Act Two, Scene One
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography)
Mr. Birthday:
Move me, oh sweet memories, from beyond the pastures there and flying on the arrow I had ridden to you the day I arrive'd! Filling all stations, sometimes keeping the beautiful children of my world at bay, daydreaming somewhere in the lost backyard. Press'd myself harder, traveling further backwards, I saw the stars bespeckle'd from up my woodland crib. To return now to that chemical dawn with moon strikingly similar to this is a possibility not.
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
Mr. Birthday, I miss'd your birthday. Pray heaven, accept my apologies divine. Once, your shoulder is touch'd. A bit colder, but wiser we now impart. There is a word I must share, today we will depart.
Mr. Birthday:
Ah! 'Nere is the hour of soul's vexation! The pleasure of this blood swells delicious still in powerful tides! There are reams of words still torching in this saintly direct'd mind. Come my flowering brain, abounding yet with universal stripes of characters. Let me brand the elusive beast rich with the word of life's experience! Into your ranks surely a stay might I be grant'd for we've all plans to execute.
Avenging Angel:
Slight dampening further of the cloth but a pinch matters. Though a bit delay'd, ultimately the life sheets will be rung. Release'd from the shroud's grasp you are. Smile freely, your undead heart.
(Avenging Angel exits)
Mr. Birthday:
Oh, life is dealt in cards either of dream or nightmare! Though an age'd player, them apart can I longer even tell? The colors of the day are so strange when light of heaven's letting flutters and clouds carry with the shade of sunken ships. Of the key may invisibility be, but what of the lock?
Act Two, Scene Two
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Why do I continue on these walks to go? As a remedy for my ailings, how poor they are! As amusement, they lack certain essentials of entertainment most base. Oh, souls are gingerbread, card houses. Believe I in the medication armies and treatments hearts of all coming seek. Weakness this is simply not, but a requirement universal. Be it love or some other distract'd delirium, hearts must be ever nurse'd.
The Moon:
(aside)
A certainty by the tides I've motivate'd. Favor'd you all of poor gravity are, secrets have and know'd.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Unknown are grievances, bountiful on this shuttlecock'd air station! Just perplex'd am I, by the elements all or be it sorrow for the very sake of sorrow and there such a thing even is? Woe exists surely not for its amusement own, but to gauge the vanity of such an aloof companion is simply without ground. So wildly off course I again have venture'd! Old moon, co-pilot in conversations in rival skies held, speak now with me!
The Moon:
How you lowly fly, farmer's friend and like mine! Companions of sadness and beauty are we, but you've a ladder of misery to me reach. My shed light soothes you not as desire would dictate.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Fear I!
The Moon:
Does mending your poor soul request? Torn has it been?
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
You in slight the matter illuminate. My soul's truth is close'd to me as the great concert to an earless man. It from me keeps like a child in some dark cupboard hiding. Treatments I seek, but of the ailment... without clues I. Ghastly is this state of suspend'd murder!
The Moon:
Need we the gates of your heart storm? Route opium orchestras to your lifestrings or direct hounds for anguish thirsts train'd to uncover this pollution secret? Invasions of worthy and seeking passion places cover the frail carcass of the human sky. Perhaps, not connect'd with you is your fright, but an alien with.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Of the exotic, our sky is fill'd. The nature of these creatures has bewilder'd me all. To science I flew and barely with my life escape'd. Dredge'd the lake of my mind waters, but came nothing away. The air disease'd with asteroids of unsympathy, I finally crash'd. What fire on this mad island burns, I again terribly fear. How wish it I away!
The Moon:
I feel you to me must come.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Are you from an unreal place speaking?
The Moon:
An artificial horizon is truly yours. Relief seeker, to me come. A high held union, bliss will be for two aching flyers. Of this lunatic path I weary and lonesome grow for the comforts of a final peace. From the seemingly endless reserve of prayer and faith, I the substance of waxing find, but to you I'll tell, an end there is.
I'm close to it pleasantly finding. Rise up good soul to destiny's height! Realizing you, our survival means.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
But flight questions there are many. Indeed my farewell would this journey be, would it not? My earthly state death assures upon such a jaunt propose'd, however desire'd. Oh, how can a scarecrow phantasm reach the heart of the moon?
The Moon:
As with the days all pass'd, you have ever present been.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
A voyage made I have in my dreamdays and better nights, worlds of time over.
The Moon:
Felicitous one, on such a dreamflight you embark! My words not lazily float to you down, a gift to the wind, but direct and arrow'd sharply. There are with me angels. Light station hosts be they and you, pilot lost, are in their great company welcome, as you have ever been by the loving sky. And position'd I, as a beacon of love for both the ground'd and heavenly. Upon I, unsleeping humans and angels alike, on their loves and losses muse; toss their airy coins of wish and hope, and secret thoughts and splendid flights of mind offer for the collective circuits of fantasy in the library of wonder. Of human and angel dreams, this the substance is. Their generator, I.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
What dreams within you lie?
The Moon:
Of all the compass under my dreams fall. For yourself see! For now you are to this lunar shell fill. Of this cosmic duty, you will perfectly measure.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
May lost I be in the vastness of the black wild? Has the earth so corrupt'd me of space that back in the abandon my thoughts all be lost? Or real could dreams be? May in full, starry gladness the heavens have me? If true, gladly be I your spirit life!
The Moon:
Gladly then you go, finest of the goodness pilots! Leave this body, strangely natural. Heaven's child, you are now perfectly born!
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul becomes The Moon)
Act Two, Scene Three
Caribbea, shoreline
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of A Court Magician are walking across the surf)
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Of these worldly tricks do ever you tire? Sir, one day a fate you must decide. The surf is beautiful only for the first hundred years.
