Child (again, on video, so much video): The thing that I like the best is that mom and dad never, ever paid any attention to anything we did, as long as we were following their orders and doing what they told us to do. These were easy behaviors and simple tasks that never took very long. But at the end of the day, when we were huddled together in our cold beds, we would make our extravagant plans, and these plans would help us to dream at night, and in the morning, the plans were more solid than they were the night before. And it went on and on like that. I suppose it's the same with every revolution.
(Scene: The same goddam house.)
He: Even if we did invent the god because it was necessary, we still loved him all the same, and he loved us. Do you remember the days when he loved us?
She: Anything you say after that is blasphemy. Just stop and enjoy the fruits of our loving god.
He: And what are the fruits today, honey bunny?
She: The fruits today are fruits. This big bowl of big and rotting fruit. It's still juicy.
(They eat the rotting fruit and it is a lot like church, and they look and smell like church.)
(Meanwhile, the children are restless, and staring to move back and forth in their masks and black clothes, and this should look like a ritual that the parents don't notice.)
He: What makes me so mad is when they tell us what we can do with our checkbooks, when the only one we need to listen to is our big hairy loving god.
She: I never thought of god as hairy.
He That's because you're stupid. God is always hairy. Don't you read pictures?
She: I know how to read. (Pause.) There's a new program in the school, where all the parents who have paid taxes that help to feed the poor children in the school, they get special parking spaces, and from their parking spaces. Excuse me. Our parking spaces. We, the parents, can watch all the poor parents walk to the school to pick up their children. It's like a parade.
He: I hope they have escorts. These poor parents. I hope they get escorted so they don't do anything rash and poor and brazen.
She: It's hardest on the children. They have to walk to the poor parents' cars, and the cars are far away, and their legs are so small from eating the passably edible free lunches. They have to walk twice as much, and they don't even complain.
He: They will, though, they'll grow up and complain, just like everyone else.
She: Please pass the sugar cane, it's ripe enough to drink almost.
(The parents drink sugar and the children plot and plot.)
(Scene: The same goddam house.)
He: Even if we did invent the god because it was necessary, we still loved him all the same, and he loved us. Do you remember the days when he loved us?
She: Anything you say after that is blasphemy. Just stop and enjoy the fruits of our loving god.
He: And what are the fruits today, honey bunny?
She: The fruits today are fruits. This big bowl of big and rotting fruit. It's still juicy.
(They eat the rotting fruit and it is a lot like church, and they look and smell like church.)
(Meanwhile, the children are restless, and staring to move back and forth in their masks and black clothes, and this should look like a ritual that the parents don't notice.)
He: What makes me so mad is when they tell us what we can do with our checkbooks, when the only one we need to listen to is our big hairy loving god.
She: I never thought of god as hairy.
He That's because you're stupid. God is always hairy. Don't you read pictures?
She: I know how to read. (Pause.) There's a new program in the school, where all the parents who have paid taxes that help to feed the poor children in the school, they get special parking spaces, and from their parking spaces. Excuse me. Our parking spaces. We, the parents, can watch all the poor parents walk to the school to pick up their children. It's like a parade.
He: I hope they have escorts. These poor parents. I hope they get escorted so they don't do anything rash and poor and brazen.
She: It's hardest on the children. They have to walk to the poor parents' cars, and the cars are far away, and their legs are so small from eating the passably edible free lunches. They have to walk twice as much, and they don't even complain.
He: They will, though, they'll grow up and complain, just like everyone else.
She: Please pass the sugar cane, it's ripe enough to drink almost.
(The parents drink sugar and the children plot and plot.)
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