ares-mars-odysseus
ares-mars-odysseus
APOTHEOSIS BY SAMUEL MENASHE: Taut with longing/You must become/The god you sought—/The only one
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HI! I am posting the Prologue of my play "TACV" for your pleasurable viewing experience. At your convenience, I would appreciate any feedback. What could be changed or what you found good or such. All the best!
PROLOGUE
VOID: Centre stage. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re well and that you’ve settled into your seats comfortably. Welcome to our IMAGINARY WORLD.
[TELEO is reading. CYNICUS is trying to light an opium pipe. ANIMA is exercising – doing pushups]
CYNICUS: Thanks for having me, VOID. What are you up to now?
VOID: Smiling, because everyone is watching…
CYNICUS: Oh, everyone...
TELEO: He expects you to ask who this everyone is.
ANIMA: Have you taken your happy smoke, VOID?
VOID: No.
ANIMA: You should take your medication. CYNICUS, pass him the hollow-rock...
[CYNICUS is inspecting the hollow-rock, curiously whilst VOID continues]
VOID: This imaginary world shared by all of us is a cave which floats in emptiness. Don’t become intoxicated with it - the truth of this world’s existence resides in mere delusion. A construction of something false. A trauma impulse.
ANIMA: Void, I really think you should take your medication.
VOID: Can you stop!? I don’t want it.
ANIMA: Fine. I just think you’re going off the deep end again.
VOID: I’ll tend to this story, nurture it and see you all grow, especially you, ANIMA. Besides, we’re in the prologue, things are just getting started.
CYNICUS: The pro- what?
TELEO: Prologue. It means the introduction to a story.
Premise 1) The verb to nurture means an extension of care.
Premise 2) Your responsibility, VOID, is to get us raw food and water and fire parts.
Conclusion) There is no nurturing. Your acts are purely transactional/
CYNICUS: Transactional for that comfy floor you get all to yourself...what a shame it would be if you stopped getting us what we needed and lost the privelege of sleeping on it.
VOID: Well, I’m more than happy to continue these responsibilities and nurture my own role as someone with heart – enough heart to leave this cave and get all those things which you need. Who knows TELEO, maybe I can find you a heart from out there...
TELEO: Oh yeah, and why do I need a heart?
VOID: Why else? To eat, of course. In fact, you could go out there and get yourself one.
[TELEO remains silent]
[CYNICUS finally gets his opium to burn and takes in a deep breath of the pipe]
CYNICUS: So appetizing…[CYNICUS breathes out smoke] OoOoOoOoOh YEAAHHHHH, turned you bonkers, didn’t it – leaving – this cave? ‘O, the atrocities in the outer world are like no other’ [CYNICUS breathes in his opium] Why’d he leave this place?
VOID: Because this performance requires you lot – him - to have some heart.
CYNICUS: Heart? Wonder how it tastes.
[CYNICUS chokes on the smoke and starts coughing it out]
[TELEO stands up and stretches. He walks towards VOID and stops. TELEO slaps VOID and twists his head]
[BEAT]
CYNICUS: MY MY! I knew you were a dominant alpha, TELEO, but not this rutheless…it seems you, VOID, stepped out of line and were disciplined by our lord and savior hunk. So masculine how my honour was threatened and you just disciplined him right there and then.
TELEO: I didn’t do it for you.
VOID: You both have no balls.
CYNICUS: No, no, TELEO knows the reason he slapped you – he knows just how BIG my balls are. He’s simply protecting the truth…[deep sigh] I’m a bit jealous you got his first slap though… he’s been unwilling to do that to me for ages now… [fake sobs]
TELEO: Can you stop?
[BEAT]
[VOID soothes the redness on both his cheeks with both his palms]
VOID: My treatment by him, by – them - only matches what they feel deep down inside about themselves. But little do they realise; I will give them the heart to face that inner hurt in due time.
TELEO: The only heart giving that will be done is a smack to yours if I’m not given a new Ancient Greek book which tells me of how to be virtuous man in- due time [He clicks his fingers]
CYNICUS: HaHaHaH. I LOVE YOU WHEN YOU’RE SO RUTHLESS…YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO GET MY HEART PUMPING, BABE.
TELEO: OH MY DAYS, CAN YOU STOP!?
[BEAT]
VOID: Swiftly moving on, in this cave, three white sheets made of a woolly type of hide layer the granite ground: they loosely string together the image of three beds. Sandstone columns amass behind each ‘bed’, erecting high,
CYNICUS: Ohh YES, so ERECT they are, all for me [Turns to Teleo] babes.
