Cassiopeia, George Berkeley, IX Mirrors, James Joyce, Jorge Luis Borges, Masturbation, Mirror, Pan, Proteus, Ron Gilad, Shadow, Theatre, Tlön Uqbar Orbis Tertius, U.P.: Up, Ulysses, Veil, Virgin, Word World
[A slight whispering wind blows through the theatre and we hear the sound of an incoming tide. The veil of the temple rises revealing a circle of people lying on their backs staring up at the sky.]
Cassiopeia: [gazing at herself in a hand mirror] The stars are beautiful at this time of day, don’t you agree? Though not as beautiful as me of course.
Pan: Of course, baby. Now come over here and sit on my lap. My energies are rising.
Cassiopeia: None so beautiful as me.
Shadow: [rolling over, bending himself toward the rocks, turning his back to the sun] Darkly they are there behind this light. Darkness shining in the brightness.
Proteus: [in the shape of a long stick, curved at the end, no knots] We are here to look at birds people, not stars. Now pay attention before I change my mind, I’m getting tired. Did you hear that rook? That means it will soon rain.
Pan: This is Seattle, everything means it will soon rain. Look, a dog! It will soon rain. Look, a wave! It will soon rain. Please. So, Virgin, your hand is so gentle. Love the longlashed eyes, baby, want to trust me a little?
Cassiopeia: She, she, she. What is she to compare to me?
That Virgin: [pointing] That cloud looks like a book. See it up there? Oooh, now it looks like letters. U. P.
Pan: [visibly aroused] A lady of letters! I am lonely here, touch me.
Proteus: [in the form of our souls] Goodness! Look at that manshape ineluctable! I’ll sit on your lap. Cling to you a little, a woman to her lover.
Pan: [in his flutiest voice] The more the more!
Shadow: [flatly] Come back to us Proteus, I see shadows of birds on a white field.
Pan: [Flutier] Don’t listen Proteus, come, cling, then come. Now where the blue hell are you?
Proteus: [In the form of a mirror] That’s better. Feel a bit shamewounded. Now where were we. Oh yes. Those birds, Shadow, are magpies and there are one, two, seven of them. A secret. And my stars, look, an owl! And it is nearly noon, no wonder I am so tired. Let’s see, owl, a revelation at night. Also a bitter mystery. A mysterious secret will be revealed at night. Also, it will soon rain.
Cassiopeia: [rubbing lotions into her skin] Proteus, you’ve never looked so flat, yet in you I see distance. Near, far, east, me. Oh there I am. Me. Oh Proteus, you are so beautiful. Oh, I feel something! What is that word known to all men?
That Virgin: What is that word? I want to feel it too. Point over here Proteus, show me what Cassiopeia sees.
Proteus: [In the form of Berkeley] You see nothing. You think you see. Everything is flat, and you only think you see distances. Those stars unbeheld behind this light? Their distance is only an element of your idea of them.
Pan: [masturbating gently] I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.
Shadow: [in the form of my form] Not for all the word.