast. I loved having you nestled in the crook of my shoulder. Hair tickling my neck. I loved feeling your presence and now that you are gone. I can't cast away this last image that I have of you without losing something of myself.
I want to tell everyone about you but they won't believe me. I can tell you anything though. Even though you are gone. I'll keep you locked away forever. Safe from the world. From prying eyes.
No problem doing that now. We can't even see each other.
I remember my love... but I cannot remember too... I remember walking with him... I don't know...
I don't think I can leave. I don't know enough about myself to do that.
What's it like working here?
you grate on my nerves. your presence makes me want to be absent. to retreat into that untouchable place but I can't remember how to get there.
grate on nerves. presence want absence. retreat into untouchable. remembrance. get there.
nerves. presence. retreat. get there.
Damn. gone again. try harder next time.
You can't join us. Please don't even attempt to understand us.
Can you hear me? Can you hear ME? Don't come back. Don't think about returning. Don't you dare tell anyone else about us.
Leave me alone.
I think I can see you there sandwiched in amongst the rest. step forward. show yourself.
You only told me the first part of your dream. I want you to tell me the end before you forget. Continue.
What dream?
I dreamed... blackness.
This is silly. Blackness? What a dream.
Blackness is everywhere. It's the colour of everybody. You walk on the street and people wear black coats. You see black in their eyes. Black shoes. Black spirits. Black roads.
Not everything is black. People wear different coloured coats.
Hey you, continue telling the story. The dream. We need some entertainment here.
I stood with my back against the wall. Their breath was choking me. Their eyes so familiar. Agape. Words secreted. Violent, controlling manipulating posture. No escape.
Fuck off, I say
They move closer. I smell the sickly sweet stench of their sweat. I want to extinguish it. A single bead of THEIR sweat falls on me and I start crying. I sob. Their laughter fills my ears.
I say it again.
Their proximity spirals into me. For a second I lose grasp on everthing.
I used to love their lovely look. But now never again.
First you have to imagine. The worst and then much more. So unspeakable I don't tell you any more than that. For fear of ruining you with you not knowing.
What happened is bound to happen again. I cannot escape myself. In this place so unspeakable I have the power to do anything but I choose to do nothing.
First you have to tear it to shreds. then you let it go. and when it comes back to you it has changed, morphed into something beautiful but if you never let it go and keep it in its cocoon. no beauty will come of it.
Its a long road that is behind me
If I follow every dream I might get lost
Why do you always apologize before you speak. You have been invited here to speak and now you must do so without hesitation. Stop hiding behind misdirection. Speak.
I didn't ask for this.
the promised one: There was a crow, or a picture of one. It was weird, there wasn't just an image but there was...
... MY dream. At the end, the crow was the end. the last time I dreamed...whish was a month or a day ago...can't tell in the dark
well I was here, but...no...I was on my way somewhere, but, it was LIKE here. Nowhere, like here, only it was open, not closed. Not all black but all light, so light all white, and just...bright you had to squeeze your eyes just to see more white
- it is weird having a dream with your eyes closed about your eyes straining wide open ...so weird...I was walking, and someone was behind me, they were supposed to be leading the way but they were just too slow. I tried to wair but the slower I went, the slower they went, but we had to keep moving, right. So I led as best I could, I kept asking for guidence as I pushed forward, but I couldn't speak the language - I couldn't pick words, or they could understand. So I just kept moving on...plowing forward blindly...I was straining so hard to feel anything. I remember just how it felt...like straining for a pindrop. It began to grow darker and I grew afraidI descided that I liked the light better then the dark, so I turned back, but it didn't change. But the light was gone, and I missed it. In the dark I was afraid to move, in the light I was searching. it was then that I noticed my guide was gone. I felt guilty almost, never noticing, not caring. he must have been as lonely, searching, like me. So I sat down...and cried. but it wasn't a good cry, where I you feel for someoneelse, it was a self indulgent pity cry. When all my tears were gone, and the blackness complete...I began painting pictures in my head. and slowly I began to feel my guide was back, but curious and offended, he didn't like me anymore but he liked my pictures. I drew everything i could picutre. But I was never happy with my paintings, but then I painted a final picture for him...of the light I remembered.