Mayor Made of Gold:
You are no longer magical. You've the spirit lost. In the sand and stars invisible, specters you in your world of screams company. Ghost dear, I your dry tears see. Think you, to me nothing they mean? Of every breath you draw, half is mine own.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Will there no adjustments be to this picture sad? Us unfinish'd being here leaves.
Mayor Made of Gold:
If we thirst, kind Caribbea, its veins open. If dry be our lungs, they are wet'd with the sweet air of a million waves. Warm'd our cold souls are by the rays of heaven's own.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Then fiends we truly are. Sweetly slow, poison'd goblins of the shore! From sand, there is no harvest, however golden.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oh, melancholy spirit beach'd, arriving are star bleach'd domes. A man of science one world remove'd arrives this noon after. You will a witness be to the dune'd treasure with fleshy eyes.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
I fear this a disaster plane. In the stillness one it feels, nameless creeping. In the horizons returning, seen I corpses of ghouls childlike, heads inside bowls of glass beside fear swimming, with great stealth and hurtful intentions advancing. If not here am I, could there I truly be?
Mayor Made of Gold:
Vacant man, the only truth that here remains is in my dreams seen. If the horizon I dream melting, it then shall across the sky's expanse flow. Dream't I a hologram of the ocean? Then 'tis certain. But dream I of such hell? To that foul kingdom of beasts I am not receptive. When the costly head erupts, only then shall it be. If I forever music hear, be it my dreaming air!
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of a Court Magician arrive at Topiary Gentleman)
Topiary Gentleman:
Good day, your mobility.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Better is the afternoon for having you in it.
Topiary Gentleman:
One of life's most agreeable fancies is this courteous exchange. 'Tis not?
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(aside)
'Tis but a graveyard in the air.
Topiary Gentleman:
What sir, upon this day, would me you wish to be?
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oh, how to mark this spell? I would my will upon you impose to here my father be.
Topiary Gentleman:
Indeed very well! Please, first allow me your hand, most precious and rare.
(Mayor Made of Gold offers Topiary Gentleman his right hand. Topiary Gentleman places a ring of leaves upon Mayor Made of Gold's finger)
Most deserve'd you are of nature's treasure fair.
Mayor Made of Gold:
And you equally, idol subject.
(Mayor Made of Gold places a ring of gold upon Topiary Gentleman's finger)
Topiary Gentleman:
A ruler you are most valuable!
Mayor Made of Gold:
Treasure indeed here keeps a forever pause, down the familial tree of Caribbean nymphs. Will part'd stars yet reveal the dazzling words of gold? Here we waiting are.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
(aside)
Sorrow'd magic, forlorn and cold, you have forgotten been. Oh sorry how I am!
(Clouds pass before the sun, the scene is bathed in shadow)
Act Two, Scene Four
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon number two
(Leprechaun Two is burying the corpse of Leprechaun One)
Leprechaun Two:
The thunder I in the distance hear and wonder 'tis the sound of you. Oh golden echo, my thoughts are all heavy and dull. Falling, the snow through this wood'd float I've not for a long while seen. To you my prayers will always be, but now, I wish to quit these haunting places.
(Shoemaker's Dead Wife watches from tree)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
(aside)
One sharply single'd, I with woo'd ears your woe appreciate. A love'd friend gone is a heart most bitterly axe'd. As I, one that love has lost, in my starving arms you are welcome.
Leprechaun Two:
Oh! Echo of gold, back to me come or these reigns of life I will release!
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
(floats down from tree to Leprechaun Two)
Might I offer back to you the trusting flow?
Leprechaun Two:
Stars my eyes cover! Into radiance I've gone. How gladly I go!
(Leprechaun Two collapses. With her husband's thread and needle, Shoemaker's Dead Wife mends the heart of Leprechaun Two)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Cherub of lush'd meadow, bid to remove'd pain good-bye.
Leprechaun Two:
Remarkable fawn, love has me sweetly crush'd! Is my heart able to bear this fantastical life? In my vision the tint of sorrow has left and there is focus to which I'm newly arriving! You, spirit angel, have my wintry inspiration thaw'd!
(The Avenging Angel looks down from the moon)
Avenging Angel:
(aside)
Holiness is found in the evening's heart! This truly is the space of angels.
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Harmonious soul, newly mint'd, let's away from the dark wood and its sad fires. To the sea and fair winds we ourselves lose!
Leprechaun Two:
Maiden of moonlight, ethereal savior, and wonderful first mate of life; overboard into the healing flood we go!
(snow begins to fall)
Avenging Angel:
(aside)
Summon'd I, by disturbances most severe, though scenes as these my sword calms and my faith dearly gain'd. How soon to walk upon this delicate land of bone brings decay, dulling the dream and joy reception. I can myself hear the affliction call. Nightmares of distress arresting rake their uninvite'd illusions wholly real; sharp at times in days as these. How the night watch has been ragged run! Do even realize these souls? Such is a path directionless. Rather would I concentrate on that which my heart moves. Angelic 'tis the fall, the snow of love! Such a hymn of passion it divinely sings, never growing stale to the ears of the soul!
(Avenging Angel dematerializes)
Leprechaun Two:
Snowsong, take me to my heart's home!
(Leprechaun Two and Shoemaker's Dead Wife vanish into the snow)
Act Two, Scene Five
Mr. Birthday's Appalachian Hotel Suite
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography on the open balcony. Winter enters)
Mr. Birthday:
Such chilly nights and days! Over me goes my coat.
Winter:
Hello, Mr. Birthday.
Mr. Birthday:
Greetings, season.
Winter:
I apologize for my birthday'd absence.
Mr. Birthday:
An apology I must also offer for the last it will have been.
Winter:
Are you a holiday of some time taking?
