Act One, Scene One
Appalachian cabin, Shoemaker's workshop, late afternoon
(Shoemaker sits at his work desk. Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Skillful sir, the lord your window graces upon this goodly night.
Shoemaker:
Ah, but most sadly my door remains. How alone I am, dear field flier. How completely forlorn! My sheep have into airplanes turn'd and all flown from me away.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Had I the nerves to one pilot I'd surely in excitement burn.
Shoemaker:
Ha! Most pleasant types of fever I've found there are. I last week took ill and swear that through time I'd gone.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
'Tis goodness! How flew it for you?
Shoemaker:
Like a cloud, very much. I drift'd through whole years without myself moving, but as a piece of film would advance along on a reel, waiting for light to know thyself.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Heaven's light?
Shoemaker:
The light of invention!
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Poor shoemaker, you have been overexpose'd!
(silent moment)
Perchance heard you of the dreams, strangely queer, had by those you've shoe'd?
Shoemaker:
I keep patron thoughts near those of my wife, love'd and lost. Though decide'd she that her life's joy had pass'd, still she live'd, long and lifeless, much as she lies now. Akin to it, a promising and healthy tale ruin'd by prose disintegrate'd and stagnant grown.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Love in its dying stages may whole cities set alight. Likewise, ground'd leaves often find reason for ignition. Autumn is for firemen the busiest of seasons!
Shoemaker:
Agree'd, perhaps. For when the fuel of emotion runs dry, hearts must a substitute seek. A deathless flame is human passion, be it for worse or better. 'Tis a reflex. Sadly, heart's burning hints toward my self-immolation.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
By my very composite, you are a dangerous man!
Shoemaker:
Everywhere are dangerous men, running risky charters not to themselves only, but ever harm causing to others. Often, to good folk they offer spoilage, a withering deceptively natural, such as fall foliage.
(silent moment)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Strand'd on the earth I am, though in my former guise saw through hazes heavenly down, to these fireplaces of community. The inferno of men's jealous hand and heart the wild torch of nature mimic. Burning not for warmth (Oh long forgotten by these sticks!), but for helpless observation of instinct most primal. Men such enflame'd and careless make mulch of the heart and sow their fields bitter with hollow. 'Tis little wonder, the ever-breeding of such sicknesses! A site so beastly to draw a man's tears to the ground marks this low soul glad my lost eyes cannot participate in the rain event. Whoa to ground'd be! And among such company.
Shoemaker:
Fly your woe and dread away! Soon, shall uproot'd be the fields of man's earth. And those of man's heaven.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
My rank dictates that a role I must play. As I am now equal parts earth and man, I wish, more than ever, to be only air.
Act One Scene Two
Appalachia. Midnight, abandoned hospital
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two enter seeking shelter from the attacks of living corpses)
Leprechaun One:
Oh! Let us have day in night!
Leprechaun Two:
To bootleg heaven is certainly a true magician's trick, and nearly delete'd is the catalogue.
(lights match)
Leprechaun One:
You charmer, I gather delight from everywhere!
Leprechaun Two:
(begins a bonfire of mattresses and bedclothes)
Inventory after invention. Aside with dust and throw shields up! The leader is still follow'd being.
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two begin reinforcing doors and covering windows)
Leprechaun One:
How merrily our precious lives we defend!
Leprechaun Two:
Quite right! By the ticking of my flesh'd clock I great comfort find.
Leprechaun One:
(grimacing in pain, stops)
'Tis well wind'd! Is it not? Night has brought corpses with it. Color that book.
Leprechaun Two:
It has color'd you red my friend!
(Leprechaun One collapses to the floor. Leprechaun Two examines his wounds)
Oh, forget this hell away! Let horror keep where it may, but here a guest unwant'd. The burning of life's fire we must support, correct? Look to me, now. How very fortunate we, to come across this healing hall. Here, inside this great place and here inside,
(touches heart)
let it a wonderland be; a clear place awefill'd with the beauty we've confuse'd in the haze of all these lost dreams.
Leprechaun One:
From this day forth, a winter wonderland! But the snow, 'tis such that I cannot see. It must cover me over surely. How 'tis that snow now cannot be seen? Evolve'd has it in some way? Is it beyond?
Leprechaun Two:
(aside)
My friend, you are becoming unreal.