it was then that the strangest thing happened...I got a picture back. It was a crow, dancing...My guide, My silent spectator, had given something back. A crow...(laugh) a fucking dancing crow...back and forth...left to right...like that fucking hamster...only left right left right....in my dream I started laughin to...laughing into the dark. And I just suddenly felt the urge to dance. Even if I can't dance I can move, right? I danced into a frenzy...and the light came on...and I began to run with excitement. and my guide was leading from behind again. Only in the light the dark isn't so scary. It is kind of comforting.
Yeah...I dunno...you wanted a dream. Mine are always weird.
*silence*
My cousin likes hamsters. He had a pair, and they rapidly multiplied into 10, 30,...
But he was bad at caring for them... He over-cared, if there's such a word. After he bathed them, he was worried that they would catch a cold.
He used a hairdryer to dry them.
He had 7 left after awhile.
A dancing crow. Where I've heard it, a crow means death. Death is dancing? Someone is making fun of death.
My children, I think we might be dead, I know I've been waiting for it long enough. I never knew when it was going to come, but I knew it would.
I thought it would be less noisy.
TYRANT: Squawk Squawk...You crows in the blackness. How do I know all this crowing business isn’t just to hear yourselves in the darkness. The crowing of Liars! What? Are you all going to crow some more imaginings now. HA! Dreams! Sub-conscious static! And to think, nothing better to do then blab about nothing..
Buddy:*Silence* ...Into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing. Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token...
...Nevermore.
Like The Raven - My favourite poem, by poe. You know.
(Pause)
This ebony bird beguiling my sad face into smiling.
You smiled when you told your dream, I could feel it.
It was nice, here hearing a happy thought. All I feel is bleak.
I am stuck somewhere between nothing and eternity. Won't someone help me out.
The Promised Ohe: Maybe it was a raven...I don't know...it was dark in the picture.
Stop talking to me. Did you think that you were going to make me change my mind? Did you?
I look back now and your lips breath fire on my heart. Charred, burnt flesh smoldering in the heat of your lies.
I can't talk to you anymore.
I say fuck it. The whispering. Its like rain & gloom when my mood is already unsteady. Insult to injury.
Leave me alone. alone.
I didn't mean to make you start sobbing. There was nothing I could do. I attempted contact but all I could do was get closer. I love letting my breath warm & tickle your skin. I tried not to let my sweat mingle with yours but that was inevitable. I tried to quell my laughter but I couldn't. It seemed to come from some other place, some other space.
If this sounds like an apology. It's not. If it sounds like I regret the way I made you feel. I don't. If you think I will lose sleep. I won't.
FWO: Lost sleep? Nevermore!
Seeker: Life here IS but a dream...within a dream (smiles at own cleverness)...well, no, but we're all living through telling our dreams here, but I FELT him leering over me there. Did everyone feel him?
I haven't felt anything like that here before...I thought we couldn't feel. But it wasn't just fear...it was like real goosebumps, no I think I had...have...real goosebumps, now. is it just me? Buddy? he was talking to you...
I felt it too. please come closer. I don't want to be alone anymore.
You're definitely not alone. Not here. We can hear each other talking. So we're definitely not alone.
I got something too. I mean I got it. I'm not just empathizing. I felt it. Are you on the inside? I mean me. Are you not just a thought anymore?
What about you, amnesiac? Do you remember a story? Or not remember--like the tune you wake with that you know you've been singing in your sleep?
Who is "Amnesiac"? I don't remember anyone introducing themselves here. If there had been, I would have remembered it. It's such a very unique name. I've never heard such a name before.
... Have I been singing?
(frustrated) I'm going to sleep.
