 I'd like to take the opportunity to introduce Doug, who is going to further contextualize the evening. So it has been my distinct pleasure to work with Amanda on this. So we've got 16 playwrights from around the world. She read their names, but just you can close your eyes for a second and imagine how this play hopped around the globe in the last month. It started and ended in New York. So I went from New York to LA to Sydney to, oh boy, so to Philippines and Hong Kong and Beirut and Kosovo and Moscow and Germany and Utrecht and Nigeria and Spain and England and Iceland and Mexico and back here to New York with Carida. So over the course of the month, 16 playwrights had approximately 24 to 48 hours to write between one and five pages of text. They had no rules as to content form. However, all they needed to do is stay between one and five. They could not edit what a previous playwright had written. So it was that first rule of improv, you know, yes and. As you will see in the play, some people you wouldn't be the transition is seamless. Sometimes it's going to go to left field. So there are truly 16 distinct voices and it is, I feel like it's an actor's dream to play because as I always say, if you don't like it, it'll change in five minutes. But it's really been amazing to work with and to communicate with these writers and to sort of see their process and watch them. I mean, I think that was the most exciting thing a man in an eye experienced was every 24 to 48 hours seeing a new episode, seeing how this script evolved. So the last thing that we're going to do since there were 16 writers, we don't have a title. As you've seen in the publicity, it is around the globe chain play. So we have asked the writers to suggest a title and I have those titles in this hat. So as we begin, I'm going to have our lovely guide through this journey. Maria, choose the name of the around the globe chain play. After I sit down, she can begin. Enjoy. At random times. Rain beats against a window pane. The wind races. Tita enters a shop. It is empty and there is dust everywhere, but there is the memory of a flower shop somewhere. Perhaps something remains. Tita shakes the rain from her clothes, tries to turn on the light. The room becomes dimly lit. Suddenly a man, Dumont, enters from the back, emerging from the darkness. It rains harshly right now. It has not been this much in three years. I say tell me. It may be a sign of things to come, perhaps. I will, I will scream and then if... You do not need to scream. Then tell me. Now. And one of those left behind. That is all. Dumont looks around, finds an empty flower pot. I could find no running water. Better to use a pot and catch the rain. There are more pots in the back. We'll need several. Very well. Dumont sets down the pot, heads toward the back. Are you alone? No family? They're long gone. And you? I do not know yet. I need to find out. Do you have service? A phone? It is dead. Then it will be difficult. I have nothing. This is my shop. You are an intruder. This belongs to no one. It did. A family, generations of women. And now it is nothing but dust, shelter from the rain. That is all. Lights warm to include Olivia, 15 and Oscar, 16. They sit on the front stoop of a dilapidated building. Olivia is reading to him from a journal. On the front of the journal is a basket full of fat, happy oblivious kittens. Oscar has a pack of smokes and a lighter and lights one up like he's doing it his whole life. But clearly it's his first time. Wait, hold up. Is this like fictional or is this like non-fictional? I don't know. It's kind of both. It's just a story. I don't know. Can I finish? Yeah. Okay. Tita moved around the store, running her fingers over the memories. Each thing she touched brought back grandma's cough or Maria's laugh that came out only through her nose. She wondered where they were now, buried or searching. Wait, hold up. I gotta interrupt you again. You should really save all questions until I finish. How can I ask you questions until you've heard the whole thing? I mean, but wait, wait, I just want to know. Is this like the past or the future? It's like both. How can it be both? Cause it's like moves through time, yesterday and today and tomorrow. And the people who come before and after. Pretty stupid birthday present. What? That journal? But he don't even know you. You don't even like cats. I don't like cats. Cats are fine. He don't know you at all. I thought it was sweet. And you do? I know not to get you shit with cats on it. It's not that you got me anything. I did. Where is it? I know what it is. I'm just saving up. You'll get it and then you'll know. What'll I know? That I know you or whatever. He offers her a cigarette. I told you no. Come on, why not? I'm not going to do that. You're not going to get addicted. Yeah, but I'm just not. Out of respect for the people who come before me and after. Disrespectful to hurt yourself like that. For all the people who are going to come before and after. Olivia flips to the end of her story and starts to scribble more furiously. When she's not looking, Oscar stubs out the cigarette. Sometimes I think you think too much. Yeah, well, somebody's got to. Olivia's eyes drift toward Tita who has been moving about the remnants of the store running her hands over the surfaces. Suddenly Tita's eyes meet Olivia's. You all right, Miss? He likes me. He likes me in that way. He does, doesn't he? No. He's just been hiding a banana in his pants for the last 15 years. Tita, you're breaking form. If I'm breaking form, it's because my stylistics are distracting. An enormous banana poking me in the eye. We're post-apocalyptic. And yet the boner has survived. Like flower pots and rats. There's rats shit all over this place. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I just thought it was a little crush and just another... Oh, my God, an erection. A young man, brimful of youth, yearning towards the vulnerable adolescent pleasure of... Eyes. Jesus Christ. Might as well rip out his eyes and stick them to the top of your lips. I can't handle this. Is there any way? Dumont tearing a script from his trousers reads... There is dust everywhere. The memory of a flower shop somewhere, blah, blah, blah. We're not supposed to be this close. Tell that to Woody and see how it goes. Let's say that. This belongs to no one. Tita, it did. A family. Generations of women. And how do you think those generations came about? And now it is nothing but dust. And then you say... Boners and thighs. That's the history of humanity. Post-apocalyptic situation. That's the first thing on a survivor's mind. Get out the boners and thighs. We gotta breed ourselves back into the game. I can't work with this. You may have to. Later. Yeah. Obligations on survivors, you know what I mean? Write me a bottle of scotch. What? Now, Dumont draws a bottle of scotch from his pants. Gotta make some room down there, survivor. Write me a goddamn bottle of scotch. Get a panic, Olivia Scribbles. Dumont pulls his hip-flask from his pocket. What's the brand? Chivis. Then that will have to do. What's the problem here? Seems like a nice kid that look in American teeth. They won't stay so wide if he keeps smoking. People only smoke if they're lonely. I suspect it. God, this can't happen. No, no, no, no, no, no. Maybe I've read it all wrong. Only a young man in love gets jealous of kittens on a freaking journal. You're breaking four. It's a facilitated tonal change. And everything is on the table. Wanted on the table, she might need to write me a second bottle. Get his script out. Maybe she does. Oh, God. You're not very experienced with boys. You're too scared to make a move. No, that's not it. I like him less than his buddy guy. But he gave you a journal with kittens on it. Bullshit tacky gift. It is a bullshit tacky gift. And all this into the world, doom, gloom, bleak, bleakness. You're 15. Nice middle-class family. Your dad's a doctor. Dentist. Mom's a doctor. Right. Life can be bleak when your dad's a dentist. Life can be bleak when your dad's president of the United States. I've seen pictures of Chelsea Clinton. She didn't look so happy. She maybe lived in the White House with heaps of stuff. And iPods and computers and dresses and whatever. But I've seen pictures. She would have woken up more than once feeling the dust. The gray dust inside. And on everything but iPods and computers and ball gowns and dessert trays. Another day dust. What do I mean to the world, dust? Why do I have to be in this city, dust? On this street right now, dust? Why the fuck is this happening to me, dust? And your generation's different. And your parents just don't understand you. If I was 15, a non-effective creation in an apocalyptic diagnosis, this would be exactly the right time to paint my room black and listen to Marcy. I love shivers. You might feel better if you let it sit. I really can't. And you kiss him. I don't know how to deal with this. Start with a hand on his knee like this. Oh, you have to stop. Lean in. Look in his eye. Oh, I can't say. Keep your eyes on his. Eyes. That's important. That's totally important. You focus. You lean. You look. That's so hot. Stop. Hand on the thigh. Breath on the, breathe on the lips. Then you enter Sandy, a woman in her 40s. Kids. Mom. Sandy. I mean, I mean, mom. Olivia is everywhere. Mom clicks through his script in a panic. Tina covers her nose and mouth with a hand. She turns away from Olivia. Oscar makes his face and stands up, steps away from Olivia. Jesus fucking Christ. Oh, Oscar, watch your language. Sandy produces a rag and tends to Olivia. She feels for Olivia's pulse and starts to wipe at Olivia's face. Olivia pulls away. Mom, stop it. Let's get you cleaned up, buddy. Mom. This isn't part of the script. That's freaking disgusting. Oscar, stop. Olivia snatches the rag from Sandy's hand and stands up. Olivia walks toward Dumont and Tina and cleans herself up. Sandy looks around at a loss of what to do. She sees Olivia's journal with the kittens on it, picks it up. What's this? That's mine. Buddy gave it to her. It's a bold, tacky gift. I thought. At least he gave me a gift. That's mine, I said. I think it's sweet. Sandy flips through the pages. What are you writing, a story? Tina moves swiftly and snatches the journal from Sandy's hand. A breaking form. As long as it serves the story. Tina gives the journal back to Olivia. Happy birthday, honey. Dumont pours himself a shot of scotch and raises his glass to Olivia. Many happy returns. Thanks. Olivia slowly leaves through her journal. You were saying something about dust? I was talking about flower pots. What does it matter? What do you want to do today, honey? We were talking about boners. Oscar just really adjusts his erection through his pants. And thighs. And doing it on this table. Olivia, honey. And rebuilding the entire house. I mean, it's a wonderful day. In the fictional space of the play where Tina and Dumont exist, loud thunder can be heard. Tina and Dumont look up at the ceiling in concern. It's a pity to waste it. What does it matter? Blast of sunshine, that kid. Olivia holds the journal to her chest and starts to cry. After a while, Oscar moves towards Olivia. And hugs her. Dumont moves towards Tina. And hugs her the same way that Oscar is holding Olivia. Hey, Olivia. What's the matter? Tell me again. How did the world end? I'm not sure. It just happened, you know? One minute everything was like a dory and then... Hey, Olivia. And then it wasn't. It really is a bullshit tacky present. It's stupid and dumb and the kittens look dumb. Another kept a journal. I have no interest in writing down what I do every day. Who keeps a journal in this day and age? If I wanted to write something, I'd start a blog. Fucking buddy. Olivia, I forgot the word language. It's my birthday. It all turned into dust. What does it matter? Everything, just dust. Oscar? What? You're poking me. Oscar so consciously pulls away from Olivia, he adjusts his erection. Dumont pulls away from Tina. Honored colleagues. Honored audience. I'm one of the playwrights involved in this project. For security reasons, I think I'd rather tell you my name or the country that I come from. I've also asked the organizer of this project to keep my identity under confidentiality. Let's just say I'm Oliver, just to avoid confusion. For practical reasons and order not to make organizers add an additional actor, I suggested that this part is read by the actor playing Dumont. But in case he does not want to do such a thing, or what I would understand him completely, then ask one of the other actors, any of them. It does not matter at all. They can even read it all together, all of them. That allowed me to come to the point. I am very sorry that I will not be a part of this project. I sincerely apologize to all of you, and I hope that you will understand me. I had informed the authorities in the dreams department, Ministry of Defense of our country, and they gave me the permission to be involved in the project. I would inform them upon the developments of