Leprechaun One:
One looks outside and outside looks in. Ah, where do they come from? Such a sight; the remains of human firecrackers parading the snowbanks through. Wonder I, what meaning for the dead living does this fallen white hold? Dear! I am worse feeling for this unsight'd blanket. After my leave, will its visibility return? Rather be tether'd to the blazing hearth, essence of winter fantasies, I most certainly would.
Leprechaun Two:
Nay, dear friend kind! 'Tis the heart, the fire for which all things burn. Know you not the character of the snow invisible? 'Tis love.
Leprechaun One:
Are the truth you speaking?
Leprechaun Two:
Like that which is found in light's reflection on the endless water.
Leprechaun One:
And what then if over the water ice arrives?
Leprechaun Two:
All else lies in the corners of dreams. Now go there, sweetly.
Act One, Scene Three
Lost Spaceship
(Scientist looks on as Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer converse silently. Crippled Boy sits in a room down the hall, looking out into space)
Scientist:
(addressing Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
I am not afraid of secrets as some men are. Air could become their world. Oh, I know not where you live, if you stood not on ground at all. Perhaps, there is such a sense of purpose in this being lost, that all other needs it replaces, and desire is but a passing cloud before the sun. A dream I had, in the morning of the last day, of gold discover'd. Not a pebble small or even a nugget, but a whole world; a universe of gold entirely. Sheer dimensions of it! Sheets and sheets, distinguishable and indistinguishable, enveloping all. Yet, as lost in wonder I was, wish'd I that with me you might have been. How wish'd you with me I had, guide and companion, in my beautiful dreams of gold!
(Clock near Scientist changes into metal dog, runs down ship's hallway, and jumps upon Crippled Boy's lap)
Crippled Boy:
(to Watchdog)
Poor boy!
(begins to pet the animal)
How wrong this age is! Can ever youth truly at fault be? So touch'd is a young heart that it could surely break apart. So touch'd is a young world that it as well may to pieces tear, but where go these broken things? Retreating back to the abyss perhaps. But in that withdrawal, like contact is made with the alien snowflake; a dove's child. As a youthful reflection is made, dying is a small part of that youth. For today, a statue speaks! Tomorrow, whenever that may be for an idol who's choke'd so by decay, a statue scratches the surface deeper, losing of itself a bit in the process. Oh, horror and dread, here comes the modern world!
(Scientist approaches)
Scientist:
Though you do not possess the strength to be the wind perhaps you may shape it wisely. Would you give yourself as audience to my creation?
Crippled Boy:
Merely arrangements are such creations! Cool evenings arrange for good sleep, they do not create it. Inventions yours, are merely reworkings of an already divine song.
Scientist:
Such an angelic answer and yet so upsetting!
(Watchdog whimpers in Crippled Boy's arms)
Scientist:
How can you for that ghostly metal affection feel? So cold and dull to the touch is love? Perhaps, there is some kinship between its deathlife and your hollow'd offshoots. Does the absence of feeling make you feel? Still one, speak! When your voids two collide, do they each other fill?
Crippled Boy:
The putting together of two sticks authors fire, does it not?
(Watchdog barks)
Scientist:
Words of that nature are fair enough.
(Scientist muses on a thought)
As it were the eve of Christmas, most starfill'd and nebulous, I believe that we are entitle'd all to a benefaction small. Are we not? I have given you already your fancy. Now I would ask the same to me of your legs.
Crippled Boy:
Moon madness! Have your ideas not the strength to carry themselves?
Scientist:
Oh, 'tis a paradise of holiday, caught on a flying island with carolers whom I can't see!
(appeals to Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
Millions of stars with millions of songs! How to share the joy of giving ear to missing music of which the player, even in the imagination, is not real? How can you attend to all the silent tones and melody if you can't even fathom the inconceivable musician; not just thinking vacant music, but actually hearing it? How could you that refuse me?
Crippled Boy:
Although my crew is spent, they fly on with me until touchdown. Loot from the dead of time and space if such things you require.
Scientist:
They cannot be done, these horrible things! How sour is such a suggestion deeply agonizing! Thoughts from the gutter of the brain and blood, wrench'd up with slime. You move no more. Now have no words and all breaths the same! No more shall light from the stars you steal!