Mr. Birthday:
Yes, I suppose. 'Tis the ultimate holiday! Dear season, of all understanding ables, you shall surely hit my thought mark most true. Visit'd I've been by an angel, collecting lives. A stay of her sword'd hand relief brings, though her crown still jets light madly in my head and fuels my dying fear. Unexpect'd arrivals life brings, but the mind's gadgets must run a bit lazily to dependably work! With time a friend, new enemies have appear'd. Somehow, there is life still in my skeleton hiding. A meal for worms not yet born, I; a pulse'd specter. I love dearly this thing of breathing! Into my lungs taking air, as so many times I've before done, breath for a dying man meant? When down I am cut, will return'd these gasps of life be. Nonsense! Quite frighten'd I am. A happy ending I fear my life's tale will not have.
Winter:
Mr. Birthday, by sword'd angels the earth is stalk'd. And soon, may you be by heaven's blade found. But stay your fear, for there, at the end of you, will be I, your hand unknowingly in mine.
Mr. Birthday:
Recognize I know no longer what stays the eyes beyond!
Winter:
'Tis I, the season mystical, that does not the murder do, but the remover of life from the body, calmly and beautiful. As color pleases the eye and sweetness the tongue satisfies, I soothe the soul when it the flesh must leave, caressing the spirit, cooling the frantic strain to stay. I am the anesthetic of life, Mr. Birthday.
Mr. Birthday:
This is news quite fair to my dear heart!
Winter:
A return peaceful to your work I'll now you allow. May your trouble'd breath now easier come.
(Winter exits)
Mr. Birthday:
My dearest season, Winter has always been.
Act Two, Scene Six
Mountain Cemetery of Appalachia
(Shoemaker stands alone)
Shoemaker:
What a state of grandness! And how far to my soul home's end? Look up! By empty wraiths my eyes are stolen. The roof of such a palace is a guarantee for many careless abuses. I've become the pedestrian of the world! Hurtful to one's self no longer care'd, but damage to others must be check'd. A world of difference lies between smiling and killing all in a room. In the last of these days, some notion has the rust of my season'd heart breach'd. How dearly it suffers me, clawing and strangling, forcing itself upon my missing husbandry. Hate I, these fear'd daily struggles! Today, I desire only escape, to find the vacancy farthest away from all things and ones. And then to occupy it. That empty nook, floating on smooth and glassy waters, drifting backwards under the bountiful vines of that lost Caribbean jungle. Melting I, now disappearing begins.
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
As a maker of tears you are not prefer'd. Stillness now.
Shoemaker:
There is a light I have long sought. Flow now into me and give all that you will! Please...
Avenging Angel:
Stillness now.
(Shoemaker sobs quietly, body shaking with soft tremors)
There are still great scenes to be play'd. You the spectacle must eventually consume. This you have not realize'd?
Shoemaker:
(still tearing quietly)
I it knew not.
Avenging Angel:
Did you not think that soon the end would come? I have arrive'd.
Shoemaker:
Mmmm...
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker, these are things that have already been. We are bound only to agree.
Shoemaker:
Most truly. Bound I have ever been.
Avenging Angel:
Comfortless soul, know you of your wife?
Shoemaker:
Of her, I know nothing more.
Avenging Angel:
She is here no longer. Gone forever into the finest of mysteries. Quite happy she there is. May you now allow this world to leave you?
Shoemaker:
This is delicious disappearance; victorious! At the end, beyond companions and loss, let the lurking dreams of ghosts and ghosts of dreams arrive to find me elsewhere. At the end, furthest point from starting, my eyes I finally close.
Avenging Angel:
Stillness now...
(Snow begins to fall. Avenging Angel blurs away. Bear in a Bag materializes)
Bear in a Bag:
The light quiet white is in its own suggestion beautiful. Be it twilight or dawn?
(Shoemaker looks down, awestruck)
Find you of the recent snowfall beauty? Oh, how well it works at heartwarming! Very much would I like to see myself them observing so I may find myself at such a peace.
Shoemaker:
Oh...
Bear in a Bag:
Know you wellfellow? Has past the day or does it now arrive?
Shoemaker:
I do not know. Let us wait here and see.
Act Two, Scene One
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography)
Mr. Birthday:
Move me, oh sweet memories, from beyond the pastures there and flying on the arrow I had ridden to you the day I arrive'd! Filling all stations, sometimes keeping the beautiful children of my world at bay, daydreaming somewhere in the lost backyard. Press'd myself harder, traveling further backwards, I saw the stars bespeckle'd from up my woodland crib. To return now to that chemical dawn with moon strikingly similar to this is a possibility not.
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
Mr. Birthday, I miss'd your birthday. Pray heaven, accept my apologies divine. Once, your shoulder is touch'd. A bit colder, but wiser we now impart. There is a word I must share, today we will depart.
Mr. Birthday:
Ah! 'Nere is the hour of soul's vexation! The pleasure of this blood swells delicious still in powerful tides! There are reams of words still torching in this saintly direct'd mind. Come my flowering brain, abounding yet with universal stripes of characters. Let me brand the elusive beast rich with the word of life's experience! Into your ranks surely a stay might I be grant'd for we've all plans to execute.
Avenging Angel:
Slight dampening further of the cloth but a pinch matters. Though a bit delay'd, ultimately the life sheets will be rung. Release'd from the shroud's grasp you are. Smile freely, your undead heart.
(Avenging Angel exits)
Mr. Birthday:
Oh, life is dealt in cards either of dream or nightmare! Though an age'd player, them apart can I longer even tell? The colors of the day are so strange when light of heaven's letting flutters and clouds carry with the shade of sunken ships. Of the key may invisibility be, but what of the lock?
Act Two, Scene Two
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Why do I continue on these walks to go? As a remedy for my ailings, how poor they are! As amusement, they lack certain essentials of entertainment most base. Oh, souls are gingerbread, card houses. Believe I in the medication armies and treatments hearts of all coming seek. Weakness this is simply not, but a requirement universal. Be it love or some other distract'd delirium, hearts must be ever nurse'd.
