(THE SCRIPTS)

If you were not directed here from SCRIPT I, please click here to read it first, and then come back to read SCRIPT II.

SCRIPT II

“I’m not me. I’m not you, either” although we may, perchance, be “me or the other” that I am not, although I am, and you are not, although you are. Upon sails that recognize themselves hoisted up “the mast of language” on embarked, mad quests - mine, who knows, and yours, of anonymous, fabulous fables. “I, or the other” and you, spinning continuously naked around the axis, continuous, of this addiction to reading our own in other naked words, once we have pierced all the labyrinths of all the phases and all the names that are not meant to be uttered but are intended for the dark side of the moon. “We are voyagers upon the limits of the sky”, thus, we know, with no need of returning navigators long gone so we can sight clear knights-errant, arrived along the trail of the pure stars read, and clear Dulcineias in the anagrams of reflected charts to navigate upon ambiguous waves – that replicate, we know, “the steps of departure and continue upon this continuous longing to arrive” at that remote closeness of “my eyes within your eyes”. It may just be that we are simply hungry for wheat and corn ground on a touchstone and thirsty of water on the skin and of parting our lips so we can imbibe all the watermills and all the windmills yet to be discovered. Unquenchable, unquenched steps along this madness of perceiving ourselves – “me, you, or the other that I am” – with no possible peace as we awaken riding the mares of night or fall into a sleepless sleep upon dreams hidden in the day. How do I know who the hell we are, as we paint Rocinantes in unlikely reds, among giants architected upon the time of times and of the waits, some of them pretending they’re blind and in all hues of green or blue!...

Now, please click here to read THE STAGING.

© 2007 by Otsana (image © by Wieslaw Walkuski)