(the metal dog turns back into a clock)
Act One, Scene Four
Caribbea, sunset
(Ghost of a Court Magician & Portrait of a Noble Lady sit on the beach, gazing out on the horizon)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Entirely lost in my ageless fog! Where I come of breath for words, I cannot say. I am the moon when there is no moon. I am cloud, seafoam, hallucination, wind, and mist - drifting forever, all into a blacker hole.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Important things these are all. Without, there is nothing. You are necessary clockwork sum'd in a fleshless fixture. You must be when these things will not. See you that for me there is no world, but what you supply?
Ghost of Court Magician:
Simple mass I cannot even provide! Peddler of hollow loss, I am; a rotting phantasm far shy the flicker of a candle dead. A killing sparks out in the shadows of every moment. I long for my life! Glean you a remembrance of it, in the playing afternoons? How I long for mine or other, the wonderful flesh.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Stillness sweet ghost! Joyous trails to indeed follow and such directions grace'd and bless'd we'd be to again go. To be separate'd from that time of hearts, good and age'd, would quite mean me apart.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Isn't it strange to dream not in other nightly worlds, but in memory all?
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
When forever is living in memory, there is no dreaming to be done.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Oh, were I to be forgetfulness.
(Mayor Made of Gold stands atop the beach castle observing the setting sun, high on the sun's blood)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oceans are a priceless thing at dusk! And with the golden orb gone, most precious I now truly am. I am the second sun, better than the first, for never set I. My valuable flame eternally burns, lighting alike eyes and hearts. This is truly all that for the world matters. It is here, in Caribbea, that I am home, a very rich man indeed!
(Portrait of a Noble Lady and Ghost of a Court Magician observe the sunset)
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Evening colors us meek.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Dear lady, may love'd sight speak honest the shelter of fate. There are still in our horizon stars.
Act One, Scene One
Appalachian cabin, Shoemaker's workshop, late afternoon
(Shoemaker sits at his work desk. Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Skillful sir, the lord your window graces upon this goodly night.
Shoemaker:
Ah, but most sadly my door remains. How alone I am, dear field flier. How completely forlorn! My sheep have into airplanes turn'd and all flown from me away.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Had I the nerves to one pilot I'd surely in excitement burn.
Shoemaker:
Ha! Most pleasant types of fever I've found there are. I last week took ill and swear that through time I'd gone.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
'Tis goodness! How flew it for you?
Shoemaker:
Like a cloud, very much. I drift'd through whole years without myself moving, but as a piece of film would advance along on a reel, waiting for light to know thyself.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Heaven's light?
Shoemaker:
The light of invention!
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Poor shoemaker, you have been overexpose'd!
(silent moment)
Perchance heard you of the dreams, strangely queer, had by those you've shoe'd?
Shoemaker:
I keep patron thoughts near those of my wife, love'd and lost. Though decide'd she that her life's joy had pass'd, still she live'd, long and lifeless, much as she lies now. Akin to it, a promising and healthy tale ruin'd by prose disintegrate'd and stagnant grown.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Love in its dying stages may whole cities set alight. Likewise, ground'd leaves often find reason for ignition. Autumn is for firemen the busiest of seasons!
Shoemaker:
Agree'd, perhaps. For when the fuel of emotion runs dry, hearts must a substitute seek. A deathless flame is human passion, be it for worse or better. 'Tis a reflex. Sadly, heart's burning hints toward my self-immolation.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
By my very composite, you are a dangerous man!
Shoemaker:
Everywhere are dangerous men, running risky charters not to themselves only, but ever harm causing to others. Often, to good folk they offer spoilage, a withering deceptively natural, such as fall foliage.
(silent moment)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Strand'd on the earth I am, though in my former guise saw through hazes heavenly down, to these fireplaces of community. The inferno of men's jealous hand and heart the wild torch of nature mimic. Burning not for warmth (Oh long forgotten by these sticks!), but for helpless observation of instinct most primal. Men such enflame'd and careless make mulch of the heart and sow their fields bitter with hollow. 'Tis little wonder, the ever-breeding of such sicknesses! A site so beastly to draw a man's tears to the ground marks this low soul glad my lost eyes cannot participate in the rain event. Whoa to ground'd be! And among such company.
Shoemaker:
Fly your woe and dread away! Soon, shall uproot'd be the fields of man's earth. And those of man's heaven.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
My rank dictates that a role I must play. As I am now equal parts earth and man, I wish, more than ever, to be only air.
Act One Scene Two
Appalachia. Midnight, abandoned hospital
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two enter seeking shelter from the attacks of living corpses)
Leprechaun One:
Oh! Let us have day in night!
