Don Quixote, Which Was a Dream (10 page)

:An amendment to this amendment: 'I have the most conclusive evidence that arms and munitions in large quantities . . . have been shipped to the revolutionists . . .'

:American General Smedley D. Butler: 'In 1914, in the interest of American oil companies, in Tampico the transfers of Mexican prisoners were common. None of the shits were allowed to talk. Around five p.m. each Wednesday we selected the transfer prisoners. We led each of the men, one by one, to the infirmary, to the doctor. There was no need to give any man a garment to shield him from the cold. In the infirmary, our doctor told the prisoner, each one privately so the prisoners couldn't by comparing notes understand what was happening to them, that the prisoner was being sent to another camp so was now being given an injection to protect him from the

radically poorer conditions of this new camp. The shot was only a sedative.

:These sedated men were then driven by lorry to the Tampico airport where they were put into one of the navy's Fokker airplanes. At a certain point over the Gulf Stream, we dumped the prisoners out of the plane. They were still alive. You can understand these weren't normal drownings. The attitudes of the drowned people showed that they fought against the sea: the finders could see the despair on their faces. Fish had usually by now mutilated the bodies. A number of the dead men had severed hands. Most of the dead men were nude. Sometimes they wore briefs. One body had been packed in a nylon bag.

:'The dead prisoners were people whom the Argentian government had known or suspected were subversive or "left-wing" because they were spreading ideas . . . contrary to Western and Christian civilization.'

:Somoza Garcia persuaded Sandino to withdraw his arms. A few days later, picking Sandino up as he left a dinner at the National Palace, Somoza Garcia machine-gunned him to death. In 1956 Rigoberto Lopez killed Somoza Garcia. Then Rigoberto Lopez wrote the following poem:

The seed of your sperm Sandino blood

ashes our ragpickers' buildings our blood

Blood multiplied

blood is rain.

The victims' blood covers

all eyes is the future

destroys all people

murder. The crime of Cain.

Then peace'11 rain

olives and trees peacocks' squeels

lift and fall all

dashed. Able to feel.

:Able to feel.

:Three men are talking. These are the men who cause war. One of these men is wearing what I see as a Renaissance-type

hat or else he has genetically-flawed hair. Since his right eye is larger than his left, this man is smirking as his shoulders curve inwards. Except for the hat unless it's hair, the man's naked.

:A short person who has deformed that is loopy fingers faces him. All of these men who cause war are deformed, therefore, recognizable.

:Another of these men, light-haired, since he's looking into a handmirror,'s a female. She wears an armless white T-shirt.

:Almost directly in front of her but slightly to her right. This man is ugly. This man has ugly monkey lips. Black greasy hair is dripping down his neck. A white toga, which signifies the highest form of human culture knowledge and being-in-the-world in our Western history, is hanging off of his hairy ape-flesh. Since reality/my seeing can't be clear, he's either eating a half-peeled banana and/or holding a cross. One of our rulers is a monkey and/or a high religious figure.

:These hideous monsters being in the sky being above all other people are controlling the world Our Father Who Art All men're created.

:The ape monster looks down at these territorial holdings (us or the world): acres after acres of clear fields streams running a few trees: Nature. I can't tell the difference between tree and tree-shadow or tree-image. Nature is either a reflection, or else nothing. I'm a reflection or else I'm nothing.

:The humans're both dogs and skulls. Both humans and dogs need to eat and feel heat. The skulls don't need either. Humandogs eat and feel heat in a kitchen. This kitchen is a den of iniquity. Whereas a den is the province of men, women control kitsch but there are no women among the humandogs or maybe the humandog whose face is anonymously or nauseously also approaching-skull (simultaneously either-or life and death) is male and or female and it no longer matters. Since a broom's sweeping hisandorher bald pate, heandorshe is a which. The dog who stands up like a man stares at the broom and behind him a male skull laughs, but at what is he laughing? Another humandog pisses on the floor because they're bums pissing in concrete doorways. This isn't scenes of war this is war.

:The paw on her tit shows the big dear's making love to the woman. That is: he wants to fuck the woman. Since his horns

are beautiful, since he's horny as hell; horniness or lack of love is Hell. Being a beast, he's bigger than all the humans: now animal is superior to human. The woman who's holding a baby, all babies should be dead whenever they open their mouths, is looking at him with longing because he's deigning to desire her. Since the old crone who's almost disintegrated into a skeleton, who's in front of the woman, is holding her baby which is a skeleton (it must have opened its mouth) up to the monster, he must be a guru or a leader. The moon pukes. One of the old bitches who's behind the monster has half-way become a skeleton.

:What world is this? Behind the monster, the Virgin Mary and her cohorts exist. The Virgin Mary and her cohorts are palely fading away and don't have facial expressions because they don't have faces. All the other beings who all worship The Beast wear togas because they're classical. Dead children're lying between the classical humans. This human world is human religion and culture.

:Then, what is nature in this world? One of the humans who's fat and female bears a stick, her banner, over her left shoulder. Dead babies hang from her stick or banner. Likewise, the earth is dead: The soil is barren. The hills behind are barren. The sky is barren. The sky is always nighttime.

:The only foliage in this world occurs around The Beast's horns.

:This world is sick. Why? No reason.

:Since there's a monster in it, this world's sick; since this world's sick, there's a monster in it. Human understanding can only be circular; humans can't understand much.

:What I see I am: since I can see only roughly, almost unforms, I only partly am.

