PROLOGUE:
[An encounter outside the Katywonkered Cafe']
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Before setting off on a voyage, the pagans gather for a feast.
The mind vomits forth ... and none are saved.
ACT I
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
So, where are we off to?
THE CYNIC:
Lord only knows. Nowhere
fast from what I can see.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Well, that's a great
attitude to have. Don't you have a plan?
THE CYNIC:
What do you think I sit
around plotting my every step?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Planning. You mean
planning your every step.
THE CYNIC:
Six of one, half a dozen
of the other. Who cares! Let's just get on with it, then.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Sure but I'd just like to
know ... like, where we are headed.
THE CYNIC:
North. I'm sick of
downtown. Hell is overrated.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Fine. We'll take one step
at a time.
WORRY WART:
I just hope I don't get
hungry along the way.
THE CYNIC:
Of course you'll get
hungry! That's your whole ball of wax.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Ball of wax?
THE CYNIC:
He get's hungry, that's
what his life is about. And, if he's not hungry he worries about it
and the stress makes him eat. He's a
nervous eater that one is,
always weighing us down. He's almost as bad as you.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Me?
THE CYNIC:
Dealing with the little
practicalities of life. Always sweating the little things.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
And you on the other hand?
THE CYNIC:
Me? Why, I like to stuff
myself to oblivion until I'm sick. Lord, give me those two minutes of
complete satiation ... and then I'm sick, deservingly so.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
What's the point of that?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
It's like whacking off.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Well, I can relate to
that, but just so you realize you've probably just bit the hand that
feeds us.
THE CYNIC:
Who?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
The readers. Like, you've
probably just blown off half of them with that comment.
THE CYNIC:
Who cares! I doubt they've
even read this far. Judgmental assholes. We need them like we need a
hole in the head.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
And their money?
THE CYNIC:
What money? Clicking on
one of these
crappy text links embedded in the post costs them
nothing, but that's just too much to ask of them, I guess. Right?
Heaven forbid they might actually sprain their finger. Lord! It's
not like we're really expecting them to actually risk a hernia by
pulling out their credit cards and buying something below in the
'suggested reading' section.
THE ARTIST:
I'm not in it for the
money.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
But you need to eat ...
WORRY WART:
Did anyone bring a
sandwich?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
The bread of existence is
found at the end of the meal.
THE CYNIC:
Fuck Off!
THE PHILOSOPHER:
And so it is written.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Um, let's get back to the
money issue. Does anyone ...
THE CYNIC:
Don't worry. We can make
some more, just like the 'powers that be'.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Really? And how do we do
that exactly? By hook or by crook?
THE ARTIST:
We can write the next hit
'country song'. I mean if the
'Duck Song' can get almost 60 million
hits on YouTube ... why can't we ... um ... you know ... um ...
(muttering) just saying.
THE JUGMONGER:
Howdy Folks! I'm fine. How
Are You?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
It's about time you showed
up.
THE CYNIC:
A day late, and I would
imagine a dollar short, as usual. No one sends him any money either.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
You know, money doesn't
grow on trees. Hey, got any bread, man?
THE JUGMONGER:
Heck, I just came over
from way over yonder and couldn't even find me a pan to handle with,
let alone a pot to piss in. I'm so hungry I'm fartin' cobwebs over
here.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
A rolling stone grows no
moss. Feel free to ramble on.
THE CYNIC:
So basically you show up
empty handed just to deliberately waste our time. I don't buy it.
Someone needs to shake him down. I bet he's holding.
THE JUGMONGER:
Well, look at the time! I
got to get goin'! I reckon I'll catch y'all on the flip flop.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Like, don't you have
anything to contribute?
THE ARTIST:
Something from the Bard,
perhaps?
THE JUGMONGER:
I tell y'all what, I'll
leave y'all with some words of wisdom: "Everyday above ground is
a good one!" Know what I mean? I think y'all do.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
That sounds familiar.
THE CYNIC:
So does "suicide is
painless". Somebody shoot me ... or him. Please!
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Oh come one. Enough with
the sarcasm, already.
