APOLOGIA
The fool looked around at a loss, without a clue of what was going on. Elbov gave the fool a clout on the ear. The fool flew out of his chair and dropped to the floor. Elbov gave him a kick and the fool went flying through the doorway and rolled down the stairs.
So it is in life: a fool through and through and yet he wants to express himself. They need to be punched in the snout. That’s right, in the snout!
—Daniil Kharms, “A neck stuck out from the collar of the fool’s shirt…”
(CLOWN tumbles down stairs and spills onto the page. They clamber to their feet and play off their injuries, pacing back and forth.)
CLOWN: “Rationale,” a too-sweet perfume safe inside its rose-glass atomizer.
(Their ear is bleeding, their eye is black, their smile shining.)
CLOWN: A collapsing chair: pure information.
(They wear military garb five sizes too large for their frame, which is decorated with various regalia: a miniature plate, an upside-down candle, a daisy.)
CLOWN: Death has perfected tense, a past inside a present in which the future is nonexistent.
(Each step they take claps wooden, an awkward effort, as if their shoes are made of crate.)
CLOWN: “Over the top,” those soldiers who head over the trenches and into active fire.
(Dusty, each move poofs a yellowish haze from their uniform.)
CLOWN: Some cigars explode. Some walk wires. Some eat fire.
(They light the upside-down candle with their thumb. The shirt catches fire.)
CLOWN: The options of theater are plentiful: kill or bomb.
(They spin the miniature plate on their pinky. The flames spread.)
CLOWN: The official term for merry-go-round music: screamers.
(With the other hand, they pluck the daisy from their breast, and attempt to squirt out the blaze. No luck. The plate and the daisy are chucked.)
CLOWN: Children grow old like the lyric.
(From hammerspace, a six-foot daisy is drawn—this one equipped with an extinguisher at its stamen. The fire chokes on the flower’s foam.)
CLOWN: “Advance guard,” highly likely to die.
(The shoes on their feet, upon closer inspection: two coffins. A little tap dance. Exit page left.)
OPEN FLOOR POLICY
(UNCLE SAM and LENIN take their turn at an open mic night.)
UNCLE SAM: (Democratically.) You have to make the floor.
LENIN: That’s right. (Pecks UNCLE SAM on cheek.)
UNCLE SAM: I said I don’t have the floor—I make the floor! (Stomps. Pecks LENIN on cheek.)
LENIN: That’s right! (Pecks UNCLE SAM on cheek.) I’ll be back in a couple hours. (Gets out car keys, drives to the nearest hardware store to pick up flooring materials and day laborers.)
(While waiting for LENIN to return, UNCLE SAM tells Labor Party jokes, such as…
Q: How do you tell a construction worker from a chemist?
A: Ask them to pronounce “Unionized.”
or
Q: Why does a front door cost $1000?
A: …
…LENIN returns with CREW, equipped with crowbars and little league aluminum baseball bats. LENIN pecks UNCLE SAM on cheek.)
(Construction forces audience to lift up their folding chairs.)
(SAM pecks LENIN on cheek.)
(The existing floor—terrazzo—is busted up in record time.)
(LENIN pecks SAM on cheek.)
(Budweisers are knocked out of the audience’s hands, noses are pulled and pinched.)
(SAM pecks LENIN on cheek.)
(They eat the audience’s cigarettes three at a time, pecking each other on the cheek after each meal.)
(They flop the audience’s Monopoly games and kick the plastic properties across the jackhammered concrete foundation; a kiss, with tongue.)
(SAM and LENIN turn over the mic and hold hands on the way back to their seats, which have since been rendered shrapnel. They bleed.)