(It was sometime before that, in the first days of the new regime, before the new regime would be knocked over as already useless, that things started to get heated at the front, because of the lack of fighting.)
HE: That moon keeps looking at me.
SHE: It's not looking at you, it's looking at me.
HE: It's looking at both of us, because we're both so hot.
SHE: Hooray.
(They clap hands, not high five, not ever, but even still, it's not that tight, because everyone is tired and has things they need to do in their very proper Victorian houses.)
(It goes on like that for awhile, sad, but no ad libbing, please, just say the words of any line in a different order, please.)
(And while it goes on the DOG enters, unbeknownst to them.)
DOG: Hey, hey, there kids. Hey, hey.
SHE: Puppy!
HE: You came back!
(Everybody loves it when the dog comes home, and they are not so different from the rest of us, and they go to the dog like Buffy and Jodi.)
HE: It got so very strange when you weren't around.
SHE: It was like a dream, except one we couldn't analyze, because we are not properly trained in linguistics.
DOG: You don't need a degree to know that there's only one dream, and it's always about the moon, and tonight, the moon is looking at me, because I am so doggam hot.
(This isn't quite a dream, but it's very close, especially if we are able to wake up their sympathetic sensibilities long enough to evoke a willing suspension of disbelief that would lead to a catharsis that would no doubt be so entirely sexual that it would feel as though the pelvis of the world were butting up against their secret spaces, except no one really gives in to that any more, not today, not with so many funny animal videos out there. Maybe that's sad, or maybe that's just where we are. But if we were not there, then it would be entirely sexual and everyone would be thanking us and we would say, no don't thank me, it wasn't me, it was you, or rather, us. We did that catharsis together, on this rainy afternoon of our lost youth when all the world was green. And we would surely notice how the dog is now dancing with the moon, and they are starting to eat each other, but we don't notice.)
SHE: Tell me something about how you think about me.
HE: Oh, you go first.
SHE: No, you go first.
HE: No, you go first.
(This starts to repeat, long enough that we suspect this is how it ends, but then something interesting happens.)
(There are these apparitions, versions of them in white, bodies painted white, that rise above their bodies on stage, and they start to face off with each other. Every word that's uttered by the people below draws blood from the ghost bodies, and they don't notice even when they are bathed in the blood. There's a lot of not noticing in this play, they must be distracted by other things. And perhaps they should be. Life is confusing and complicated, and sometimes the things that are happening before your eyes, the things that can be touched, are enough to drive away the rest of it, those old ghosts that try to steal our sleep like wounded cats. I, for one, would love to bring in the wounded cats, but I'm beginning to suspect that if one comes in, then they all have to come in, and that's how I like to live up until now, apparently. But while this goes on, the dog and the moon are dancing and starting to rise in the sky, and as they rise, they get smaller, and look so very far away. Oh, this might need projections. Oh, there are already plenty of projections, though, and those can get so confusing and complicated.)
(There needs to be a scene where they are talking and their bodies are covered with ears, but they still can't hear anything that's being said.)
(There needs to be a scene where someone is crying on a street corner in the rain, but it has to rain more often here first for that to really ring true.)
(There should be a scene with unwritten letters falling from the sky, but that's already been a play, and there wasn't enough porn.)
(There needs to be a meditation on growing older.)
(There needs to be a scene where all the lost loves come back into our beds and stare at us while we sleep, and they have to be distracted enough for us to slip out of the window and fall into a forest that we've never been in.)
(There has to be a scene where I decide that I live here and I want to live here for awhile, and there are things I want to do here for awhile.)
(There has to be the longest and saddest I miss you scene ever.)
(I miss you.)
End of play
HE: That moon keeps looking at me.
SHE: It's not looking at you, it's looking at me.
HE: It's looking at both of us, because we're both so hot.
SHE: Hooray.
(They clap hands, not high five, not ever, but even still, it's not that tight, because everyone is tired and has things they need to do in their very proper Victorian houses.)
(It goes on like that for awhile, sad, but no ad libbing, please, just say the words of any line in a different order, please.)
(And while it goes on the DOG enters, unbeknownst to them.)
DOG: Hey, hey, there kids. Hey, hey.
SHE: Puppy!
HE: You came back!
(Everybody loves it when the dog comes home, and they are not so different from the rest of us, and they go to the dog like Buffy and Jodi.)
HE: It got so very strange when you weren't around.
SHE: It was like a dream, except one we couldn't analyze, because we are not properly trained in linguistics.
DOG: You don't need a degree to know that there's only one dream, and it's always about the moon, and tonight, the moon is looking at me, because I am so doggam hot.
(This isn't quite a dream, but it's very close, especially if we are able to wake up their sympathetic sensibilities long enough to evoke a willing suspension of disbelief that would lead to a catharsis that would no doubt be so entirely sexual that it would feel as though the pelvis of the world were butting up against their secret spaces, except no one really gives in to that any more, not today, not with so many funny animal videos out there. Maybe that's sad, or maybe that's just where we are. But if we were not there, then it would be entirely sexual and everyone would be thanking us and we would say, no don't thank me, it wasn't me, it was you, or rather, us. We did that catharsis together, on this rainy afternoon of our lost youth when all the world was green. And we would surely notice how the dog is now dancing with the moon, and they are starting to eat each other, but we don't notice.)
SHE: Tell me something about how you think about me.
HE: Oh, you go first.
SHE: No, you go first.
HE: No, you go first.
(This starts to repeat, long enough that we suspect this is how it ends, but then something interesting happens.)
(There are these apparitions, versions of them in white, bodies painted white, that rise above their bodies on stage, and they start to face off with each other. Every word that's uttered by the people below draws blood from the ghost bodies, and they don't notice even when they are bathed in the blood. There's a lot of not noticing in this play, they must be distracted by other things. And perhaps they should be. Life is confusing and complicated, and sometimes the things that are happening before your eyes, the things that can be touched, are enough to drive away the rest of it, those old ghosts that try to steal our sleep like wounded cats. I, for one, would love to bring in the wounded cats, but I'm beginning to suspect that if one comes in, then they all have to come in, and that's how I like to live up until now, apparently. But while this goes on, the dog and the moon are dancing and starting to rise in the sky, and as they rise, they get smaller, and look so very far away. Oh, this might need projections. Oh, there are already plenty of projections, though, and those can get so confusing and complicated.)
(There needs to be a scene where they are talking and their bodies are covered with ears, but they still can't hear anything that's being said.)
(There needs to be a scene where someone is crying on a street corner in the rain, but it has to rain more often here first for that to really ring true.)
(There should be a scene with unwritten letters falling from the sky, but that's already been a play, and there wasn't enough porn.)
(There needs to be a meditation on growing older.)
(There needs to be a scene where all the lost loves come back into our beds and stare at us while we sleep, and they have to be distracted enough for us to slip out of the window and fall into a forest that we've never been in.)
(There has to be a scene where I decide that I live here and I want to live here for awhile, and there are things I want to do here for awhile.)
(There has to be the longest and saddest I miss you scene ever.)
(I miss you.)
End of play
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