The Moon:
(aside)
A certainty by the tides I've motivate'd. Favor'd you all of poor gravity are, secrets have and know'd.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Unknown are grievances, bountiful on this shuttlecock'd air station! Just perplex'd am I, by the elements all or be it sorrow for the very sake of sorrow and there such a thing even is? Woe exists surely not for its amusement own, but to gauge the vanity of such an aloof companion is simply without ground. So wildly off course I again have venture'd! Old moon, co-pilot in conversations in rival skies held, speak now with me!
The Moon:
How you lowly fly, farmer's friend and like mine! Companions of sadness and beauty are we, but you've a ladder of misery to me reach. My shed light soothes you not as desire would dictate.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Fear I!
The Moon:
Does mending your poor soul request? Torn has it been?
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
You in slight the matter illuminate. My soul's truth is close'd to me as the great concert to an earless man. It from me keeps like a child in some dark cupboard hiding. Treatments I seek, but of the ailment... without clues I. Ghastly is this state of suspend'd murder!
The Moon:
Need we the gates of your heart storm? Route opium orchestras to your lifestrings or direct hounds for anguish thirsts train'd to uncover this pollution secret? Invasions of worthy and seeking passion places cover the frail carcass of the human sky. Perhaps, not connect'd with you is your fright, but an alien with.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Of the exotic, our sky is fill'd. The nature of these creatures has bewilder'd me all. To science I flew and barely with my life escape'd. Dredge'd the lake of my mind waters, but came nothing away. The air disease'd with asteroids of unsympathy, I finally crash'd. What fire on this mad island burns, I again terribly fear. How wish it I away!
The Moon:
I feel you to me must come.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
Are you from an unreal place speaking?
The Moon:
An artificial horizon is truly yours. Relief seeker, to me come. A high held union, bliss will be for two aching flyers. Of this lunatic path I weary and lonesome grow for the comforts of a final peace. From the seemingly endless reserve of prayer and faith, I the substance of waxing find, but to you I'll tell, an end there is.
I'm close to it pleasantly finding. Rise up good soul to destiny's height! Realizing you, our survival means.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
But flight questions there are many. Indeed my farewell would this journey be, would it not? My earthly state death assures upon such a jaunt propose'd, however desire'd. Oh, how can a scarecrow phantasm reach the heart of the moon?
The Moon:
As with the days all pass'd, you have ever present been.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
A voyage made I have in my dreamdays and better nights, worlds of time over.
The Moon:
Felicitous one, on such a dreamflight you embark! My words not lazily float to you down, a gift to the wind, but direct and arrow'd sharply. There are with me angels. Light station hosts be they and you, pilot lost, are in their great company welcome, as you have ever been by the loving sky. And position'd I, as a beacon of love for both the ground'd and heavenly. Upon I, unsleeping humans and angels alike, on their loves and losses muse; toss their airy coins of wish and hope, and secret thoughts and splendid flights of mind offer for the collective circuits of fantasy in the library of wonder. Of human and angel dreams, this the substance is. Their generator, I.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
What dreams within you lie?
The Moon:
Of all the compass under my dreams fall. For yourself see! For now you are to this lunar shell fill. Of this cosmic duty, you will perfectly measure.
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
May lost I be in the vastness of the black wild? Has the earth so corrupt'd me of space that back in the abandon my thoughts all be lost? Or real could dreams be? May in full, starry gladness the heavens have me? If true, gladly be I your spirit life!
The Moon:
Gladly then you go, finest of the goodness pilots! Leave this body, strangely natural. Heaven's child, you are now perfectly born!
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul becomes The Moon)
Act Two, Scene Three
Caribbea, shoreline
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of A Court Magician are walking across the surf)
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Of these worldly tricks do ever you tire? Sir, one day a fate you must decide. The surf is beautiful only for the first hundred years.
Mayor Made of Gold:
You are no longer magical. You've the spirit lost. In the sand and stars invisible, specters you in your world of screams company. Ghost dear, I your dry tears see. Think you, to me nothing they mean? Of every breath you draw, half is mine own.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Will there no adjustments be to this picture sad? Us unfinish'd being here leaves.
Mayor Made of Gold:
If we thirst, kind Caribbea, its veins open. If dry be our lungs, they are wet'd with the sweet air of a million waves. Warm'd our cold souls are by the rays of heaven's own.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Then fiends we truly are. Sweetly slow, poison'd goblins of the shore! From sand, there is no harvest, however golden.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oh, melancholy spirit beach'd, arriving are star bleach'd domes. A man of science one world remove'd arrives this noon after. You will a witness be to the dune'd treasure with fleshy eyes.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
I fear this a disaster plane. In the stillness one it feels, nameless creeping. In the horizons returning, seen I corpses of ghouls childlike, heads inside bowls of glass beside fear swimming, with great stealth and hurtful intentions advancing. If not here am I, could there I truly be?
Mayor Made of Gold:
Vacant man, the only truth that here remains is in my dreams seen. If the horizon I dream melting, it then shall across the sky's expanse flow. Dream't I a hologram of the ocean? Then 'tis certain. But dream I of such hell? To that foul kingdom of beasts I am not receptive. When the costly head erupts, only then shall it be. If I forever music hear, be it my dreaming air!
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of a Court Magician arrive at Topiary Gentleman)
Topiary Gentleman:
Good day, your mobility.
Mayor Made of Gold:
Better is the afternoon for having you in it.
Topiary Gentleman:
One of life's most agreeable fancies is this courteous exchange. 'Tis not?
Ghost of a Court Magician:
(aside)
'Tis but a graveyard in the air.
Topiary Gentleman:
What sir, upon this day, would me you wish to be?
Mayor Made of Gold:
Oh, how to mark this spell? I would my will upon you impose to here my father be.