this play about the plot, about the characters, and they liked it. They even started to call one another with the names of the characters. Tita, Oscar, Dumont. They found these names funny. For them it was important that this was not a political play, which would transmit negative messages about our country, or that it could infiltrate some dangerous idea. What is this? What the fuck is this? Dumont, please, just continue to read. I don't want to, it smells of censorship. Does somebody else want to continue to reading it? Nobody? Good, I can continue reading it myself. I am Oliver. So, everything was okay. When my turn to write came, I wrote my part, and as I was requested, I sent it to them, the dreams department for an approval. Just for curiosity's sake, here are some of the sentences that I had written. Who are you? It has not been this much in three years. I say, tell me. I am a flower. One of the flowers left in this flower shop. There were about ten pages of text. I liked it. I had given it a form to the characters. The situation was at the time scattered. No intention to insult my colleague, playwrights. It had taken a form. I had even given some indications on how the play should end. It was excellent material. The officers of the department of dreams read it. They approved it. It was okay, they said. Wonderful. I was happy. I wanted to go home and send the material I had written, but then they told me to wait for a moment. Or as I was told, it had to be approved by the Chief Inspector too. I waited, obviously. What else could I do? After a moment, the Chief Inspector came out of his office, somber. So wonderful. You liked it. Extraordinarily a lot. But I have several questions. Who, in fact, is this Mr. Dumont? Me? Who am I? What kind of question is that? Dumont, please allow me, Mr. Chief Inspector. Dumont is one of the characters. He is the main character. He is, how should I put it, the axis of the play. Or as much as I understand, he is a poor man. He loves life. But because he has suffered a lot, it's the feeling that he has turned into a flower. Ah, precisely. The metaphor of the flower. Who is the author to have created this character? She is an American. Naturally. Only an American imperialist can conceive such a character. An American imperialist can conceive such a character. The person who thinks he is a flower. So the metaphor of the conversion of a person who has suffered into a flower. Because this is the way the Americans try to transmit the message that people in our country have suffered, are tired. Therefore they should raise into a revolution and so on. What do you say? I had not thought about this. So, revolution and changing the political system of our country. The result of this turning into a flower. So the flower, a symbol of capitalism and Americanization. In no way, Mr. Chief Inspector. How naive have I been not to have understood this. Obviously I will resign from the project. You'll do good. Otherwise you will be charged for collaboration in an international complot. I believe you know the consequences. The conversation that the Chief Inspector ended. I am scared, Dumont. Please continue reading. I cannot continue anymore. My knees are shaking. I was clear. I had to resign from the project. I hope that you can continue the play where it has stopped and I hope that my withdrawal will not create a dramaturgical gap. Forget about this letter. Forget about the story. Please continue the wonderful story about Tita. Dumont, about Olivia and Oscar. And about pleasant Sandy. Sandy entered the play later. But she had a dignified entrance. Honored colleagues I wish you luck. Yes. I do not want to exaggerate, but I hope I will not be arrested. Because as I was told by the Chief Inspector nothing is over yet. Sincerely yours. Oliver. Suddenly a door on the stage explodes. A police officer with a big gun enters. I want everyone down on the floor. The character's panic starts to lie down on the floor. He moves around pointing guns at their heads. Shut up. I want you all to stay quiet. If I hear your voice I'll shoot you, okay? Now which one of you is Abdel Rahim Al-Awahi? Answer or I'll shoot you. Which one of you is Abdel Rahim Al-Awahi? Why don't you answer? Sir you said you will shoot us if you hear our voice and I'm sorry to tell you that we need to use our voice to answer. The policeman forces Tina to stand up holding her from her clothes. Ladies and gentlemen we have a smart ass here. Can I have a clap please? Thank you. Sure you can answer without using your voice. You can raise your hand. Besides what I meant about hearing voices is that I don't want to hear you screaming, crying, humming, sneezing, orgasming. Ah nothing I just want to hear words. How about singing sir? He walks towards Sandy lifting her up. Are you? Or do you know Abdel Rahim Al-Awahi? No sir I just arrived at the play two scenes ago. I know nothing. Sir the guy you're asking about is not here. I am sure he is here. How could you be sure? Because his name is written on the website and on the flyer of this play. That's right he's just a writer with the scene reacting. But he is an A-Rap Muslim and a terrorist. I thought Muslims didn't like art. A terrorist? I am leaving. Oh my patriotic conscience is killing me. Nobody is leaving. You are all under arrest until you give me the terrorist. Sorry sir but how do you know he is a terrorist? We had a phone call from a woman called Beatrice Kabor. She said that she is Abdel Rahim Al-Awahi's nemesis and she knows me very well and that he is a famous terrorist. Beatrice Kabor I know this name. Yes she is one of the playwrights. Her scene comes later. Good sir. I think you made a big mistake. You should interrogate Beatrice first to make sure. Maybe she's lying. I can't. Why? Because she is in Spain. East Harlem? No in the real Spain. And there are cheap flights to go there and investigate. You can't do some Skype interrogation? Anyway sir Abdel is not here because he didn't get the visa. Next time if you want to catch him give him a visa. So please now leave because we need to continue the play. Well I am sorry for you but I cannot allow this play to continue with a terrorist writer. You are all under arrest. I'm sorry but you have to leave. Sir please Demont. He comes crazy. He jumps on the policeman. He makes him fall down and he takes his gun and points it at the policeman. The play went crazy enough. Now we have to deal with you. I can't handle it anymore. I don't want to calm down. I want to ask you a question. Yeah? Sure. What