end of play/7 (2)

(She is an antelope.  Not in dress, the costume wouldn't suggest that at all, it's a little stylish and sort of goth, in fact.  Nor is she antelope like in the way she acts, but there may be a touch of the accent in her speech.  It's not an easy accent, however, and most actors would shy away from that altogether.  But not you.  In any case, it should be almost entirely imperceptible.)

SHE: My first father, I mean boyfriend, I mean uncle, was a very famous psychoanalyst, and that made it very difficult during the already most difficult years.  It marked me, yes, it did, but in a way that I could not appreciate at the time, because the mark was on my neck and everyone could see.  The words famous psychoanalyst were on my neck.  Which did nothing for my dreaming, except make them more important than bread.

HE: I can't talk to you when you're like this, you're wild, like an antelope.

SHE:  My second father, I mean boyfriend, I mean uncle, however, was nothing like the first, he was the opposite, and that was intentional.

HE: Because by then you had already learned to hate.

SHE: No, but close, by then I had already learned that the mind body distinction was unresolvable.

HE: I know what you mean.  If I could get back all those hours, all those thanksgiving dinners, arguing with my fat monk, I mean cousin with ears, I mean strawberries, I would use them for something very specific and special, something like Habitat for Humanity.

SHE: Doctors without Borders.

HE: The IRC.

SHE: Oh my god yes.

(They start having sex.  But they will not stop talking.)

SHE: It gets difficult because the body is a construction of the mind, and the mind is an extension of the body.  I put these marks here, to signify myself, to myself or sometimes vis a vis another body in the form of a ghost pepper, I mean lover, I mean constructing subject, and this becomes a working definition, although always for a very short time.

HE: Very short and then sometimes very long, but always short again, at the end of the day.

SHE: I like it that you pay attention. 

(Interruption.)

ZIZEK: And here we have a considerably weighted question, taking into account the nature of the so forth and so on, and we wonder, what kind of sex do they have exactly?  Is it significantly different sex, or is it simply the usual, every cinematic convention, the breasts hidden by the sheet and so forth and so on, as the old joke goes, "After awhile every relationship is a same sex relationship, because you're having the same sex."  But these are the very same structures that dictate a curious cultural prejudice, that we all engage in these things with a kind of reckless abandon which means finding ourselves doing the same exact things we always do, when we are rolling around and get caught up in the moment, so to speak, we end up doing the things that come naturally, which means, and this is where the imperialism of the western sexual experience catches itself, the use of props, positions that require practice and special breathing techniques, or any of the other accountrements that are in fact part of a repertoire, an archive, become something of the sort of thing like the ladies in pink giggling at the opera house.

SHE: I hate it when he interrupts.

HE: But he always draws such an impressive crowd, he really is a rock star.

(And there really is a crowd.  And they realize that this will probably be one of those moments which will need more therapy later on.  It has to be therapy.  There are no pills for this.)

SHE: And then the body, always already marked, is speaking the codes that are embedded in the things written on it always already, and these are constructions of the mind, except.   The body, as a site of traumatic experience, apprehends the very conditions of the marking in a way that makes it impossible not to conceive of itself differently, so that moment of pain becomes an inscription first on the body, and then it starts to enter into the mental realm, which dreams of further markings and further inscriptions.

HE: We're stuck.

SHE: I think we're stuck.

HE: I really wish we could see more movies together, because I think I would like that very much.

SHE: But this is a movie, we're already in a movie.

HE: If this is a movie, then someone knows how it ends.

SHE: I don't think we do.  I don't think anyone knows.  I don't think there's any way of knowing how it ends, because we're already rewriting our destinies from the moment we walk into an already destined moment.  I think we meet, I think that's written, and I think something happens after that, and it doesn't ever stop, even when it's stopped.

HE: Do you want me to stop?

SHE: Not just yet, no, not just yet.

(And because it is that night again, there is a parades that is a celebration of the full moon, a supermoon parade with moon cheese and fresh omelettes, mad fairy fire dancers and everything from the sea, and it's not interrupting them so much as taking all of our attention, because it is so lively and it's also child friendly.)

(End of play)

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