Topiary Gentleman:
Indeed very well! Please, first allow me your hand, most precious and rare.
(Mayor Made of Gold offers Topiary Gentleman his right hand. Topiary Gentleman places a ring of leaves upon Mayor Made of Gold's finger)
Most deserve'd you are of nature's treasure fair.
Mayor Made of Gold:
And you equally, idol subject.
(Mayor Made of Gold places a ring of gold upon Topiary Gentleman's finger)
Topiary Gentleman:
A ruler you are most valuable!
Mayor Made of Gold:
Treasure indeed here keeps a forever pause, down the familial tree of Caribbean nymphs. Will part'd stars yet reveal the dazzling words of gold? Here we waiting are.
Ghost of A Court Magician:
(aside)
Sorrow'd magic, forlorn and cold, you have forgotten been. Oh sorry how I am!
(Clouds pass before the sun, the scene is bathed in shadow)
Act Two, Scene Four
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon number two
(Leprechaun Two is burying the corpse of Leprechaun One)
Leprechaun Two:
The thunder I in the distance hear and wonder 'tis the sound of you. Oh golden echo, my thoughts are all heavy and dull. Falling, the snow through this wood'd float I've not for a long while seen. To you my prayers will always be, but now, I wish to quit these haunting places.
(Shoemaker's Dead Wife watches from tree)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
(aside)
One sharply single'd, I with woo'd ears your woe appreciate. A love'd friend gone is a heart most bitterly axe'd. As I, one that love has lost, in my starving arms you are welcome.
Leprechaun Two:
Oh! Echo of gold, back to me come or these reigns of life I will release!
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
(floats down from tree to Leprechaun Two)
Might I offer back to you the trusting flow?
Leprechaun Two:
Stars my eyes cover! Into radiance I've gone. How gladly I go!
(Leprechaun Two collapses. With her husband's thread and needle, Shoemaker's Dead Wife mends the heart of Leprechaun Two)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Cherub of lush'd meadow, bid to remove'd pain good-bye.
Leprechaun Two:
Remarkable fawn, love has me sweetly crush'd! Is my heart able to bear this fantastical life? In my vision the tint of sorrow has left and there is focus to which I'm newly arriving! You, spirit angel, have my wintry inspiration thaw'd!
(The Avenging Angel looks down from the moon)
Avenging Angel:
(aside)
Holiness is found in the evening's heart! This truly is the space of angels.
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Harmonious soul, newly mint'd, let's away from the dark wood and its sad fires. To the sea and fair winds we ourselves lose!
Leprechaun Two:
Maiden of moonlight, ethereal savior, and wonderful first mate of life; overboard into the healing flood we go!
(snow begins to fall)
Avenging Angel:
(aside)
Summon'd I, by disturbances most severe, though scenes as these my sword calms and my faith dearly gain'd. How soon to walk upon this delicate land of bone brings decay, dulling the dream and joy reception. I can myself hear the affliction call. Nightmares of distress arresting rake their uninvite'd illusions wholly real; sharp at times in days as these. How the night watch has been ragged run! Do even realize these souls? Such is a path directionless. Rather would I concentrate on that which my heart moves. Angelic 'tis the fall, the snow of love! Such a hymn of passion it divinely sings, never growing stale to the ears of the soul!
(Avenging Angel dematerializes)
Leprechaun Two:
Snowsong, take me to my heart's home!
(Leprechaun Two and Shoemaker's Dead Wife vanish into the snow)
Act Two, Scene Five
Mr. Birthday's Appalachian Hotel Suite
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography on the open balcony. Winter enters)
Mr. Birthday:
Such chilly nights and days! Over me goes my coat.
Winter:
Hello, Mr. Birthday.
Mr. Birthday:
Greetings, season.
Winter:
I apologize for my birthday'd absence.
Mr. Birthday:
An apology I must also offer for the last it will have been.
Winter:
Are you a holiday of some time taking?
Mr. Birthday:
Yes, I suppose. 'Tis the ultimate holiday! Dear season, of all understanding ables, you shall surely hit my thought mark most true. Visit'd I've been by an angel, collecting lives. A stay of her sword'd hand relief brings, though her crown still jets light madly in my head and fuels my dying fear. Unexpect'd arrivals life brings, but the mind's gadgets must run a bit lazily to dependably work! With time a friend, new enemies have appear'd. Somehow, there is life still in my skeleton hiding. A meal for worms not yet born, I; a pulse'd specter. I love dearly this thing of breathing! Into my lungs taking air, as so many times I've before done, breath for a dying man meant? When down I am cut, will return'd these gasps of life be. Nonsense! Quite frighten'd I am. A happy ending I fear my life's tale will not have.
Winter:
Mr. Birthday, by sword'd angels the earth is stalk'd. And soon, may you be by heaven's blade found. But stay your fear, for there, at the end of you, will be I, your hand unknowingly in mine.
Mr. Birthday:
Recognize I know no longer what stays the eyes beyond!
Winter:
'Tis I, the season mystical, that does not the murder do, but the remover of life from the body, calmly and beautiful. As color pleases the eye and sweetness the tongue satisfies, I soothe the soul when it the flesh must leave, caressing the spirit, cooling the frantic strain to stay. I am the anesthetic of life, Mr. Birthday.
Mr. Birthday:
This is news quite fair to my dear heart!
Winter:
A return peaceful to your work I'll now you allow. May your trouble'd breath now easier come.
(Winter exits)
Mr. Birthday:
My dearest season, Winter has always been.