do you think about the proposed gun law regulations? I think each American has the right to have a gun to protect himself. Demont should have it in the policeman. What do you think about it now? I think it hurts. Yes. And you know what also hurts my dear fellow actors? Life. Life hurts a lot. This play started after the end of the world. What crazy idea is that? How could anything start after the end of the world? But who knows? Maybe it will happen one day. Because God is like any other writer. He don't know when to stop. But that will not happen in my case. Somebody must put an end to this play. Suddenly, Demont shoots himself in his head and dies. Others have nothing to look for. None of the others are going to arrest you or affirm you. You are on your own now. Don't show any of your emotions. I mean, don't act. Just, yes, yes, yes. That's right. Don't give any facial expressions. Don't give any signs of fear or horror. I don't want to see how you act. This is not about acting. I want the audience to see your presence. I remember truth and honesty. I want them to see you living on the stage. I want them to see the character of living human through you. Okay? Now, stay where you are and think. Who are you? What are you doing? Where are you? Where are you? What year are you in? And how do you feel? Do you feel what you want? Do you feel the hurt he said? Why does life hurt? What is his story? What has he gone through? Why is it difficult for him to believe in the world after the end of the world? What does it tell you? What is apocalyptic? What does it mean to you? What would it be in a post apocalyptic era? Will you be there? Who else will be there? How's life there? Does it hurt? Now, think about what just happened a few minutes ago. Is it fatal? Are they both dead? Do they deserve this? Is this fate or kind of karma? Or are they still on earth? Or in heaven? Do their spirit or their flesh watching you? Do angels come and take them? Or are they reincarnated? Is there any transformation? Think deeply. Try to think about every possibility that they are in. A map. I want you to focus on their minds. See how they lie in the sea of blood, the position of their heads? Are they facing down or to the side? What about their eyes? Are they open or closed? In the map. Where are their hands? Are they lying beside them or stretched out? And their legs, how about the smell? Do they smell? Use every sense of you to observe, to feel how's the touch of their bodies. Feel it without touching them. And the chest. Are they moving up and down? What does that tell you? Look deeply. Look at the detail of the scene here. On the spot. Good. Now, take a look at the flow of blood. Is there any blood dripping out of their heads? Or is it spouting? Can you see the blood? How do you feel? How does the character feel? How different is the feeling of seeing blood dripping or spouting? Is the blood running towards your newborn shoes? Are you stained? You have blood in your hands. Remember, the audience sees you. There's no escape on stage. Every breath you take, every step you make, there's no second take. This is not a movie. This is theater. And you are performing live on stage. You have to live in the moment with the moment and for the moment. So open all your senses and feel it. Feel the atmosphere in the auditorium. Can you hear the audience? Can you hear them? Are they with you? Are you losing them? Do they feel for you? Do they shed any compassion to your situation right now at this moment? The audiences are all looking at you. What are they thinking? Are they offended? Or are they touched by your presence on stage, your holy presence as an actor who is playing a character whom they are going to fall in love with in a minute? Are they looking forward to the next scene? What are they thinking? And what are you thinking? Don't lose it. Embrace it. Take in every moment in the theater now. You are in focus. They are noticing you. Stay where you are. Stay where you should be as a living character. Yes, very good. Very good, Sandy. Stay with this passive aggressiveness. Yes, Olivia. That's the beauty of you. What the seedy, adventurous nature of imagination drew you. Oscar, that's it. Keep breathing. You will soon be the quiet hero. Yes, Tina. Very good. I can see your surprise and your anger of losing your weight. Yes, trust yourself. Trust your presence. Don't try to show it. Just stay there. Yes. Police. You are hurt. And it hurts you. That's right. Yes. This is human nature. This is divine beauty. This. All right, now. I want you to move slowly. Now, just listen before I say move. I want you to move from where you are to where you will be in the next scene. Before you move, I want you to remember this moment. Remember where you are, what you're doing and how you feel, take in all these. They are very important information. Build up the next scene, all right? Don't lose them. And when you start to move, I want you to be in your character. What I mean is with all the information given to you at this specific moment, you should know by now exactly what you are going to do before you move. So just be true and honest. Don't act. When you move, I want two of you to remove all the bodies from the stage. Do it in character. And one of you will mop the floor clean. I don't want the audience to see any traces of blood in the next scene. I want them to see a brand new scene as if nothing has happened, all right? Remember, the audience will see you moving the bodies and preparing for the next scene. This is all shown on stage. You are absolutely naked. It's you who make believe. It's you who lead the audience to a brand new world. It's you who create magic. It's every one of you on this stage. Now, take your time. Don't analyze too much. Just feel it. Feel it with your heart, your impulse. Let the art of theater guide you when you are ready. Lights up. The stage is empty but for a single figure. Hmm. Is art a fucking god who doesn't know when to quit? Playwrights masquerading as characters? Characters cross dressing as critics? Chief inspectors turning into fucking flowers? Directors who don't know their goddamn place. Oscar's boner. You remember that, don't you? Oscar's boner. Jesus. Dumont, come back out here. Come on, Mr. Axis of play. End of director. How's someone kick her out? Sounds off, crunching, cracking, things falling, yelping, uh oh. Get a boop out of here. We are post-apocalyptic now. So, screw authority figures. Oscar. Tita. Dumont, Oscar, Tita, Olivia, slowly return one