Leprechaun Two:
To bootleg heaven is certainly a true magician's trick, and nearly delete'd is the catalogue.
(lights match)
Leprechaun One:
You charmer, I gather delight from everywhere!
Leprechaun Two:
(begins a bonfire of mattresses and bedclothes)
Inventory after invention. Aside with dust and throw shields up! The leader is still follow'd being.
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two begin reinforcing doors and covering windows)
Leprechaun One:
How merrily our precious lives we defend!
Leprechaun Two:
Quite right! By the ticking of my flesh'd clock I great comfort find.
Leprechaun One:
(grimacing in pain, stops)
'Tis well wind'd! Is it not? Night has brought corpses with it. Color that book.
Leprechaun Two:
It has color'd you red my friend!
(Leprechaun One collapses to the floor. Leprechaun Two examines his wounds)
Oh, forget this hell away! Let horror keep where it may, but here a guest unwant'd. The burning of life's fire we must support, correct? Look to me, now. How very fortunate we, to come across this healing hall. Here, inside this great place and here inside,
(touches heart)
let it a wonderland be; a clear place awefill'd with the beauty we've confuse'd in the haze of all these lost dreams.
Leprechaun One:
From this day forth, a winter wonderland! But the snow, 'tis such that I cannot see. It must cover me over surely. How 'tis that snow now cannot be seen? Evolve'd has it in some way? Is it beyond?
Leprechaun Two:
(aside)
My friend, you are becoming unreal.
Leprechaun One:
One looks outside and outside looks in. Ah, where do they come from? Such a sight; the remains of human firecrackers parading the snowbanks through. Wonder I, what meaning for the dead living does this fallen white hold? Dear! I am worse feeling for this unsight'd blanket. After my leave, will its visibility return? Rather be tether'd to the blazing hearth, essence of winter fantasies, I most certainly would.
Leprechaun Two:
Nay, dear friend kind! 'Tis the heart, the fire for which all things burn. Know you not the character of the snow invisible? 'Tis love.
Leprechaun One:
Are the truth you speaking?
Leprechaun Two:
Like that which is found in light's reflection on the endless water.
Leprechaun One:
And what then if over the water ice arrives?
Leprechaun Two:
All else lies in the corners of dreams. Now go there, sweetly.
Act One, Scene Three
Lost Spaceship
(Scientist looks on as Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer converse silently. Crippled Boy sits in a room down the hall, looking out into space)
Scientist:
(addressing Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
I am not afraid of secrets as some men are. Air could become their world. Oh, I know not where you live, if you stood not on ground at all. Perhaps, there is such a sense of purpose in this being lost, that all other needs it replaces, and desire is but a passing cloud before the sun. A dream I had, in the morning of the last day, of gold discover'd. Not a pebble small or even a nugget, but a whole world; a universe of gold entirely. Sheer dimensions of it! Sheets and sheets, distinguishable and indistinguishable, enveloping all. Yet, as lost in wonder I was, wish'd I that with me you might have been. How wish'd you with me I had, guide and companion, in my beautiful dreams of gold!
(Clock near Scientist changes into metal dog, runs down ship's hallway, and jumps upon Crippled Boy's lap)
Crippled Boy:
(to Watchdog)
Poor boy!
(begins to pet the animal)
How wrong this age is! Can ever youth truly at fault be? So touch'd is a young heart that it could surely break apart. So touch'd is a young world that it as well may to pieces tear, but where go these broken things? Retreating back to the abyss perhaps. But in that withdrawal, like contact is made with the alien snowflake; a dove's child. As a youthful reflection is made, dying is a small part of that youth. For today, a statue speaks! Tomorrow, whenever that may be for an idol who's choke'd so by decay, a statue scratches the surface deeper, losing of itself a bit in the process. Oh, horror and dread, here comes the modern world!
(Scientist approaches)
Scientist:
Though you do not possess the strength to be the wind perhaps you may shape it wisely. Would you give yourself as audience to my creation?
Crippled Boy:
Merely arrangements are such creations! Cool evenings arrange for good sleep, they do not create it. Inventions yours, are merely reworkings of an already divine song.
Scientist:
Such an angelic answer and yet so upsetting!
(Watchdog whimpers in Crippled Boy's arms)
Scientist:
How can you for that ghostly metal affection feel? So cold and dull to the touch is love? Perhaps, there is some kinship between its deathlife and your hollow'd offshoots. Does the absence of feeling make you feel? Still one, speak! When your voids two collide, do they each other fill?