Act Two, Scene Six
Mountain Cemetery of Appalachia
(Shoemaker stands alone)
Shoemaker:
What a state of grandness! And how far to my soul home's end? Look up! By empty wraiths my eyes are stolen. The roof of such a palace is a guarantee for many careless abuses. I've become the pedestrian of the world! Hurtful to one's self no longer care'd, but damage to others must be check'd. A world of difference lies between smiling and killing all in a room. In the last of these days, some notion has the rust of my season'd heart breach'd. How dearly it suffers me, clawing and strangling, forcing itself upon my missing husbandry. Hate I, these fear'd daily struggles! Today, I desire only escape, to find the vacancy farthest away from all things and ones. And then to occupy it. That empty nook, floating on smooth and glassy waters, drifting backwards under the bountiful vines of that lost Caribbean jungle. Melting I, now disappearing begins.
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
As a maker of tears you are not prefer'd. Stillness now.
Shoemaker:
There is a light I have long sought. Flow now into me and give all that you will! Please...
Avenging Angel:
Stillness now.
(Shoemaker sobs quietly, body shaking with soft tremors)
There are still great scenes to be play'd. You the spectacle must eventually consume. This you have not realize'd?
Shoemaker:
(still tearing quietly)
I it knew not.
Avenging Angel:
Did you not think that soon the end would come? I have arrive'd.
Shoemaker:
Mmmm...
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker, these are things that have already been. We are bound only to agree.
Shoemaker:
Most truly. Bound I have ever been.
Avenging Angel:
Comfortless soul, know you of your wife?
Shoemaker:
Of her, I know nothing more.
Avenging Angel:
She is here no longer. Gone forever into the finest of mysteries. Quite happy she there is. May you now allow this world to leave you?
Shoemaker:
This is delicious disappearance; victorious! At the end, beyond companions and loss, let the lurking dreams of ghosts and ghosts of dreams arrive to find me elsewhere. At the end, furthest point from starting, my eyes I finally close.
Avenging Angel:
Stillness now...
(Snow begins to fall. Avenging Angel blurs away. Bear in a Bag materializes)
Bear in a Bag:
The light quiet white is in its own suggestion beautiful. Be it twilight or dawn?
(Shoemaker looks down, awestruck)
Find you of the recent snowfall beauty? Oh, how well it works at heartwarming! Very much would I like to see myself them observing so I may find myself at such a peace.
Shoemaker:
Oh...
Bear in a Bag:
Know you wellfellow? Has past the day or does it now arrive?
Shoemaker:
I do not know. Let us wait here and see.
Mr. Birthday:
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
Mr. Birthday:
Avenging Angel:
(Avenging Angel exits)
Mr. Birthday:
Cabin in the heart of Appalachia
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography)
Move me, oh sweet memories, from beyond the pastures there and flying on the arrow I had ridden to you the day I arrive'd! Filling all stations, sometimes keeping the beautiful children of my world at bay, daydreaming somewhere in the lost backyard. Press'd myself harder, traveling further backwards, I saw the stars bespeckle'd from up my woodland crib. To return now to that chemical dawn with moon strikingly similar to this is a possibility not.
Mr. Birthday, I miss'd your birthday. Pray heaven, accept my apologies divine. Once, your shoulder is touch'd. A bit colder, but wiser we now impart. There is a word I must share, today we will depart.
Ah! 'Nere is the hour of soul's vexation! The pleasure of this blood swells delicious still in powerful tides! There are reams of words still torching in this saintly direct'd mind. Come my flowering brain, abounding yet with universal stripes of characters. Let me brand the elusive beast rich with the word of life's experience! Into your ranks surely a stay might I be grant'd for we've all plans to execute.
Slight dampening further of the cloth but a pinch matters. Though a bit delay'd, ultimately the life sheets will be rung. Release'd from the shroud's grasp you are. Smile freely, your undead heart.
Oh, life is dealt in cards either of dream or nightmare! Though an age'd player, them apart can I longer even tell? The colors of the day are so strange when light of heaven's letting flutters and clouds carry with the shade of sunken ships. Of the key may invisibility be, but what of the lock?Act Two, Scene Two
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul:
The Moon:
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul becomes The Moon)
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon
(Scarecrow Inhabited by a Pilot's Soul enters)
Why do I continue on these walks to go? As a remedy for my ailings, how poor they are! As amusement, they lack certain essentials of entertainment most base. Oh, souls are gingerbread, card houses. Believe I in the medication armies and treatments hearts of all coming seek. Weakness this is simply not, but a requirement universal. Be it love or some other distract'd delirium, hearts must be ever nurse'd.
(aside)
A certainty by the tides I've motivate'd. Favor'd you all of poor gravity are, secrets have and know'd.
Unknown are grievances, bountiful on this shuttlecock'd air station! Just perplex'd am I, by the elements all or be it sorrow for the very sake of sorrow and there such a thing even is? Woe exists surely not for its amusement own, but to gauge the vanity of such an aloof companion is simply without ground. So wildly off course I again have venture'd! Old moon, co-pilot in conversations in rival skies held, speak now with me!
How you lowly fly, farmer's friend and like mine! Companions of sadness and beauty are we, but you've a ladder of misery to me reach. My shed light soothes you not as desire would dictate.
Fear I!
Does mending your poor soul request? Torn has it been?
You in slight the matter illuminate. My soul's truth is close'd to me as the great concert to an earless man. It from me keeps like a child in some dark cupboard hiding. Treatments I seek, but of the ailment... without clues I. Ghastly is this state of suspend'd murder!
Need we the gates of your heart storm? Route opium orchestras to your lifestrings or direct hounds for anguish thirsts train'd to uncover this pollution secret? Invasions of worthy and seeking passion places cover the frail carcass of the human sky. Perhaps, not connect'd with you is your fright, but an alien with.
Of the exotic, our sky is fill'd. The nature of these creatures has bewilder'd me all. To science I flew and barely with my life escape'd. Dredge'd the lake of my mind waters, but came nothing away. The air disease'd with asteroids of unsympathy, I finally crash'd. What fire on this mad island burns, I again terribly fear. How wish it I away!
I feel you to me must come.
Are you from an unreal place speaking?
