Karmic Larceny

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Embryo: Wait, I’ve seen this dweeb before, at one my concerts, he was trying to buy weed from my drummer to bust him.

Voluntary (If we’re lucky?) Then more partiers invade, some naked, looking for Utopia … : “Hi! We’re looking for a guy or a girl named Utopia!”

Michelle: Look, (glaring at Von Philistine) You’re surrounded.

Von Philistine: By morons!

Pope Ralph: Ah, Sam, the kaleidoscope … Everything happens at once. Is this not – life?

Sam: Yes, this is life!

Lily: Who needs motive, reason, atavistic narrative, etcetera-fuck’n-rah?

Johnny Angel: Tra-la-la-lotsky!

The Burlesque-Reality-Squad shouts: (“Yea! Where’s Utopia?)

Embyro: But what to do with these two conformist invaders?

Pope Ralph: Let them plod home and plot against us. Against beauty. I wish to sing a gentle song, my elegy, to you.

Sam: Without amps?

Pope Ralph nods …

Lily: And I will fire-dance with you.

Pope Ralph: Perfect for an elegy! He sings: “Firefly Elegy” (Everyone listens or dances quietly. or they make-out. “Enemies” glower …. The “utopia” searchers dig it? )

Michelle: Wow, Pope Ralph.

Embryo: Dude, that was – deep.

Von Philistine: Not as deep as your grave.

Pope Ralph: Behind me, devil.

Johnny Angel: Wait, if there’s no karma, we can kill them and there’ll be no consequences.

Embryo: At least spank, stomp or roll them.

Karma: Let’s fuck them, uh, him. Me? Can someone please fuck?

Pope Ralph: I once admired the word “fuck”. It seemed wonderful ‘cause forbidden and direct. But as life shortens, the repetition, wearies one in behalf of … Uh, forget it … Now, go home, mean people.

Michelle (She finishes his thought): Because the gentle wish to meditate or sleep!

Von Philistine and The Prosecutor: We will! (They seem nonplussed by their kindness, then stomp away as if to retroactively justify having been mean).

Embryo: Let’s call their bluff & turn on the amps now!

Sam: Let them blaze!

All: Let them blaze.

Pope Ralph: Nay, let us speak now and meditate. I call it “Deep Council” or the performance of logos. Many are the gentle souls and children who sleep now and we honor their dreams.

Michelle: For we can speak together, now, over a fire in spring!

Pope Ralph (smiling, shyly): You’re reading my mind.

Michelle: But I am also reading something you don’t wish to say.

Pope Ralph: Ah gentle one. Please don’t say it.

Michelle: O.K.

Lily: Who said our revolution must take place only in daylight?


Fireside Meditations (Like an unfolding telescope, in stages, perhaps four, none of them need be in the final cut, or all four, or in-between – The Performance of Logos …)

Fire Meditation

Pope Ralph: Regard the stars this eve, my comrades, our sun’s illumining billions of our friends on earth’s far side born to — Be and not Be — everything … Super giants thousands of times larger than our sun offer no finer light. Our star is yellow — it could be violet — but it’s lovely indeed, see how it shines on our fossil moon!

Johnny Angel: Pope. What’s a caper? I like that word.

Pope Ralph: It’s a surrealist project to rediscover a secret we already knew. To peer, say, behind Yahweh’s back, and talk to the Leviathan and help him peal off his exo-skeleskin. Then help him pay for a cab in Philadelphia. Or a dressing-up in seal-skin, with all secret-police anthems playing at once in an atomic cloud of nonsense as all “masters” are replaced by say, film noir comedy rogues, investigating then “busting” themselves in paroxyms of total self-revelation.

Embryo: I’ve seen mobius strips of screen-memories playing backward narratives.
We make a work of art of our own negation then claim it our sole masterpiece.

Everyone applauds?

Sam: Well, done. Id!

Karma: I’m Id-Boy!

Johnny: I’ve seen Ids of lost souls running around then plunging instaneously into Oblivion and calling it … Hawaii!

Addiction: I’ve seen shit, like a lonely kid watching paint dry when it was really his “giant” father staining his mind forever with phony sin.

Pope Ralph: I’ve seen lost minds compensate their childhood abuse by inviting me to their house, then taking a psychotic shit before me and I had to finger-paint with it — to leave their private dictatorships — alive. So much for hospitality!

SAM: The beauty of the world is it’s freedom, not to kill, nor hurt, the beauty of freedom, man …

Pope Ralph falls asleep …

Embryo: Did you see that?

Michelle: Let him be … (She puts a sweater beneath Pope’s head)

LILY: Freedom, beauty … I’m almost afraid to utter these words given we are so apt, or liable, to lie.

Johnny Angel: Lily, our intellectual conscience.

Embryo: She’s right. We must avoid a bullshit override to forestall feeling betrayed, bored, dead, man, by attenuated ideals.

April: Yes, they go out of fashion as we go through time ..

Johnny Angel: (rather dryly): That’s why this caper, or karma being wiped, stolen, is so outré, out-there, man, ‘cause we can create experience.

Lily: But Karma is not a thing but a belief that justice rules the universe, though it takes time to play out. But our freedom precedes belief …

Sam: And our time is running out.

Karma: If Karma is the delayed, secret justice flower waiting to bloom, to enshadow the cruel to protect the good, I’m your light.

Johnny Angel: Shine on, brother.

Lily: We don’t need a secret structure behind appearance to compensate the lack of justice. It’s only a wish.

Michelle: How … can a wish be stolen? How can it be true? It’s a wish.

Sam: It’s not about karma but freedom. We can experience more, BE beauty, co-dawn a non-determined existence, and so spawn — radical novelty, sister.

Lily: Yes, big deal a concept’s stolen. I just stole God. Death. I stole sex! History! I done stole existence. I stole thievery! I just stole destiny, fate, law, faith, solitude, Capitalism. I just stole Europe! Stole Poland!

Sam: Look, Alfred Jarry …

Pope Ralph (from his sleep)
Did he have a problem with that?

Embryo: Dude, he’s talking in his sleep!

Lily: We’ve no freedom from death. This “karmic” accounting process, which must be magically therefore “absolutely” accurate, mirrors death as an obverse reflection.

Addiction: Like the moon …

Sam: The Absolute, haunting our living soul, erects a curtain before annihilation!

Johnny Angel: So, Abolish the Absolute!

Karma: Abolish Death! Man!

Sam: Freedom now!

Johnny Angel: No karma!

Everyone: Big Amps!

Lily: So, if karma isn’t a thing to be stolen nor distributed to recompense past wrongs, nor honor noble selflessnesses, there’s nothing “there” to stop us from being assholes?

Johhny Angel: There never was! So why not adopt a slightly Buddhistic, laissez-faire non-interference with blown-identity as a love-celebration — Baby!

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