by one. All taking off raincoats, shaking off rain. Olivia. Sandy. Oh, thank god! They like me, they really do. Jesus. Lord. I'm so happy because I really thought you were going to Okay, everybody, so what's the problem with cats? What cats? This doesn't concern you. I'm talking to Olivia. Does your concern be Olivia's my daughter? And I'm telling you it doesn't concern you. Moms don't count. Who are you? Not in what they don't. Well, who are you anyway? He looks like a terrorist. No terrorist? That's what they all say. Have you looked out the window, ladies? Nothing but death, debris, and our code's destruction. I... Destruction. I did not blow up the world. Then what did you do? I wanted to remake it. And how did you plan to do that? Then his ass got in the way. The one with the boner. I've never seen you in my life. Who's not ridiculing me? Belittling me? Insulting me? Tito pulls Olivia's notebook from Olivia's purse. Call Beatrice Cabour, if you want. Abdul Rahim of the Waheed Nemesis. Sis. He is a Nemesis. Abdul Rahim of the Waheed Nemesis. Look at it. Buddy to you. You can call me Buddy. Buddy? They lied. She lied. We do it all the time. Buddy. Get it? Post-apocalypse? Doomsday? The Wasteland? T.S. Elliott? Cats? Cats, you know. Cats, T.S. Elliott? Olivia, you love poetry. With sweet flowers. Yes, with true love flowers. Wait a minute. I know what you're after. I love you, Olivia. Leave my daughter alone. Scuffles. Eyes. He's the one. I got my hands on you, damn poet. Sounds of potential peace, love and understanding crashing beneath the weight of wicked reality. Smoke, light, pyrotechnics. Zero. The stage is dark. The universe is empty. Silence. Then spotlight on Tita. Absolute zero. The stage is dark. The universe is empty. Silence. Then spotlight on Tita. You know, I have a spot of bother with the end of the world. On one hand, I do not really believe in this Armageddon stuff. In fact, I didn't even like the movie. And philosophically speaking, the point is when the world ends and it tends to do so, I mean it it is ending every single day. For some of us, for one of us, for a well they got stuck in the small pond in a garden in Baltimore for reasons unknown plus sometimes the world just ends because the guy who was sitting next to you in German class scribbled something in this odd old fashion language on your favorite journal. Maybe the new German word. Your favorite favorite journal. The one with the cats on the front. Plus, he's now reading the story you had just scribbled in your favorite journal during German class out allowed in front of the whole class including the beautiful German exchange student from Kastropf-Rochsel and eternally in love with and you might not believe it but after you just dried your tears in the unisex toilet on the first floor and the world would even end the second time that day exactly in that moment when you see the beautiful exchange to me from Kastropf-Rochsel kissed the even more beautiful exchange student from Hangzhou in front of the unisex toilet you just left anyhow what I'm trying to say is huge parts of life are either boring or you have a closer look at it causing vicarious embarrassment if you have a closer look at it or they're simply repetitions of something you already done before or something somebody else has already done before creation you know like every other creative process has to place its limits and every now and then but I love circles I mean I do love them in general but I also love them in a story and story telling so this is why we are going back to the start but unfortunately I also happen to love umbrellas designed by Paul Smith so this is why we are going back to the start with me having an umbrella designed by Paul Smith the umbrella designed by Paul Smith will become an important symbol of the of the criticism of capitalism later in the play trust me I didn't only make them buy it to take it home with me once this presentation is finished all of a sudden darkness then spotlight on the flower pot a few moments later the whole stage is lit rain beats against the window pain the wind races tita enters a shop it is empty and there is dust everywhere but there is the memory of a flower shop somewhere the flower shop will become a symbol of cultural misunderstanding of the fear of the academic precarity and of the criticism of isms as such later in the play trust me we didn't only invent it to take it home with us once the presentation no wait sorry I am very used to writing text with stage I am not very used to writing text with stage directions because here in Germany they are usually the first things to be cut by the big super ego in other countries known as the stage director I don't even bother to write them makes the play look much more experimental this time tita doesn't need to shake the ring from her clothes because this time she is holding an umbrella designed by paul smith in her hand the umbrella is becoming an obvious case of wicked product placement I am quite aware of the fact but hurrah we have a new sponsor can I have some sort of product placement too please do not earn money doing art anymore so if I don't do not work as a professional artist anymore because I am unpaid and just engaging in strange and unwanted spare time activities whenever I work or if I cannot call myself a professional artist anymore because I was just turned without asking for it into a symbol of the academic precarity as such I want at least to become an advertiser at the same time just to entertain myself you know in the long dark hours of self-hatred and regrets I am quite tired of the criticism of capitalism I have to say it is so time-consuming I prefer watching champions league instead oh shut up do mom whenever there is more than one playwright involved in a project the characters immediately start to discuss their faith and the meaning of writing on stage I really wonder what you can talk you have that new umbrella what do I have huh a wounded heart attacked by capitalism you know what I will not go back to the start I will go back to before the start before I even enter this flower shop symbol of cultural misunderstanding academic precarity and criticisms of isms as such we do not even know what the world outside looks like we didn't have a closer look we didn't even bother to take a closer look we are all on a stage leaving the world outside to the big movie factories with their attempts at 3D reality but the world outside is not their monopoly we can claim it back for the theaters we can leave