TELEO: [grunts]
VOID: They seemingly uphold the cave. From the audience’s left to their right, from your left to your right, there is a Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian column. All social venues such as the Acropolis, Symposium and Auditorium, sorry to say, have not yet formed, but the characters of a contemplative, ruminative fiasco of flying theatrics which fumbles with fumes of philosophy do perform.
CYNICUS: Oh, we’re performing, hey? What is that again – ‘performing’ - when you play pretend?
VOID: Indeed.
CYNICUS: CAN I DO IT WITH YOU PLEAASE? HAHAH. SeRioUsLy, I’m used to it anyways...when I play pretend, I’m usually playing TELEO’S submissive, innocent –
TELEO: SHUT UP!
ANIMA: Performing? Some non reality, is it, VOID? Hmm. No I don’t do any of that - this is truthful life - being kept in this cave so long that our minds begin to twist in on themselves – that’s why I exercise – to keep my mind right. Void, your mind isn’t right at this moment – it’s blatantly obvious and people see that as weakness and assert themselves over you- that’s just how it is, I’m sorry- but on the days that you can’t even identify yourself –your role, who you are, it’s not all that bad - atleast you have us to ground you down. Whatever this charade is you’re doing with yourself right now is certainly not grounding. Let me ground you, Void. Let me ask you a question - what is outside this cave?
VOID: What’s outside the cave...it’s all just VOID.
ANIMA: what does that even mean?
VOID: I can’t put it into words.
ANIMA: See, I hate it when you can’t even answer questions directly. Do you know how hard it is to have a normal conversation with you? When you’re this way, it’s hard to speak to you – you need to take some of CYNICUS’ happy smoke.
VOID: I said I don’t want it. How could I even smoke that thing without taking this mask off?
CYNICUS: ‘this mask’? OHH you mean that carved rock which we put on your face. [in a frenzy] WE PUT IT THERE AND NOW IT DOESNT WANT TO GO, IT’S STUCK THERE – FOREVER!!!!
Joking. Your face is hideous. Don’t take it off.
VOID: [speaking to audience] Everyone wears a mask – you, them; it just so happens that they projected that intuitive insight onto me.
TELEO: Look VOID, I’m just trying to help you out, see, a virtuous man doesn’t need a face to be good. Don’t focus on the beauty of your face – that’s why you have a mask on – focus on the beauty of your spirit.
CYNICUS: I wonder how that’s not satirical…
[BEAT]
VOID: [speaking to audience] Moving on, standing on their feet are a pantheon of three – you haven’t been formally introduced yet, so let me do you the honour - there’s: TELEO who’s characterized by the pursuit of his end goal of goodness, wisdom and rational knowledge.
TELEO: Mhm, that’s the type of lullaby I like you to sing.
VOID: He also shits out his instincts and pees out virtue. He’s the GOD OF PISS.
TELEO: The what of piss? In no way am I related to piss, so please, kindly go fuck yourself before your other stony cheek is bruised.
VOID: There’s ANIMA who’s characterized by life experience.
ANIMA: Wait, ‘characterized by life experience’ – doesn’t that go for everyone? What’s my actual character then, to you?
VOID: You are poetry.
ANIMA: What is poetry?
TELEO: They’re artistic writings which are completely detached from this world - flowing with passion and lacking in reason or truth.
ANIMA: Oh, well – heh, that’s not me, heh, But thank you.
[BEAT]
VOID: There’s CYNICUS who’s characterized by cunning sex appeal and satire.
CYNICUS: Yes sir, that’s me! And then - beyond all of that stunning characterization - there’s a precious darling who takes centre stage for himself – he is artistically inclined - he gives me the heart to keep going – he likes to make people feel special ways –
VOID: Thank you-
CYNICUS: Huh? No, not you- silly. Awww. You’re so cute when you’re so silly. You’re something else, babes – you’re my BOY who runs errands through the ghastly forest of the outside and brings me back all kinds of bones, such as what I was referring to – my sublime, my fabulous, MY WONDERFUL LOVER - COOKED OPIUM. MmHmm.
TELEO: Nah, your ‘BOY’ bathes in the outside world of water and finds bubbles of delight for me, because he’s my raw fish boy.
VOID: [Clears throat] Mostly alert, the pantheon of three are blind - not by the lack of light – perhaps it’s to what lies just outside the cave – but just as quick as that thought passes, I ask – who are we?
TELEO: [with command] Raw fishboy, why don’t you go fetch me a book about Ancient Greece?
VOID: For any objects that pop out of nowhere, just imagine they’ve popped out the VOID, that is, I, VOID - the stagehand, dressed in black. put these objects on stage, delivering them from well offstage – from well outside the cave.
TELEO: raw fishboy, chop chop!