:The perception of wartime.

:A dog sticks its head over a barricade. You can't tell what the barricade is. The only event you see and you can see is the dog's head.

:'Woof'. The only language you hear and can hear is 'Woof.

:I thought I was at home. I thought I was lying in my bedroom by the moors. Because I'm weak, my brain becomes confused, and I unwillingly unconsciously screamed. Don't say

anything. I've got to have someone. So stay with me. I don't

need someone: I'm alone. I hate solitude. I need-----so I can

be in paradise. I dread to go to sleep now: my dreams shock me: I don't sleep anymore. Oh, if I were only but in my old bed in my old house! And the wind sounding through the gables sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel - the moors, the solitude come straight down to my heart - let me be alive! I am no better than a wailing child.

TEXT 4: WEDEKIND'S WORDS

1. The Selling Of Lulu

On the street, outside the professor's house.

Lulu sits down on the plinth of a column, sorting her flowers. She doesn't at all look romantic or virginal or anything at all. This is what she looks like: she isn't even a kid (being a kid is romantic): she's 18, perhaps 20 years old. She wears a little French-ish hat, where she got this one we'll never know, which has been exposed for more years than she has to London soot wind and rain and has seldom if ever been brushed or loved. Neither has her hair. Her hair's color's natural; she's not a punk; it's mousy. She wears some kind of black coat which manages to touch her knees. The coat's too tight around her chest. Her boots, likewise, are something-or-other. She is as clean as she can be.

But she's had a hard life.

Compared to real ladies, she is dirty. Do we see any ladies? Are there any ladies to be seen? Like all women, she needs unnaturalness.

Lulu to Schon, a dignified professor: Cheer up, captain, and buy a flower off a poor girl. (Her hand is reaching for his wallet.)

Schon, politely: I'm sorry. (He sees her hand on his wallet, as if he's almost not acting grabs this hand, and brings her to her feet.) Something is going to have to be done with you poor people.

Lulu: I ain't done nothing wrong. I'm only trying to sell you a

flower. I have a right to sell you a flower if I stay off the curb,

don't I?

Schon: Why're you scared of me? Do you think I'm trying to

hurt you?

Lulu: I don't know
what
you are.

Schon:
Who
I am.

Lulu: Who I am.

Schon: You do not know who you are because you do not

know how to speak properly. A woman who utters depressing

and disgusting sounds has no right to be - anywhere - no right

to live. Certainly no right to sell flowers. Remember that you

are a living being with a soul and thus with the divine gift of

articulate speech. Your soul's language is the language of

Milton and Shakespeare and the English Empire. Wouldn't

you like to be able to speak properly?

(Lulu doesn't say anything.)

Schon: Come along now. I have to do something to help out

the poverty-stricken in this country.

Inside the professor's house.

Schon, to The Maid: Take her clothes.

The Maid: Yes, sir.

Schon: By George, the streets will be strewn with the bodies of

men shooting themselves for your sake before I've done with

you.

Lulu: You've got no right to touch me.

Schon: I have no desire to touch you. I'm going to find out

whether I can change you. I'm going to find out whether I can

make a poor . . . member ... of society into a member of

society. It's a social experimerit.

Lulu: You can't change me cause there's nothing to change.

I've never been.

Schon: Well, now you are. Or hopefully, you're going to be.

Think of this: You shall marry a socialist politician who

controls the arts. His father, who's a conservative member of

Parliament, disinheirits him for marrying you. But when he

finally realizes your exquisite beauty, your fine manners, your

dinner parties, his Lordship . . .

Lulu: Shit.

Schon: What?

Lulu: Shit. I gotta shit.

Schon: Oh. If you are naughty, and idle, you will sleep in the

kitchen among black widow spiders and be hit by my chauffeur

with his huge car rod. If you do not do what I tell you to, you

will be guilty.

- Outside and inside Schon's house.

A day-laborer, actually whatever's worse than a worker, manages to knock his hand against Schon's door. His name is Schigold. Since he has nothing else to do, he keeps on knocking. After a long while, Schon opens his door. Schon: Excuse me.

Schigold: I want my daughter. That's what I want. See? Schon: I thought she doesn't have a father. Schrgold: Everyone has a father. If a child didn't have a father, it wouldn't know how to want.

Schon: Then of course you want your daughter. Take her. Back.

Schigold: Take her back? Just like that?

Schon: Why should I pay for her? Why should I pay for her wants?

Schigold: Somebody's got to pay.
What
do you think she is? Schon:
Who. Who
do you think she is? She speaks the same . . . language ... as you.

Schigold: Now now, look here, Governor. I don't know what you're saying. The girl belongs to me. You got her. Don't you believe in free enterprise? Schon: Only for the free. Since she belongs to you, she isn't free. Take her away.

Schigold: No, Governor. Don't be so hasty. Haste makes waste and you've wasted my daughter, so I want something in return. Schon: This system isn't capitalism.

Schigold: No, it's decapitation. Listen, Governor. I don't want my daughter to waste her life. I want her to have the chance to be something. Schon: Someone.

Schigold: To own something. A girl needs to have a man. You

and me is men of the world, aren't we?

Schon: No, we are not just because we are both men.
Of
and

own
are two different worlds.

Schigold: All I ask is me rights as a man. You're a man, aren't

you, Governor? A man is a man. Or are you a thief? Would

you take away a man's bread-and-butter and give back nothing?

Are you a slaver?