I know I was always bad with names, for the life of me I just can't seem to put my finger on my own - we havn't seemed to need them for so long now. well it has been long for me here anyways. I used to count by singing songs. It is way off now, I have no way of knowing how long the songs I am hmmmming in my head are, but when I was alone here it was all I could do to juse keep doing. Singing into my head - although sometimes I know I was singing out into the darkness. I used to imagine people were here but silent because they were listening...
Why do you need to assign names to yourselves? I have already given everyone a name. Your voices deceive you and each time you speak I know who you are.
What is the need for a name in the dark? More like "the woman in the corner or the guy over there." I have already figured out my own way to identify you. Just don't go anywhere.
And not speaking is just as telling too.
Excuse me, you're... you're...you're such a tyrant.
Why don't you do what you said earlier, and go to sleep? It'll give us some peace.
I'm going to sleep too.
Hahaha, there's no need to go to sleep. You're already asleep. Half your mind is asleep. You don't know anything. You don't remember anything.
You...! I... I... You... That is very mean of you, you horrible... horrible... man/woman!
It's not as if I have a choice. I'm trying. I'm trying to remember.
But you! You jerk, you just sit there and try to put down everyone else who talks, just because you can't bear it if anyone makes more sense than you do.
No one ever identified themselves as a FUCKING tyrant and everyone here is a sort of amnesiac. How can anyone exert authority in darkness and distance?
There is always a choice or are you going to tell me that I was fated to be here? The sense we make of anything is a construction. Patterns in nature are only patterns because we see them as such; if you think someone is making more sense than another its because you identify with them and not the other.
Sense is a sensibility that makes no sense. If you can make sense of this it's because you have forgotten to use your senses. What sense can come of no sense?
*Silence*
Nonsense
One thousand and one. one thousand and two. one thousand and three. one thousand and five. one thousand sixteen. one thousand one hundred. one thousand two hundred. one thousand one hundred forty. one thousand seven hundred fifty. two thousand and one. two thousand and two. two thousand four hundred and seven. three thousand. and one.
I hear whispering. Stop. Stop now.
Watching car tires spinning. Spokes appear to be spinning backwards. That can't be. I know they are spinning forward. My eyes just can't keep up with the speed of their revolutions. My vision blurs and fades. And fades into a blur.
I knew that once it happened it would happen again.
I witnessed a strangulation. She wrapped a rough, worn, ragged piece of rope around his neck.
I knew it was make believe, that they were only playing for me, that on the next night she would strangle again and he would fake the last gasp. But I let everything happen.
I could have interrupted and put an end to it. Everyone wanted to see it through though or at least no one spoke up.
This time I was in control, silenced only by myself. Real or fake. Doesn't matter.
Good God. Did you perform CPR? Did anyone perform CPR? Did you call the ambulance? The police? What on earth did you do? Why on earth did you all do that for?
I remember the days where we would string people up by the wrists, and hang them in the dungeons all week, whipping them with hooked strips of leather. Those were glorious days.
You are sick, man.
Identify yourself.
You over there. The one that always seems to forget things.
I don't know CPR. There were no telephones. What could the police have done? They were both okay. Don't you get it? It was an act. They were playing.
Every time you turn on the TV and watch someone die in your favourite movie what do you do? Do you tell the person next to you in the film house to call the police?
Everything is being held in such a fine, fragile balance. It takes only a second for things to change. Those moments come more often now. Where things are pulled from one direction, harder than the other.
I don't seek them out anymore. They find me.
You there, that likes leather and whipping.
First off I think that you are sadly mistaken in saying that WE used to whip and torture people because I don't ever remember associating myself with anyone that participated in such activities. Unless of course you have projected your cultural identity on me and that somehow I am guilty for your ancestry. Is that what you are trying to do?
I would also like to point out that it was men that were torturers not women. Next time you try to include me in your broad generalizations be much more careful.
Right. You'll be hardpressed to find a culture that is not guilty of some form of torture, Miss High-and-Mighty.