VOID: Don’t forget your daily stretches guys- bye! [goes offstage]
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Door opens, cat runs -
fed meat sticks and grass, she is.
We then meditate.
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O venus fly trap
trap me, your insect
feed on me - I'll
regurgitate your cake.
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Monologue from a late night dialogue with Plato
I'd like to be your demiurge[01:39]
sounds very ancient greek - catch you walking through the agora to the symposium[02:04]
the fingers will drop soon- they'll become the form of fingers- fishfingers[02:09]
what fine opium art thee smoking, plato?[02:16]
what fine poetry, plato
though I understand you are not a fan of mimesis as it would pose a threat to your republic[02:20]
My hand holding a cup of cider,
yours holding fine opium
inside the symposium[02:24]
it's been so long I can't recognise you, Agape;
a beard you've grown, dear plato;
Baccus whispering in my right ear that this is the one:
'The eater of the King of burger'
I spit my wine out at once.[02:29]
Though I cant recognise you, I'll hold you and feel that familiar texture of Agape along your skin.[02:33]
PLATO: I'm drinking space liquid
That is blue[02:34]
Odysseus glides through it on his spaceship[02:36]
PLATO: You're so silly.[02:39]
I'd be a Diogenes- it's a pretty serious business, plucking chickens because someone seriously told you that a human is bipedal and featherless[02:40]
PLATO: I wanna cuddle and sleep.[02:41]
The safest place for that is In a cave, near a dim lit fire ontop cosy soft rocks, arms extended for herculean boulders[02:44]
PLATO: Blargh.
I can't stop giggling.[02:44]
The hermit who lives in a barrel of oak can roll around town around all day long, wherever he goes, drinking and storing rum in his big old drum.[02:58]
PLATO: Rests my head on you in my cringy fantasy world[02:50]
I think the rocks in the cave are softer than me[02:51]
PLATO: Rolls my eyes[03:03]
Rolls your eyes
I's can be rolled, twisted, spun, even broke -
Self loosens as I says "no"
and picks its nose as more boogers grow.[03:12]
I'd roll your eyes- role your eyes in hopes of a
snake eyes because I'm slimy and slithering
without virtue, but we can change that, can't we,
Plato :3[04:03]
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A lone wanderer, Ares-Mars-Odysseus, is journeying through the states of the U.S.A
1. worker’s yoga pants
[Enter- us, as these timeless deities, into a cowboy saloon, somewhere in Cardova – North Carolina]
In this place where shattered souls go to find solace, drunkards yammer and stammer, onlooking the catwalk with the pole– half-expecting you to strut down it in your high heels, tight yoga pants and leather jacket; your ex, the cynical old man- his banjo would accent your every step from the back of the room, in years past. Yet now, the ex-cuck is reduced to smoking his cigar in his rocking chair, cosy and cloaked under his warm, tweed-knit blanket. He’s seen it all. Even you?
We frantically ask him:
"HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?"
No response.
We frantically ask every drunkard in the room:
"HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?"
No response.
The mouthless puppets of sleep can’t respond.
Instead, [the rocking ex-cuck raises his cane. It points deep into the South]
2. peach vuzz
We want to wander some more.
Lost, our feet dig through the Ashville scorch of searing sand.
We see the market off in the distance where couples roam, smoking zoots, eating exotic-RIPENED-REFRESHING peaches and sipping dirty-FILTHY-PUTRIFYING chai latte, pressed from the finest of peach vuzz
can’t be described, how many times do I have to tell you?
When we're close, we ask them:
You know It’s ineffable,-ethereal-METAPHYSICAL, right?
HAVE YOU SEEN THEM
But you always describe things as that when they aren’t
PEACHY!
While pointing at the picture
These are just memories
aren’t they? Memories of what we created.
MEMORIES
of You.
But, they don’t recognise you because
the puppets of sleep are faceless.
Instead, [the couples form a horde and try to embrace us in a mass hug, but topple over one another as they fall…thousands of puppets yearn upwards – arms outstretched]
3. pluto, the incredibly defensive, talking cat
Roaming through West Virginia/
PLUTO: Meowdy, Ares.
ARES: WHAT?
PLUTO: I said- Meowdy, Mars!
MARS: WHAT?
PLUTO: It’s a pun – you combine Meow with Howdy. It’s a no-brainer. Don’t you get it, Odysseus - Verbal alchemy of sorts.
ODYSSEUS: WHAT?
PLUTO: Oh...OH…Ohhh I see. I cut y’all off from carrying on your little venture around here – your [licks paw in a cunning, suave and slick way] story of sorts…Mmh…Well here’s the end of the story partner - I'M THE ONLY COWBOY WHO “SLAY!!!”s around here. YOU can’t fuck on me. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I AM! Now, if you’d excuse me, I have a 1000 CUCUMBER FRIEND, wrapped in plastic, to unwr-attend to.