WORRY WART:
Yeah. We need to focus
here. It'll be dinner time soon and it's getting dark.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Darkness seeps in through
the brush of night curtailing the thoughts of effervescent dreamers
and suffocating the whims of bright thinkers.
THE CYNIC:
Blah, blah, blah.
(mocking) I'm alone with my thoughts, ready to eat my own brain.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Into the soup of
primordial ooze is from whence you came.
WORRY WART:
Did someone say soup?
THE CYNIC:
You guy's are ruining
everything! You're spoiling my trip!
THE ARTIST:
I've hardly said a word,
lyrically speaking.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Don't blame us for your
problems. You're the one that keeps dragging us down. You and your
self-destructive tendencies. You're your own worst enemy and you know
it. Mr. Paranoid and Mr. Procrastination rolled into one.
WORRY WART:
Who? Me?
THE CYNIC:
Wait, quiet down. Who's
that idiot over there?
THE ARTIST:
He looks like a kindred
spirit. What's with the Cheshire smile?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
He looks like he's
laughing himself silly.
THE CYNIC:
Great, just what we need,
another clown. Look at him, he's laughing at his own jokes! How
pathetic.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Maybe he'll have something
interesting to add. Lord knows we can use a bit of levity here.
THE ARTIST:
Per chance to crack wise
... said the joker to the thief.
THE CARD:
(laughs) That's sounds
like something I would say! What a card! I'm really too much!
Speaking of 'cracks', did you hear about the guy who went to see his
proctologist, Dr. Ben Dover? (laughing incessantly).
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Oh Lord. Fecal humor.
THE WORRY WART:
I think I'm getting
queasy...
THE PHILOSOPHER:
The dung beetle thanks the
sacred cow for more than just its musings.
THE ARTIST:
How now brown cow.
THE CYNIC:
What an ass.
THE CARD:
Now, see I wouldn't have
said "ass". I would've said something like "butt"
(laughs), you know? A "butt" is a lot funnier than an
"ass".
THE CYNIC:
You would know.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
What's the difference?
THE CARD:
Well, I've been the "butt"
of many jokes, but I've never been the "ass" of a joke!
(laughs). Lord, I crack myself up.
THE CYNIC:
Ok, time to dump this one.
THE CARD:
'Farting' is such sweet
sorrow. (ROFL) Hey wait a minute! Did someone say 'dump'?
THE ARTIST:
It's much too late for
goodbyes.
THE CYNIC:
Forget him. Time to get
back to my wallowing in my own misery
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Let the writhing of the
hands begin in earnest.
THE CYNIC:
(hurt) Who asked you
anyway?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
I and the universe alone.
That's enough for me.
THE CYNIC:
That's enough out of you.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
All right. Let's just keep
it together here until we get to where we're going.
THE CYNIC:
Who said we we're going
anywhere?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
You did! You said we're
going North.
THE ARTIST:
(sings) ... where seldom
is heard a discouraging word.... (hums)
THE CYNIC:
"North" is not a
place. It's a direction. Forget it. Let's stay here and spin our
wheels.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Actually, it may be a
state of mind. Sort of like "home" ... the rise and fall of
limbo.
THE ARTIST:
(sings) home, home on the
range (hums)
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Well, I've been waiting
for you all day. Stop spinning your wheels and let's get a move on.
THE ARTIST:
(sings) ... spinning
wheel, got to go round. Talkin' bout your troubles it' a crying shame
(hums)
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
(tsk) that's not funny.
THE COMIC:
I'll be the judge of that.
Here's comes the judge, here comes the judge... (fade out)
THE CYNIC:
This is pointless.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
No, there has to be some
point to this all. It's called Karma.
THE CYNIC:
So now I'm supposed to
just accept my fate?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Indeed. It's is
inevitable.
THE CYNIC:
Well, sorry but I don't
buy that.
THE ARTIST:
(sings) how much is that
doggie in the window... (hums)
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
That's pretty much the
dogma of life. That's the way it goes.