Self-righteous git. Just like the Pharisees and Sadducees. "Oh, take pity on them for they are sinners, but I thank you that I am not like them".
Revolting.
Excuse me, you said "witnessed a strangulation". The way you said it, it was as if it had really happened.
Next time, you should be clearer about what you're talking about and stop misleading people.
Besides, I probably remember more than you do.
The only person I misled was you. Can't I make up anything that I want? I am in the darkness how could I possibly witness anything other than in my mind.
When dreams blur with consciousness what have you then?
You're a posh wallop of pretend-intelligence. You're just trying to sound smart. Your insightfulness is rubbish.
That was a terrible thing to make up. Inhuman. Sick.
And you are just so full of action. What have you been able to accomplish? Nothing. I least I have been looking for something. Maybe an answer or two. I way out perhaps.
Maybe thats all you are, all talk and no action. Is that what you are?
There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who kept all his marbles in a bucket,
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.
But he followed the pair to Pawtucket,
The man and the girl with the bucket;
And he said to the man,
He was welcome to Nan,
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.
Then the pair followed Pa to Manhasset,
Where he still held his marbles as an asset,
But Nan and the man
Stole his marbles and ran,
And as for the bucket, Manhasset.
Of this story we hear from Nantucket,
About the mysterious loss of a bucket,
We are sorry for Nan
As well as the man--
His marbles and the bucket, fuckit'.
How long did THAT take you to think of?
I've heard that somewhere before...
It is a limerick you blumbering fool. They are instantly identifiable. Perfectly planned pentad anapestic poetry, as my teacher used to say. Da da da-da-da (hums out a lymric)
I think they are boring.
It was a bad limerick. Who kept all his marbles in a bucket...there is one too many. And on the second one. Ignorance *shaking his head*
I'm not supposed to be here.
There's so many better things to do with my time. Why should I be here? I should get out soon. I'm going to get out soon.
Everyone around here seems to revel in the comfortable quiet. Comfortable darkness. And here I am struggling with a reality that is unbearable. My life is like a word that is always on the tip of your tongue. It has a shape and sound in my mind but when it trys to emerge. Silence.
I need to wander. To relax a little and unwind.
He calls now every night. Same channel. Same Hullo. Same everything. One night I am just not going to answer. Let it ring. And ring. And ring until it silences itself.
Somehow I forget his name. I swore I would never forget it. Not after what happened. A pain so deep it confounded all senses. But here I am, only remembering that he will call.
The darkness was strange, for me, right from the start.
I'm not comfortable anymore. I want to get out of here. There's something wrong about being here.
I have the coffee. Milk and sugar. Mugs. If you can find me you can get some. Who was it smelt the coffee? Try to move towards that memory.
I call her every night. I don't know why sometimes but I know that I have to. If I don't hear her voise she is lost. Somehow the way that she forms the words, wraps her tongue around tricky syllables assuages my guilt. Sometimes I think the phone calls are too regular. Too much the same.
I phone every day because I must try and mend what I have sown. For me each ring is a reminder. An alert. An echo of regret.
Drrring... rrrring...rrring...ringgg..dringggg..ringggg..ring...ringgg...ringg...dringgg...dddddrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggggggg
You phone everyday? God, don't you have anything better to do?
What morons some people can be.
Shut up, you jerk.
You phone everyday? That's so sweet... I've been waiting for someone to call. I've been waiting for forever. I keep messing up my relationships-- I think. If not, then why is my life a "graveyard full of buried hopes"?
If they don't call, is it because I'm the big mistake?
(long pause)
But of course, there's no way they can call me here.
I wish somebody would call me.
He used to call, everyday. He'd be so happy just to hear my voice.
"I just called to say I love you"
What is the point in that?
If you love me, then you love me. And I know that you love me. Why call to reassure it? to validate it? Just incase I forgot? Just incase you forget?
You love me.
Then you leave me.
It must not have ever been love at all. I think we were both too afraid of it to actually get it.