the closed rooms kitchen sinks and happy family homes we will do so now Jan sounds like Brett to me where is the product placement prop that I can carry around or throw at the audience they do this kind of stuff in Germany throw things at the audience they don't mind that other nations might think that Germany is just a huge kindergarten of stage art this play is a global play it's traveling around the world and we are still inside the closed room I can't believe it I will open that door right now in a spotlight on a huge cat I shouldn't have raped her I know but I'm not a terrorist I am a cat I am a big red cat I am the cat or at least until they turn me into a basket of fat oblivious cats on the cover of some stupid journal I am the cat who raped her caged in an image of a basket full of happy oblivious cats on the cover of some stupid journal it was an act out of love how do I know because it was stronger than me and only love is stronger than me so it must have been love the urge was stronger than me it was an evolutionary urge trapped inside a downward spiral of uprising love you know she was lying there asleep so fresh and so young and so all alone in this big world full of madness and anger I was alone we were both alone and aimless and directionless Olivia Olivia I thought why not give it a try why not crawl up against her and do it rape her with my umbrella like a king like a god damn capitalistic king destroying his own products by dehumanizing them and turning them into meaningless art cheap bodies of flesh containing empty money crises who knew what might come out of it a better cat a better human a better welfare a half cat half human capable of climbing up the clouds into the anus of the sky where the big rider is residing the great sadist who put us up here in the first place finally capable of confronting him with his sick thoughts finally capable of confronting him with his eternal rape of our existence why are you doing this to me to her to us why don't you give us life then take it away from us again what's so fucking funny about that you cunt why do you keep on killing us in the primes of our lives you cunt why don't you stop this why don't you stop all this I try but you keep on surviving like fucking insects the clown said breathing dying breathing dying breathing dying so I forced myself into her gently she made a silent noise she pushed me away but I was already inside her the sadness in her memories stopped floating the pain under her skin dissolved into a tight and steady motion of insane fucking she was so young it made my eyes crystallize in moments of pure guilt killing me second by second as I am speaking to you in the torture chamber it felt good it felt like drowning in an ocean of soft satin milk it felt so good I cried a bit she woke up she begged me to stop because it hurt I told her it was just a dream she begged me to get out of her I kissed her she fell asleep again and I just kept on going promising her that when she woke up everything would be as beautiful and peaceful as in dreams I am the cat who raped her we are the cats who raped her we are all the cats who raped her innocence with our ears with our eyes with our thoughts with our adult projections with our sadness our cynicism please forgive me I cry with some sexy psychopathic despair it might not be the end of this play please forgive me it might mean the end of this suffering please forgive me it might not mean anything at all face black a violin plays from a distance as the lights come up on slowly the sound of a violin comes closer louder this accompanied by sounds of people shuffling mumbling to themselves they look about them in awe the music has created a trance-like mood and they begin to calm down and sit on the floor their smiles on their faces staring at nothing in particular spots on Tita and Dumont they stare at each other as the music fades the end of a beginning the beginning of an end who are you again? I am one of those left behind at the beginning of an end silence holds my hand an old fallen fence as we sit enjoying the softness of the moss and the earthworm sunbathing and the loose sand under our feet come, she said allow me to show you how they seek the enemy in the wrong places I will show you he is camped within our very selves so silence holds my hand a mutual understanding we walk her eyes insist sight must guzzle chatter so we walk and see see as they lay asleep days and nights and nights unending wondering, watching and listening listening to echoes of unhappy bubbles of laughter held by rusted guts of those we spat caution as we did our words those who thought it incredible to make words light overlooking the need to need to swallow words so it arose this need like lead the weighty words cannot be carried by the very same tongues the words these words do not digest they hang, constipate poison becomes words silence holds my hand still as I travel in the arms of a hazy dream there, I see a movement redundant I watch laughter catching a lazy nap me? I become a volcano I become an eruption and will the river of people around us quench can the river of people quench me and it can truly be the beginning of a beginning I prefer that the memory of a flower shop a basket of cats a flower pot me, you a movement in time I am an erupting volcano can the river of people quench me and it settles around them you hear that voice again? what voice? what does it say? human nature divine art, we are art happening art so is the flower pot when is the beginning? whenever the end comes the music was nice shall we wait for it to come? nothing ever comes when you wait we shan't wait so what shall we do while we don't wait? a confession we can sit in silence while we wait throw cats out while we wait dim lights on everyone the shuffling continues very faintly the violin is heard again but no one seems to notice it as they move about mumbling spotlight on oscar he's shaking how could we know it's him while he's wearing that massive furry red cat headdress that covers them below his shoulders we just know and he comes and here comes the bad news for him the man with a fedora hat also knows it's him fedora hat enters the stage he walks toward olivia the man walked said at the pace you would walk towards a hungry lion if for any reason early would not do that not that olivia is anything remotely similar to any of those two things hungry or lion we would have liked that but that just didn't happen don't worry, we'll fix this sandy is looking at the mirror she likes