WORRY WART:
How can you be so calm
about it?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
I'm not calm. In fact,
I've got a plethora of existential angst.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
(nods to the direction of
THE CYNIC) I thought that was "his" problem.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
No. He's just suffering
from insecurity. Mr. Passive Aggressive don't you know.
THE CYNIC:
Oh! A lot you know, Mr.
know it all! I suppose you think you've got it all figured out....
life, the universe and everything, huh?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
You don't need to know the
answer when you already have the solution.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Huh? What does that mean?
Can you be just like a tad more practical?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Not intentionally, no.
Effort requires motive. I am motiveless, spurned on by a drive to brave
the face of insanity.
THE PRACTICAL:
Oh my God! This is
ridiculous. This ... this will never work. You know, we may as well
just go home and start from scratch.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Ah, but see that's part of
the problem. We can never really go home, can we?
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Are you asking me?
THE ARTIST:
(sings) home, home on the
range (hums)
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
We've been here before.
THE CYNIC:
There's just really no
point in going on. You know ... I just want to stick my head in the
ground and make the world go away.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Sure, as if that will
really solve anything at all.
THE CYNIC:
I can't keep going on like
this. I need a break.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
And, what will you do with
it once you get it?
THE CYNIC:
Live the good life ... or
who knows, maybe I'll just fuck it up anyway.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
See, you know, like that's
why you need to get organized.
THE CYNIC:
Forget that! It's too
hard. Who wants to waste a whole day being anal retentive? Better to
slack off and call yourself a creative type.
THE ARTIST:
I'm a better improvisor
than organizer.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Oh ye of fanciful dreams!
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Ah! Now we are getting
somewhere. You use wit and sarcasm to front for your lack of
willpower and drive. I know you. You work your ass off for a couple
of hours and then you fart around for the rest of the day. You've got
no self-control. You are the master of the art of
self-distraction.
WORRY WART:
I'm getting hungry.
THE CYNIC:
I get tired.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
You get bored.
THE CYNIC:
I want something better in
life.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Bullshit! You don't want
to work hard.
THE ARTIST:
But I'm the creative type.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Even artists need to be
organized. Practice makes perfect.
THE CYNIC:
Perfection is for the
establishment. I'm a non-conformist.
THE ARTIST:
And what of the karma of
the struggling artist?
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Fate will lend a hand.
THE ARTIST:
And what of the muse?
THE CYNIC:
What are you talking
about? It's the muse that distracts me and fills my head with
romantic notions ... that ultimately leave me depressed.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Inebriated with words of
delusion.
THE ARTIST:
They're inspiring!
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
They're motivational!
THE PHILOSOPHER:
It's divine providence,
perhaps.
THE CYNIC:
It's a lot of crap. That's
what it is. It's bullshit. You're just playing to my ego.
THE ARTIST:
When the calmness of the
waters, settle over my head. I will see visions of my music dancing
around me like the wind gusts of a tornado.
THE CYNIC:
Absurdists galore! Why
can't you write something that makes sense ... and make us some real
money for once!
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
He tries. But he's not
trained as a writer.
THE CYNIC:
He just makes this stuff
up, and we all have to suffer.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
He must follow his own
path, though the path to glory is not necessarily paved with gold.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
So, what's it paved with?
THE CYNIC:
It's paved with dog shit.
That's what it's paved with. And with every step we take, there is
just another steaming pile to tread on. It's all bullshit, man.
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Why are you always so
negative? It's sooo frustrating to be with you. Most of the time you're just being contrary!
THE CYNIC:
I beg to differ. Anyway, if you don't like it, then why don't you just
get the hell out of here and leave me the hell alone. All of you!
Just fuck off. Get the message.
THE ARTIST:
(sings) message a bottle
... (hums) message in a bottle (hums) ....da da da da da ... (sings)
Communication break down. Its always the same. I'm having a nervous
breakdown. Drive me insane! (hums)
THE PRACTICAL ONE:
Ok, if that's the way you
want it. I'm walking.
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Have a good trip.
EPILOGUE:
[time passes]
THE PHILOSOPHER:
Time will tell.
-----------------------------------------------
Suggested Reading:
Suggested Listening:
"You have brains in your head.