But then...why does it hurt so bad? That loss, him not around. It's like a part of me is missing.
That must be love.
Is someone going to get that?
Im getting it
(on the phone) yes. No. No you cant just come here. That pretty fucking obvious isnt it. Where are you? You cant just call here. No Dean is not here. Go away.
I am spinning on the inside and I can't find it. Where the fuck is it? I knew I left it around here somewhere.
It all started with an anonymous email. I opened it with hesitation. Caught between curiosity and suspicion. The email had the name of a book and a note saying that it would be good for me to read it. No name, no return address, nothing.
I wrote down the information on a piece of paper and tucked it away. I forgot about it. It sat there until I reached into my bag and pulled out the torn, crumpled wad of paper. The ink had bled a little but the title was still readable.
I decided to pursue the book further and when I had a moment I ducked into the library to search the stacks. A catalogue search led me to the second floor, deep amidst the stacks. Of course when I started to search for it there was no sign of the book. Although the titles that surrounded the book were equally interesting and soon I began to realize something. I was not the first nor will I be the last to be sifting through this library of thought. The cyclic and repetitive nature of life struck me all at once. I was stuck on the hand of a clock. I kept seeing the same numbers only at a different time.
It struck me then that everything I had been doing had been done already. Nothing was new. And at that moment I was trapped between a history already made and the future that I choose to make. That’s when I saw it. Tucked in amongst two Montrous books was a blue box. The box was a protective envelope to keep this book's pages, cover and fragile spine from becoming lost and broken forever. I unfolded each flap of the box carefully until, there it lay. The tattered cover beautifully faded with the same image of random motion, marked by points of convergence, that we had decided was the construct of coincidence. I was running out of time and I had to place the book back in its case and decide to come back another day.
When I came back I had to retrace my steps because I had forgotten where on the second floor amid the maze that particular stack was. Once I found it I knew that I needed to share this little miracle with everyone. I took it downstairs and signed it out from circulation. On my way home I stopped by a friend’s house and little did I know that I would leave the book behind.
I searched frantically when I got home and realized the book was missing.
When my friend found the book he was puzzled over it because of its age and also because it was in German. He returned the book to the library for me and now I have not been able to locate it. It is lost in circulation. I asked the reshelving ladies and I asked the circulation desk and I scoured the library myself amidst millions of books but nothing. I wish I could have at least had the opportunity to show it once. Now no one will believe me that I had proof that history is repetition. Oh well, I guess I will just keep looking. It has to turn up someday, right?
If you have seen this book please speak up now.
I hate mysteries. I just want an answer. I want to know where it went. Books don't just damn well disappear.
Well, there you have it. "Truth lies not in books but in life."
When you can't find a book, that is life telling you something to know about life.
True. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover either.
Well the book that I thought might mean something has disappeared. Is that some sort of reference to my life? What is it saying then? What about the stories told in books, are they not real? As real as you or I?
St. Augustine was puzzled by the measure of time. Because the past can't be measured, as it is gone by; and the future can't be measured because it has not yet come. And the present can't be measured because it has no extension. As he said it depends on what you are trying to measure.
Books try to capture the moment so that life can extend beyond the moment into eternity. They are their as a reminder but like memory they can be misplaced, forgotten, burned, or in my case lost.
None the less let me know if anything turns up.
Um. Oh - that blue box book. That would be the one that I just threw away.
Thank you.
At least one of you has seen it. Whether its lost in circulation or in the trash it doesn't matter anymore. Someone has confirmed that it exists.
Did you happen to read the title? I don't speak German but I thought that maybe you do.
The title was "Never ask what others can see when you can see it for yourself."
Look thats just wrong. I did not say that to make you feel better. i said it to make you feel worse. Didnt you understand that you moron? God eveyone around here is so pathetic. I THREW it AWAY. Get it!!!!!!!! Trash - ripped up - covered in tomato seeds.
Maybe I didnt see it! Ha! maybe I just imagined it! Anything can happen here cant it? Who knows when you saw it or even if you did. perhaps you dreamt it? Wanting attention.
