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(A somnambulistic drama in four acts)
The Commentator’s Voice.
Act 1. A tavern. Two philosopher sit at the table;
Marat sits at the other, some distance away.
…or even worse: “In the unbounded space,
the countless spheres glow and a dozen
of other spheres, tenth of their size,
revolve around them. Hot from inside,
they're covered in an malodorous breadcrumb
on which a mold breeds life". How is this for
a matter that is given to us in
the form of senses?
However, the exact same Schopenhauer
a page before assured that the world
is just a dream.
Then so be it, and I
dream you. I'm, frankly, more worried about
the waiter who is probably asleeps.
Hello, is there anyone? A habit
of wisdom breeds the thirst.
How nice these men!
I’ll sit with them. Allow me, gentlemen?
God only gentle is. We are the hard
philosophers who suffer from the lack
of sherry in the blood.
We do not like
the emptiness of vessels, but we seek
to empty vessels.
Let me ask you, where
you're both from.
The same place as the others
come into being.
What are your names?
You tell him.
I am John Doe. He is Doe John.
My name is…
Nobody. Friend of the People
you were once called.
Why once? They call me yet
the same name…
Never mind. You'd better tell us
what deadly wind has blown you in that dream.
I wandered over lands and seas. I crossed
the endless sands with slavers; I sailed through
Aurora Borealis* that aflames
in skies as our universal soul;
the Eastern heathens showed me the place
where the dawn is born, but as you know
the wider sea, the sweeter overseas:
the fantasy enticed me and one day
I set feet in this land, a little groggy
of rocking and the strongest sailor’s grog.
Lead me, my fantasy, across the glens,
the gaps, the valleys where wild centaurs
graze on the misty pastures, where the rainbows
stand over the flood plains, where the griffins
on the forbidding rocks sit on the eggs
of wealth and further, where the haunted forest
extends as far as heaven. Shrubs and trees
talk to each other in these woods; the flowers
as beautiful as death, between tree trunks
throb, glow, breath, exchange the signs and lure
but don't approach these shifters, wanderer!
Sedating with a wonderful aroma,
bewitching by an otherworldly dream,
they’ll drink the dreamer like a sack of wine.
I walked four days through haunted trees and went
down to the forest lake. There was a tribe
of feathered men. Who cares they may not know
the math, the write, the craft but they are free
from any earthy fuss: they fly like birds
and God himself gives them the daily bread.
Their princess, dressed in beads and hair only,
caressed me so sweet as no man
has been caressed by woman since the fall.
She birdcalled me to stay with her but thunders
of revolutions from across the sea
drowned out her chirping.
Well, it’s all the same:
at first the thunder, then the bloody rain.
My French compatriots are just like children:
they were punished for the greater good.
Le couperet** drew the circumference:
may happy children live inside the circle.
Next, he will tell: “I opened the breadbaskets,
I gave them wine and money.” By the way,
I hope you’re got some cash on you. I can’t
believe you did not save up in your journey.
What’s money? Dust. All reputable gold
and silver, as inconstant as a mind,
on earth are not enough to make souls joined,
Rings shine brightly on your fingers.
A handy star cannot compare with
a star of heaven.
Hm, the golden tiepin.
To tell the truth, I'm curious about
your interest in such prosaic things:
my money doesn’t bring me happiness.
Your money does to bring me affluence.
A healthy man is like a cuckold. Oh,
tremendous burden of marital assets!
I'm looking to take on your wallet’s weight
but wear your horns yourself.
“In other words”.
That’s what they say in plays when a punchline
of the first scene is close. In other words,
give us your money.
What's worth more to you:
your wallet or your life? A trite dilemma
but you are sure to look at it anew.
Did you just call me friend?
Alas, I wish I had a brother, but
I have a sister. She was once a saint,
but I have put her in the city brothel
to sell a holey holiness.
Somebody, help me!
Just shut up and die.
Hold him like that and squeeze it.
What a hard
and sturdy neck! Tough little devil.
* (lat.) Northern lights
** (fr.) Guillotine's blade
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