herself she smiles at her reflection everything around her is the reality she believes in the reality is pearly and smells like recently baked apple pie with cinnamon sandy is going to turn her head 90 degrees really quickly she's going to look at some point in space it's behind her like if somebody will shout her name really loud she's hurt after that movement but she won't even accept that everything is beautiful and nothing else now, turn what do you mean denial? everything is just peachy all the characters look at each other thinking what? who said the word denial? does somebody say denial? nobody olivia will look at her mom her mom is happy why is she happy? is she blind? olivia wets her hands in her own blood are you blind? no response look at her sandy keeps smiling blind and deaf apparently oscar looks at his mom and thinks, why isn't she doing anything? olivia and oscar are now connected in a thought is that okay? she knows, right? she has to know was that permissible? no punishment? no consequences? okay right? olivia notices she's thinking the same thing as oscar and that revolts her beyond imagination olivia pukes violently, nothing but air the man with the fedora hat is close to olivia and she is comfortable with his closeness hello olivia I'm a man don't hate me because of that don't make generalizations not now not ever it will save your life do you understand what I'm saying? oscar is feeling that in the end there might be consequences he is now both relieved and scared when incompatible emotions come together you know something is really wrong finally oscar looks around trying to gather data to evaluate any possible outcome seriously? now you're trying to think about the consequences? no not really, as a matter of fact I'm just considering two options should I run away or should I get coffee and blame her? he didn't say should I run away and accept my fault my crime, my abomination my incest, my sin he didn't even think about that he just didn't he just ran the part we'll capture with you brother I'm gonna sit right here you got that? thank you now I'm here because I have to give you something I'll put it on the floor and if you like it you can take it, okay? elivia is still scared she doesn't want anything but a time machine this is not going well I'm gonna start over, okay? elivia feels some relief after the idea of starting over that possibility starting all over is that even possible? the blind one is my mom sure, I'm just re-establishing the obvious we can't imagine how many misunderstandings start right there so if you don't mind, I'll do it again, okay? elivia feels awful after the idea of doing it again that possibility, doing it again is that even possible? okay then, I'll establish another one it was Tita Dumont the zombie it was you and your ex-brother your ex-mom and the chief inspector who will never want to race again Abdulrahman Awahi, the terrorist Beatriz Cabour, the nemesis the director buddy and the fucking red cat, am I right? I don't know, I don't care my point is, this world should not exist the laws of nature do not apply here so my question is which laws are raining over this world? you'll understand soon enough why I'm going to give you something something I've never lost since the war ended no reason to worry wait before your time that was the war I ended the war I miss see the red flag? incompatible emotions again something is wrong Oscar makes up his mind it looks like he's going to move where's the little bastard going? wait, bastard? for real? is he only half-siblings of Olivia? no, they're twins Oscar runs towards Sandy Sandy is happily surprised and opens her arms in a warm welcoming gesture Oscar kneels before her Sandy caresses his massive furry red cat headdress everything is okay sweetheart I love you everything is alright don't cry my sweet baby you do love me I know I know not like your sister always in her world I don't know what I've done to that girl I deserve that this is the this of the mothers of the world they know what they mean when they say this this and the sad part is that you do too this distance this disdain this discussion always hanging on top of us that we will never have yes I ended a war with a hat and now I miss it because this world should not exist and the laws of nature do not apply here now Olivia you will be in total control only you the man with the fedora hat takes off his hat and offers it like a voted offering to Olivia Olivia smiles the man with the fedora hat was right the world is again a place she wants to be in Olivia grabs the hat the new queen crowns herself everything that will happen from now on will be because you order or command it because you want it because you fancy it imagine when desire something will be enough reason for this world no questions asked your will is not God's will enjoy it the man with the fedora hat leaves the stage the new queen is not a teenager anymore or will be ever again first thing she does is look at her bloody hands looking again the blood is not there I don't know how the hell I'm gonna make this happen but I'll find a way you're well up there thank you well done let's Olivia looks around her everyone has disappeared her hat slips to one side on her head she corrects it her hat slips to the side again she corrects it her hat slips to the other side she takes it off she looks into it a dove flies out the earth quakes it rains upwards flowers burst into bloom the sun breaks through the clouds tita enters she is wearing an apron and gardening gloves she sprays a fine mist of water over the flowers she is now English and incessantly upbeat you can see I see what I got you know the rumbling and the shaking and the cracking and the breaking and all that the splooshing and the oh no no oh my god where were you that was what I meant fuck you missed something you really missed something like the whole world it like flipped itself inside out like a backwards squid it was fucking awesome where am I don't you know Olivia fishes in the hat and pulls out her journal she opens it says I'm here in New York like New York no sweetie like York York in Britain it's like New York but older cream less rapey less stabby less shooty her pavements free healthcare castles and bunny rabbits we don't like to talk about sex here no no no it's no sex no boners no bananas it's just not all I shh we'll talk about sex we'll talk about it we much rather just do it but when we do do it we do it quietly no shouting, no screaming all safe around you sound lovely in New York apart