(phone rings)
What.
No Dean is not here I told you already.
Stop answering my fucking phone calls.
Can't you see that I am right here.
You shouldn't have hung up again. I can't do anything about it now but if it happens again you are going to get at the least an earfull. and at most...
oooh oooh excellent - fight! fight!
finally . someone becomes more than just an apathetic lump of mediocrity. Didnt Ralph Chaplin tell us..
But rather mourn the apathetic throng,
The coward and the meek—
Who see the world’s great anguish and its wrong
And dare not speak.
Sometimes its easy to figure out who is toying with you and sometimes not. In this case you are as fruitless as the tomato seeds you spit about.
Anything can happen in here and now I think a cat has got your tongue. Foolish to think that your idle utterings could silence people in the dark.
Although I must say it has been rather quiet in here lately.
Who wants attention the child that is silent or the child that yells at the others, calls them morons, and puts their nose where it doesn't belong?
If only you knew what I dream about. That would shut you up.
By the way, wipe the sweat off your brow, and for god sake cover your arms around here. We don't want anyone mistaking you for a raving loon.
I just want to work quietly. Will you all just go away?
Some freak frequency I guess. Some chance cross over. I overheard their conversation. I tried to tune out but it was too late.
I can't help what I heard. Nothing will erase it from my mind. Nothing. Rien.
I shouldn't have been listening. Why. Why. Why.
Now when I go to open a book the pages crumble like ash. The words smudge, blur and finally fade. There is nothing left now but a memory. Its not much to go on but I guess its a start. Who do I turn to? Who can I tell? What friendships will be ruined?
It would only make sense that you would forget my name. I am sorry that I cannot remember yours. Maybe if we touch it will bring back the memory.
Here come closer. Don't be afraid.
Why aren't we being honest here? Why are you so scared of your own ugliness? Don't you get it. Everyone is the same.
Let it hang out, bare it all. Who gives a fuck anyway? No one is going to remember. Trust me, only those that know themselves will stick around. Anyone that is in a trance will be gone. Leaving only a scattering trail of dust.
(pause)
I want to see you inside out.
(A long and uninterupted silence)
Forget it. That pathway only leads to regret.
(To Seeker) Will you please stop swearing?
(To Amnesiac) What's wrong with you? You never apologise for forgetting. You've never done and you never should. It's not your fault that you can't remember.
Whose fault is it then? It has to be somebody's fault. No one just forgets for no reason.
there has to be a reason
what's the reason?
maybe you don't want to remember.
I want to forget.
I want to twist my body inside out and become a completely new being who has no connections, no attachments, to anything, anyplace or anyone.
I want to just jump up and fly away from this place.
but i am so weighed down.
i can't even think without thinkingf about how i don't want to think anymore.
i don't want to be here anymore.
complete darkness was better.
Why do you want to forget? Have you done things that you regret?
Regret is a gift, don't give it away.
As we grow old memory fades. Why is that?
As we get older we get uglier. Our memory, our vision, our senses fail so that we can't see each other; can't hear each other; can't touch each other. The defense is in the failure. In our incapacity. What's left then? The after image of ourselves?
Does everything blur into ourselves and then we die? When I can't call out from the darkness I know that I am no longer alive.
I guess I feel weighed down too. Not free. Its funny to talk about freedom though. In the end everyone is free.
Strange to speak of confinement. You can't imagine. No one can.
There is such repose in freedom, yet we're all trapped.
Darkness and silence bring the ability to hear time move. Only then.
I just keep asking and you keep silent. I wish there was some way that I could make you speak. Did I somehow miss what you said?
Why have you been silenced?
In silent protest you are? But what are you protesting? Speech. Are you protesting the ability and neccessity to speak? To vocalize, to communicate?
Speak now or forever hold your peace.
Who are you trying to impress, spouting off like that. Everyone is trying to ignore you, can't you tell? Jesus, some people are so full of themselves. Do me a great big favour and...stop.