An artificial horizon is truly yours. Relief seeker, to me come. A high held union, bliss will be for two aching flyers. Of this lunatic path I weary and lonesome grow for the comforts of a final peace. From the seemingly endless reserve of prayer and faith, I the substance of waxing find, but to you I'll tell, an end there is.
I'm close to it pleasantly finding. Rise up good soul to destiny's height! Realizing you, our survival means.
But flight questions there are many. Indeed my farewell would this journey be, would it not? My earthly state death assures upon such a jaunt propose'd, however desire'd. Oh, how can a scarecrow phantasm reach the heart of the moon?
As with the days all pass'd, you have ever present been.
A voyage made I have in my dreamdays and better nights, worlds of time over.
Felicitous one, on such a dreamflight you embark! My words not lazily float to you down, a gift to the wind, but direct and arrow'd sharply. There are with me angels. Light station hosts be they and you, pilot lost, are in their great company welcome, as you have ever been by the loving sky. And position'd I, as a beacon of love for both the ground'd and heavenly. Upon I, unsleeping humans and angels alike, on their loves and losses muse; toss their airy coins of wish and hope, and secret thoughts and splendid flights of mind offer for the collective circuits of fantasy in the library of wonder. Of human and angel dreams, this the substance is. Their generator, I.
What dreams within you lie?
Of all the compass under my dreams fall. For yourself see! For now you are to this lunar shell fill. Of this cosmic duty, you will perfectly measure.
May lost I be in the vastness of the black wild? Has the earth so corrupt'd me of space that back in the abandon my thoughts all be lost? Or real could dreams be? May in full, starry gladness the heavens have me? If true, gladly be I your spirit life!
Gladly then you go, finest of the goodness pilots! Leave this body, strangely natural. Heaven's child, you are now perfectly born!Act Two, Scene Three
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Ghost of A Court Magician:
Mayor Made of Gold:
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of a Court Magician arrive at Topiary Gentleman)
Topiary Gentleman:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Topiary Gentleman:
Ghost of a Court Magician:
Topiary Gentleman:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Topiary Gentleman:
(Mayor Made of Gold offers Topiary Gentleman his right hand. Topiary Gentleman places a ring of leaves upon Mayor Made of Gold's finger)
Most deserve'd you are of nature's treasure fair.
Mayor Made of Gold:
(Mayor Made of Gold places a ring of gold upon Topiary Gentleman's finger)
Topiary Gentleman:
Mayor Made of Gold:
Ghost of A Court Magician:
(Clouds pass before the sun, the scene is bathed in shadow)
Caribbea, shoreline
(Mayor Made of Gold and Ghost of A Court Magician are walking across the surf)
Of these worldly tricks do ever you tire? Sir, one day a fate you must decide. The surf is beautiful only for the first hundred years.
You are no longer magical. You've the spirit lost. In the sand and stars invisible, specters you in your world of screams company. Ghost dear, I your dry tears see. Think you, to me nothing they mean? Of every breath you draw, half is mine own.
Will there no adjustments be to this picture sad? Us unfinish'd being here leaves.
If we thirst, kind Caribbea, its veins open. If dry be our lungs, they are wet'd with the sweet air of a million waves. Warm'd our cold souls are by the rays of heaven's own.
Then fiends we truly are. Sweetly slow, poison'd goblins of the shore! From sand, there is no harvest, however golden.
Oh, melancholy spirit beach'd, arriving are star bleach'd domes. A man of science one world remove'd arrives this noon after. You will a witness be to the dune'd treasure with fleshy eyes.
I fear this a disaster plane. In the stillness one it feels, nameless creeping. In the horizons returning, seen I corpses of ghouls childlike, heads inside bowls of glass beside fear swimming, with great stealth and hurtful intentions advancing. If not here am I, could there I truly be?
Vacant man, the only truth that here remains is in my dreams seen. If the horizon I dream melting, it then shall across the sky's expanse flow. Dream't I a hologram of the ocean? Then 'tis certain. But dream I of such hell? To that foul kingdom of beasts I am not receptive. When the costly head erupts, only then shall it be. If I forever music hear, be it my dreaming air!
Good day, your mobility.
Better is the afternoon for having you in it.
One of life's most agreeable fancies is this courteous exchange. 'Tis not?
(aside)
'Tis but a graveyard in the air.
What sir, upon this day, would me you wish to be?
Oh, how to mark this spell? I would my will upon you impose to here my father be.
Indeed very well! Please, first allow me your hand, most precious and rare.
And you equally, idol subject.
A ruler you are most valuable!
Treasure indeed here keeps a forever pause, down the familial tree of Caribbean nymphs. Will part'd stars yet reveal the dazzling words of gold? Here we waiting are.
(aside)
Sorrow'd magic, forlorn and cold, you have forgotten been. Oh sorry how I am!Act Two, Scene Four
Leprechaun Two:
(Shoemaker's Dead Wife watches from tree)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Leprechaun Two:
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Leprechaun Two:
(Leprechaun Two collapses. With her husband's thread and needle, Shoemaker's Dead Wife mends the heart of Leprechaun Two)
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Leprechaun Two:
(The Avenging Angel looks down from the moon)
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker's Dead Wife:
Leprechaun Two:
(snow begins to fall)
Avenging Angel:
(Avenging Angel dematerializes)
Leprechaun Two:
(Leprechaun Two and Shoemaker's Dead Wife vanish into the snow)
Invisible Midnight Forest, full moon number two
(Leprechaun Two is burying the corpse of Leprechaun One)
The thunder I in the distance hear and wonder 'tis the sound of you. Oh golden echo, my thoughts are all heavy and dull. Falling, the snow through this wood'd float I've not for a long while seen. To you my prayers will always be, but now, I wish to quit these haunting places.