Crippled Boy:
The putting together of two sticks authors fire, does it not?
(Watchdog barks)
Scientist:
Words of that nature are fair enough.
(Scientist muses on a thought)
As it were the eve of Christmas, most starfill'd and nebulous, I believe that we are entitle'd all to a benefaction small. Are we not? I have given you already your fancy. Now I would ask the same to me of your legs.
Crippled Boy:
Moon madness! Have your ideas not the strength to carry themselves?
Scientist:
Oh, 'tis a paradise of holiday, caught on a flying island with carolers whom I can't see!
(appeals to Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
Millions of stars with millions of songs! How to share the joy of giving ear to missing music of which the player, even in the imagination, is not real? How can you attend to all the silent tones and melody if you can't even fathom the inconceivable musician; not just thinking vacant music, but actually hearing it? How could you that refuse me?
Crippled Boy:
Although my crew is spent, they fly on with me until touchdown. Loot from the dead of time and space if such things you require.
Scientist:
They cannot be done, these horrible things! How sour is such a suggestion deeply agonizing! Thoughts from the gutter of the brain and blood, wrench'd up with slime. You move no more. Now have no words and all breaths the same! No more shall light from the stars you steal!
(the metal dog turns back into a clock)
Act One, Scene Four
Caribbea, sunset
(Ghost of a Court Magician & Portrait of a Noble Lady sit on the beach, gazing out on the horizon)
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Entirely lost in my ageless fog! Where I come of breath for words, I cannot say. I am the moon when there is no moon. I am cloud, seafoam, hallucination, wind, and mist - drifting forever, all into a blacker hole.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Important things these are all. Without, there is nothing. You are necessary clockwork sum'd in a fleshless fixture. You must be when these things will not. See you that for me there is no world, but what you supply?
Ghost of Court Magician:
Simple mass I cannot even provide! Peddler of hollow loss, I am; a rotting phantasm far shy the flicker of a candle dead. A killing sparks out in the shadows of every moment. I long for my life! Glean you a remembrance of it, in the playing afternoons? How I long for mine or other, the wonderful flesh.
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Stillness sweet ghost! Joyous trails to indeed follow and such directions grace'd and bless'd we'd be to again go. To be separate'd from that time of hearts, good and age'd, would quite mean me apart.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Isn't it strange to dream not in other nightly worlds, but in memory all?
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
When forever is living in memory, there is no dreaming to be done.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Oh, were I to be forgetfulness.
(Mayor Made of Gold stands atop the beach castle observing the setting sun, high on the sun's blood)
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oceans are a priceless thing at dusk! And with the golden orb gone, most precious I now truly am. I am the second sun, better than the first, for never set I. My valuable flame eternally burns, lighting alike eyes and hearts. This is truly all that for the world matters. It is here, in Caribbea, that I am home, a very rich man indeed!
(Portrait of a Noble Lady and Ghost of a Court Magician observe the sunset)
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Evening colors us meek.
Ghost of Court Magician:
Dear lady, may love'd sight speak honest the shelter of fate. There are still in our horizon stars.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
(silent moment)
Perchance heard you of the dreams, strangely queer, had by those you've shoe'd?
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
(silent moment)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Shoemaker:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Appalachian cabin, Shoemaker's workshop, late afternoon
(Shoemaker sits at his work desk. Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Skillful sir, the lord your window graces upon this goodly night.
Ah, but most sadly my door remains. How alone I am, dear field flier. How completely forlorn! My sheep have into airplanes turn'd and all flown from me away.
Had I the nerves to one pilot I'd surely in excitement burn.
Ha! Most pleasant types of fever I've found there are. I last week took ill and swear that through time I'd gone.
'Tis goodness! How flew it for you?
Like a cloud, very much. I drift'd through whole years without myself moving, but as a piece of film would advance along on a reel, waiting for light to know thyself.
Heaven's light?
The light of invention!
Poor shoemaker, you have been overexpose'd!
I keep patron thoughts near those of my wife, love'd and lost. Though decide'd she that her life's joy had pass'd, still she live'd, long and lifeless, much as she lies now. Akin to it, a promising and healthy tale ruin'd by prose disintegrate'd and stagnant grown.
Love in its dying stages may whole cities set alight. Likewise, ground'd leaves often find reason for ignition. Autumn is for firemen the busiest of seasons!