Ignoring is bliss.
Now that you speak all you have to say is "be silent". At least you are saying something. Anything.
At first it was don't swear. Be kinder.
All I am to you is a pretty face. If only you could see the blackness on the inside. I want to be free of it all.
Who do I ask now? You said that you threw it away. You gave me hope that it was still out there. Somewhere. But now I am not so sure. I keep asking circulation and wonder if maybe its broken spine put it out of place. Not there. Not here. Where is it? I want to know. NOW
Before long it won't be what it was. Won't retain that simple charm. Pages will be lost even whole chapters. Please, PLEASE tell me where it is.
I have the clues but they don't add up.
Let me know in the morning when you have slept some.
Look I gotta say, give it up. They said it was gone. And the harder you look, the less likely you'll find what you want. My teacher's always telling me that. Now I think it's actually true.
What did you say about darkness making you hear time move or something? That's kinda cool.
Or not. Fuck man, ignore what Im saying. This place is messing with my head.
I see endless of pools of colour in darkness. i love darkness. it covers up the whole face of the world and shuts you in, holds you, and lulls you to sleep.
i am silent because i do not know what to say to you.
You want me to answer you, but you keep on asking questions. why do i regret? because i am a failure. I want to forget, and I want to start again.
you speak of confinement, do you even know what that is?
do you know how it feels to be tied down to somebody? To lock yourslef and your heart to them, body and soul? I have done this. I know how it feels. and I have also been torn apart. Confinment is not an option, it is the only way of life for me now.
I am not free.
You are not free.
He is not free.
We are not free.
Each and every one of us is attached, tied down and taken. It is only a matter of time. We'll all be broken by the end.
Why is no one talking back to me now?
I don't really want to be left alone...
please, someone say something.
I locked myself out of my room today. Can't believe I still do things like that.
Couldn't find my keys. Silly. Found them though. Last place I looked. I also found the key if you want out.
Sorry for making you wait.
....
I am not tied down. I am alone though but the feeling isn't going to go away by talking to you.
Finally, some action. Use the key! We need to stop living in the past and actually do something. I am sick of this.
What can you honestly hope to accomplish when all you have is words?
the seeker found the key? Imagine that. We're all born for a specific purpose. Mine is apparently to grow old and grey alone.
Well, why don't you use it then and put us out of our misery..
So what is this key supposed to do? Do you really think that this key will be the solution to your ridiculous and useless verbosity? More words and more speech does not equate greater intelligence and self-knowledge.
then why the hell did you just say "verbosity"? You can take your thesaurus and shove it. If you think there's more than words, show us. We're all waiting.
***(That last comment was from the TPO)
You just don't see it, do you? You all think that the answer lies somewhere, that it has a visible and tangible form that you can see or lay your hands on. And you think that the answer will "show" you the way. Grow up. You are here and the way is what you are going to have to work out yourself. Action. Not sitting around, waiting for the solution to fall from the sky.
(The Anonymous' Monologue)
And that is just the problem with people everywhere. Everyone wants a recipe for life: “Add 1 tablespoonful of happiness, 2 teaspoons of anger, 1 cup of resourcefulness…”
The perfect solution for everything hangs out there in the distance, one huge glistening ice sculpture that people can’t see.
I am a number, a “face in the crowd”. No one will ever know my name, or remember me when I am gone. I prefer to blend in, be part of the wallpaper. I fear being recognised for anything. I want to be—anonymous.
It is easy. I am adaptable. I go with the flow. I react according to what the situation demands. I keep my mouth shut most of the time. I appear because I exist, but I pride myself on my invisibility.
Isn’t it better to let others who are talking silly talk themselves into the wisest state of nothingness? Isn’t it best to leave them be and ignore the ridiculousness or futility of their speech? “Silence is golden”. I still say ignoring is bliss.
I don’t want to fight with people. I’d rather let them work themselves into exhaustion. Yes, that would be best.
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