from the occasional viking raid a little pillaging and looting nothing to worry about I think you're going to like it here think I'm going to get bored that a bored and beaten legend is both buggered that's what my mother always used to say a pansy she just passes Olivia a small flaw thanks nothing like a pansy to take the grumps away they're divine a miniature miracle a little scene a little earth, a little water and a whole lot of sunshine hey voila tiny butterflies smelling right at you she pets the pansy yes yes who's a pretty pansy gochie gochie gochie Olivia starts cracking her heels together how free oh darling that's very sweet but we're not in the Wizard of Oz Olivia reaches into the hat she's got a pen she opens a journal what are you doing? writing? oh sweetie what on earth would you want to do that it's getting awfully up her skirt falls off Liz don't you think that her knickers fly off she tries to cover herself with her apron let's have a nice cup of tequila pardon me and see if we can't get this party started pardon I was seeing our pajamas you ugly bastard oh my God excuse me please I didn't mean to her apron is purple and stands up on end oh no Tita turns menacingly on Olivia stop this instant before it ends her apron vanishes she exits hurriedly she writes in the journal the petals on the flowers begin to flutter a thousand butterflies take wing they lift Olivia up and carry her gently hide into the clear blue sky Olivia closes her eyes black out noise she opens her eyes she's in a Berlin U-Bahn eternity looks like Berlin underground smells like it too Berlin is eternity who are you? I'm a playwright the train stops orica stands up let's go it's like an old lesbian you never get what you quite want thank you Olivia leaves with her orica this is close buser tour you want some shish kebab no I'm vegan vegan I do want some MDMA okay it's the same shop are you sure you don't want some kebab? vegan okay bar lights down lights up they walk together through the Berlin night it's energetic, wild they come to a bar, roses it looks like a deserted apartment Olivia doesn't care MDMA don't you want some stuff? I've had kebab I like Perlin I like Frutsberg I feel sensual I want what do you want? I want to take a shower I want to soak in water I want to feel a body I want to feel bodies I'm wild and sensual what a drink first relax it's Berlin, it never sleeps I thought it was New York that never slept fuck New York I want to fuck Berlin relax happy drink, jack and ginger shower, I want shower I want to feel happy drink, cool down Olivia takes the ice cube from her drink takes it between her fingers and lets it run the ice cube down her neck underneath her t-shirt touches her nipples I've seen my nipples, how they grow like it's spring it is spring and it is spring Olivia is blossoming out of her nipples out of her crotch come flowers colorful, wonderful what are we please, whoever you are I will wake up I'll be flavored this is Berlin everyone blossoms I want a shower, I want to blossom but the flower wants to blossom I know of a party yes, party I'll give you party I'll give you spring Orica walks out of roses with Olivia where are we going? to a party just walk Orica takes out her iPhone her purse, dials weights doomol she's here Orica and Olivia freeze blackout lights warm to show again a huge cat I have lived here for longer than you can imagine years decades maybe even centuries yes I know hard to believe but that's the truth and let me tell you that I've seen a lot through all this time good things, bad things everything a cat sees everything and won't forget what it sees I remember every single event I've witnessed in my whole life sometimes I even think I have inherited the memories of my ancestors I've caught myself thinking man, I've been through this before only to discover it wasn't true that I might be recalling a memory from my grandfather or from my father I don't know what they would think about this gift of mine I think dad would be pretty proud of that somehow I know that I've always liked to hear about the old times about what my fellow cats did before I came here to this world never missed a chance to do so as all cats I'm curious but I'm mostly curious about things of the past I'm not the kind of cat that is always lurking sniffing, biting, chasing I'd rather wait than try to anticipate something and I guess that those things make me a strange kind of cat right now for instance I can't tell what is going to happen in this play what will Dumont do when he finally comes back or what would happen to Ulrich and Olivia I have some theories about that but I think I shouldn't share them I should keep them to myself as we cats mostly do we are here in this world to silently witness what is done by others I'm completely sure that this is a cat's fate I know that in the same way that my father knew that and as his father and the father of his father knew secretly silently now you should know when a cat purrs it's because it knows what is about to come not because it has the ability to see it but because its ancestors have already lived it I guess that's why you people talk about the nine lives of a cat I'm sure you haven't thought about that before you surely haven't but it's a fact now you all can go on and see what happens in this play you might find something you won't understand but don't think too much about this some years ago I wanted the experience of humans but I've learned that it is pointless not even you humans understand what you do nor even the playwrights of this play understand what they have written so far so why should you care about understanding theater is not for that just enjoy enjoy despite I won't be here to witness your delight cat vanishes is all life a party she asks herself slipping off everything she came with like remnants of past selves following her across continents look at everyone here what dazzle, what light simple people tearing at their clothes losing themselves in forgetfulness making for new tomorrows strands of hope in the air Olivia sighs a dream of Tita and Dumont and flower pots smash through windows acts of protest acts of resistance resisted by everyone including the directors and playwrights of all the scripts in the universe Bunny Tita thinks as a character that we are here Bunny Dumont thinks that Oscar and I can smoke for hundreds of years in this cyber of space while cats sing and beg for attention and tourists eat our words with their greedy desires for fiction and its uses damn bloody fiction