Agree'd, perhaps. For when the fuel of emotion runs dry, hearts must a substitute seek. A deathless flame is human passion, be it for worse or better. 'Tis a reflex. Sadly, heart's burning hints toward my self-immolation.
By my very composite, you are a dangerous man!
Everywhere are dangerous men, running risky charters not to themselves only, but ever harm causing to others. Often, to good folk they offer spoilage, a withering deceptively natural, such as fall foliage.
Strand'd on the earth I am, though in my former guise saw through hazes heavenly down, to these fireplaces of community. The inferno of men's jealous hand and heart the wild torch of nature mimic. Burning not for warmth (Oh long forgotten by these sticks!), but for helpless observation of instinct most primal. Men such enflame'd and careless make mulch of the heart and sow their fields bitter with hollow. 'Tis little wonder, the ever-breeding of such sicknesses! A site so beastly to draw a man's tears to the ground marks this low soul glad my lost eyes cannot participate in the rain event. Whoa to ground'd be! And among such company.
Fly your woe and dread away! Soon, shall uproot'd be the fields of man's earth. And those of man's heaven.
My rank dictates that a role I must play. As I am now equal parts earth and man, I wish, more than ever, to be only air. Act One Scene Two
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two begin reinforcing doors and covering windows)
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
(Leprechaun One collapses to the floor. Leprechaun Two examines his wounds)
Oh, forget this hell away! Let horror keep where it may, but here a guest unwant'd. The burning of life's fire we must support, correct? Look to me, now. How very fortunate we, to come across this healing hall. Here, inside this great place and here inside,
(touches heart)
let it a wonderland be; a clear place awefill'd with the beauty we've confuse'd in the haze of all these lost dreams.
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Leprechaun One:
Leprechaun Two:
Appalachia. Midnight, abandoned hospital
(Leprechaun One and Leprechaun Two enter seeking shelter from the attacks of living corpses)
Oh! Let us have day in night!
To bootleg heaven is certainly a true magician's trick, and nearly delete'd is the catalogue.
(lights match)
You charmer, I gather delight from everywhere!
(begins a bonfire of mattresses and bedclothes)
Inventory after invention. Aside with dust and throw shields up! The leader is still follow'd being.
How merrily our precious lives we defend!
Quite right! By the ticking of my flesh'd clock I great comfort find.
(grimacing in pain, stops)
'Tis well wind'd! Is it not? Night has brought corpses with it. Color that book.
It has color'd you red my friend!
From this day forth, a winter wonderland! But the snow, 'tis such that I cannot see. It must cover me over surely. How 'tis that snow now cannot be seen? Evolve'd has it in some way? Is it beyond?
(aside)
My friend, you are becoming unreal.
One looks outside and outside looks in. Ah, where do they come from? Such a sight; the remains of human firecrackers parading the snowbanks through. Wonder I, what meaning for the dead living does this fallen white hold? Dear! I am worse feeling for this unsight'd blanket. After my leave, will its visibility return? Rather be tether'd to the blazing hearth, essence of winter fantasies, I most certainly would.
Nay, dear friend kind! 'Tis the heart, the fire for which all things burn. Know you not the character of the snow invisible? 'Tis love.
Are the truth you speaking?
Like that which is found in light's reflection on the endless water.
And what then if over the water ice arrives?
All else lies in the corners of dreams. Now go there, sweetly.Act One, Scene Three
Scientist:
(Clock near Scientist changes into metal dog, runs down ship's hallway, and jumps upon Crippled Boy's lap)
Crippled Boy:
(begins to pet the animal)
How wrong this age is! Can ever youth truly at fault be? So touch'd is a young heart that it could surely break apart. So touch'd is a young world that it as well may to pieces tear, but where go these broken things? Retreating back to the abyss perhaps. But in that withdrawal, like contact is made with the alien snowflake; a dove's child. As a youthful reflection is made, dying is a small part of that youth. For today, a statue speaks! Tomorrow, whenever that may be for an idol who's choke'd so by decay, a statue scratches the surface deeper, losing of itself a bit in the process. Oh, horror and dread, here comes the modern world!
(Scientist approaches)
Scientist:
Crippled Boy:
Scientist:
(Watchdog whimpers in Crippled Boy's arms)
Scientist:
Crippled Boy:
(Watchdog barks)
Scientist:
(Scientist muses on a thought)
As it were the eve of Christmas, most starfill'd and nebulous, I believe that we are entitle'd all to a benefaction small. Are we not? I have given you already your fancy. Now I would ask the same to me of your legs.