(aside)
One sharply single'd, I with woo'd ears your woe appreciate. A love'd friend gone is a heart most bitterly axe'd. As I, one that love has lost, in my starving arms you are welcome.
Oh! Echo of gold, back to me come or these reigns of life I will release!
(floats down from tree to Leprechaun Two)
Might I offer back to you the trusting flow?
Stars my eyes cover! Into radiance I've gone. How gladly I go!
Cherub of lush'd meadow, bid to remove'd pain good-bye.
Remarkable fawn, love has me sweetly crush'd! Is my heart able to bear this fantastical life? In my vision the tint of sorrow has left and there is focus to which I'm newly arriving! You, spirit angel, have my wintry inspiration thaw'd!
(aside)
Holiness is found in the evening's heart! This truly is the space of angels.
Harmonious soul, newly mint'd, let's away from the dark wood and its sad fires. To the sea and fair winds we ourselves lose!
Maiden of moonlight, ethereal savior, and wonderful first mate of life; overboard into the healing flood we go!
(aside)
Summon'd I, by disturbances most severe, though scenes as these my sword calms and my faith dearly gain'd. How soon to walk upon this delicate land of bone brings decay, dulling the dream and joy reception. I can myself hear the affliction call. Nightmares of distress arresting rake their uninvite'd illusions wholly real; sharp at times in days as these. How the night watch has been ragged run! Do even realize these souls? Such is a path directionless. Rather would I concentrate on that which my heart moves. Angelic 'tis the fall, the snow of love! Such a hymn of passion it divinely sings, never growing stale to the ears of the soul!
Snowsong, take me to my heart's home!Act Two, Scene Five
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
Mr. Birthday:
Winter:
(Winter exits)
Mr. Birthday:
Mr. Birthday's Appalachian Hotel Suite
(Mr. Birthday is writing his autobiography on the open balcony. Winter enters)
Such chilly nights and days! Over me goes my coat.
Hello, Mr. Birthday.
Greetings, season.
I apologize for my birthday'd absence.
An apology I must also offer for the last it will have been.
Are you a holiday of some time taking?
Yes, I suppose. 'Tis the ultimate holiday! Dear season, of all understanding ables, you shall surely hit my thought mark most true. Visit'd I've been by an angel, collecting lives. A stay of her sword'd hand relief brings, though her crown still jets light madly in my head and fuels my dying fear. Unexpect'd arrivals life brings, but the mind's gadgets must run a bit lazily to dependably work! With time a friend, new enemies have appear'd. Somehow, there is life still in my skeleton hiding. A meal for worms not yet born, I; a pulse'd specter. I love dearly this thing of breathing! Into my lungs taking air, as so many times I've before done, breath for a dying man meant? When down I am cut, will return'd these gasps of life be. Nonsense! Quite frighten'd I am. A happy ending I fear my life's tale will not have.
Mr. Birthday, by sword'd angels the earth is stalk'd. And soon, may you be by heaven's blade found. But stay your fear, for there, at the end of you, will be I, your hand unknowingly in mine.
Recognize I know no longer what stays the eyes beyond!
'Tis I, the season mystical, that does not the murder do, but the remover of life from the body, calmly and beautiful. As color pleases the eye and sweetness the tongue satisfies, I soothe the soul when it the flesh must leave, caressing the spirit, cooling the frantic strain to stay. I am the anesthetic of life, Mr. Birthday.
This is news quite fair to my dear heart!
A return peaceful to your work I'll now you allow. May your trouble'd breath now easier come.
My dearest season, Winter has always been. Act Two, Scene Six
Shoemaker:
(Avenging Angel enters)
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
(Shoemaker sobs quietly, body shaking with soft tremors)
There are still great scenes to be play'd. You the spectacle must eventually consume. This you have not realize'd?
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
Shoemaker:
Avenging Angel:
(Snow begins to fall. Avenging Angel blurs away. Bear in a Bag materializes)
Bear in a Bag:
(Shoemaker looks down, awestruck)
Find you of the recent snowfall beauty? Oh, how well it works at heartwarming! Very much would I like to see myself them observing so I may find myself at such a peace.
Shoemaker:
Bear in a Bag:
Shoemaker:
Mountain Cemetery of Appalachia
(Shoemaker stands alone)
What a state of grandness! And how far to my soul home's end? Look up! By empty wraiths my eyes are stolen. The roof of such a palace is a guarantee for many careless abuses. I've become the pedestrian of the world! Hurtful to one's self no longer care'd, but damage to others must be check'd. A world of difference lies between smiling and killing all in a room. In the last of these days, some notion has the rust of my season'd heart breach'd. How dearly it suffers me, clawing and strangling, forcing itself upon my missing husbandry. Hate I, these fear'd daily struggles! Today, I desire only escape, to find the vacancy farthest away from all things and ones. And then to occupy it. That empty nook, floating on smooth and glassy waters, drifting backwards under the bountiful vines of that lost Caribbean jungle. Melting I, now disappearing begins.
As a maker of tears you are not prefer'd. Stillness now.
There is a light I have long sought. Flow now into me and give all that you will! Please...
Stillness now.
(still tearing quietly)
I it knew not.
Did you not think that soon the end would come? I have arrive'd.
Mmmm...
Shoemaker, these are things that have already been. We are bound only to agree.
Most truly. Bound I have ever been.
Comfortless soul, know you of your wife?
Of her, I know nothing more.
She is here no longer. Gone forever into the finest of mysteries. Quite happy she there is. May you now allow this world to leave you?
This is delicious disappearance; victorious! At the end, beyond companions and loss, let the lurking dreams of ghosts and ghosts of dreams arrive to find me elsewhere. At the end, furthest point from starting, my eyes I finally close.
Stillness now...
The light quiet white is in its own suggestion beautiful. Be it twilight or dawn?
Oh...
Know you wellfellow? Has past the day or does it now arrive?
I do not know. Let us wait here and see.