Crippled Boy:
Scientist:
(appeals to Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
Millions of stars with millions of songs! How to share the joy of giving ear to missing music of which the player, even in the imagination, is not real? How can you attend to all the silent tones and melody if you can't even fathom the inconceivable musician; not just thinking vacant music, but actually hearing it? How could you that refuse me?
Crippled Boy:
Scientist:
(the metal dog turns back into a clock)
Lost Spaceship
(Scientist looks on as Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer converse silently. Crippled Boy sits in a room down the hall, looking out into space)
(addressing Dead Astronaut and Dead Astronomer)
I am not afraid of secrets as some men are. Air could become their world. Oh, I know not where you live, if you stood not on ground at all. Perhaps, there is such a sense of purpose in this being lost, that all other needs it replaces, and desire is but a passing cloud before the sun. A dream I had, in the morning of the last day, of gold discover'd. Not a pebble small or even a nugget, but a whole world; a universe of gold entirely. Sheer dimensions of it! Sheets and sheets, distinguishable and indistinguishable, enveloping all. Yet, as lost in wonder I was, wish'd I that with me you might have been. How wish'd you with me I had, guide and companion, in my beautiful dreams of gold!
(to Watchdog)
Poor boy!
Though you do not possess the strength to be the wind perhaps you may shape it wisely. Would you give yourself as audience to my creation?
Merely arrangements are such creations! Cool evenings arrange for good sleep, they do not create it. Inventions yours, are merely reworkings of an already divine song.
Such an angelic answer and yet so upsetting!
How can you for that ghostly metal affection feel? So cold and dull to the touch is love? Perhaps, there is some kinship between its deathlife and your hollow'd offshoots. Does the absence of feeling make you feel? Still one, speak! When your voids two collide, do they each other fill?
The putting together of two sticks authors fire, does it not?
Words of that nature are fair enough.
Moon madness! Have your ideas not the strength to carry themselves?
Oh, 'tis a paradise of holiday, caught on a flying island with carolers whom I can't see!
Although my crew is spent, they fly on with me until touchdown. Loot from the dead of time and space if such things you require.
They cannot be done, these horrible things! How sour is such a suggestion deeply agonizing! Thoughts from the gutter of the brain and blood, wrench'd up with slime. You move no more. Now have no words and all breaths the same! No more shall light from the stars you steal!Act One, Scene Four
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Ghost of Court Magician:
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Ghost of Court Magician:
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Ghost of Court Magician:
(Mayor Made of Gold stands atop the beach castle observing the setting sun, high on the sun's blood)
Mayor Made of Gold:
(Portrait of a Noble Lady and Ghost of a Court Magician observe the sunset)
Portrait of a Noble Lady:
Ghost of Court Magician:
Caribbea, sunset
(Ghost of a Court Magician & Portrait of a Noble Lady sit on the beach, gazing out on the horizon)
Entirely lost in my ageless fog! Where I come of breath for words, I cannot say. I am the moon when there is no moon. I am cloud, seafoam, hallucination, wind, and mist - drifting forever, all into a blacker hole.
Important things these are all. Without, there is nothing. You are necessary clockwork sum'd in a fleshless fixture. You must be when these things will not. See you that for me there is no world, but what you supply?
Simple mass I cannot even provide! Peddler of hollow loss, I am; a rotting phantasm far shy the flicker of a candle dead. A killing sparks out in the shadows of every moment. I long for my life! Glean you a remembrance of it, in the playing afternoons? How I long for mine or other, the wonderful flesh.
Stillness sweet ghost! Joyous trails to indeed follow and such directions grace'd and bless'd we'd be to again go. To be separate'd from that time of hearts, good and age'd, would quite mean me apart.
Isn't it strange to dream not in other nightly worlds, but in memory all?
When forever is living in memory, there is no dreaming to be done.
Oh, were I to be forgetfulness.
Oceans are a priceless thing at dusk! And with the golden orb gone, most precious I now truly am. I am the second sun, better than the first, for never set I. My valuable flame eternally burns, lighting alike eyes and hearts. This is truly all that for the world matters. It is here, in Caribbea, that I am home, a very rich man indeed!
Evening colors us meek.
Dear lady, may love'd sight speak honest the shelter of fate. There are still in our horizon stars.