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: NO - THE MOUTHLESS PUPPETS OF SLEEP CAN’T RESPOND.
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: NO - THE MOUTHLESS PUPPETS OF SLEEP CAN’T RESPOND.
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: NO - THE MOUTHLESS PUPPETS OF SLEEP CAN’T
PLUTO: Damn- Uhm. Y’all are the one that really sound like a puppet! Heheheh. Uhm, three points. Firstly, uhm, the ‘MOUTHLESS PUPPETS OF SLEEP’ CAN respond. Secondly, uhm, I’m not a ‘MOUTHLESS PUPPET OF SLEEP’ -- I clearly have a mouth, that’s why I’m speaking. DUH. Thirdly, uhm, who even made the shitty phrase- what kind of verbal alchemy is that anyways? Definitely not the good type.
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: WHA- WHO ARE YOU; WHY ARE YOU HERE?
PLUTO: Woah, woah, easy there partner…well, ever since I carried that dead bird home in my mouth, they, didn’t feel the same about me anymore, so, they let me go…abandoned me.
I guess my nature- ravenous, craving…instinctual as it was--IS, made them leave. But hey, I’m used to saying—
[turns to leave] Meowdios…
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: They…They? THEY!!! H-HAVE YOU SEEN THEM?
4. Your lost poetry
We see a piece of you whistling in the wind as Pluto leaves.
It falls.
A line in the sand is marked by the note. We pick it up – it says:
“You cannot accept
That you might never see me again
Because that means accepting
That you made a mistake
by letting me go in the first place
-you can’t have your cake and eat it too"
We fall to our knees, and say:
ARES: The contingency was mistaken as a lack of contingency…
MARS: Might never see you again? There’s still a chance -
ODYSSEUS: WE ACCEPT. WE ACCEPT. WE ACCEPT.
What happens next?
Contortion of the truth
Does another note flutter by
the manipulator carries the knife
to make the last line about cake
to cut my cake
more prominent?
and feed off me
An analogy that is expanded to
inaudibly rambling their justification
make sense? �� for leaving
Because If you want – we won’t eat it.
Take OUR cake.
ALL OF OUR CAKE.
Our cake is a metaphor for OUR
CAPACITY TO LOVE - BOTTOMLESS
BOTTOMLESS CAKE -
all for you to gorge on.
ARES-MARS-ODYSSEUS: We...forgot...that note wasn't made for us...it was made for the other shattered souls back at the bar...
5. deity of deadpan
These fistfuls of burning quicksand slowly sear into the flesh of our hands, up our nerves, through our minds, where the image of the estranged deity resides. Inside this disintegrating mess that has engulfed us, no effort is made to clutch onto dear life. We begin to encroach on illustrious exaggerations of them- we guess they’re what we see off in the distance of these sandy planes - our mirage; the only thing that can save us now. How to completely disappear when waiting to be consumed by earth is a slow process with still so much time to think? Maybe we've already become one of those puppets back at the bar...lost, yearning, broken. Our closed eyes pan in whatever direction the sun is. A faint monochrome light arises, meeting us inside this darkness. The light emanates from this cloaked figure which approaches us - ‘Is it the deity of deadpan that alludes us?’ The fragments of half clung thoughts ask. Us and them - the way it’s always been; the only thing we've ever seen. We feel something cling to our chin – is it half a finger from a leather glove? Our senses can’t work out anything anymore – they can’t even distinguish up from down - maybe the sand has consumed us by now. Just as quick as that thought passes, direction is restored and our neck bends backwards; chin tipping upwards to meet the trickle down stream of water channelled through our sand chapped lips.
Beneath the ocean of life lays a constant of arising and cessation. Along the wispy desert of Death Valley, amidst the sarcophagus of sunset orange, this was most clear. We long for an end to searching - to suffering. This end was reached when our desires were fulfilled and a figure, independent to our own, approached and nurtured us. We could now open our eyes to the reality that he we'd been blinded to –
two glimmering reflections of us, horizontal to one another, emanate from the figure’s hood – eyes from a face. A FACE. THE CEASELESS DARKNESS WRAPS ITSELF INTO SOMETHING FAMILIAR BUT NOT RECOGNISABLE; A VESSEL OF SPEECH WIDENS ITSELF TO SAY: ‘have you seen them?’ Tracing the figure’s eyes, they look down to their hand. Protruding from their black cloak, it carries the lime green strands of your hair attached to your
severed head.
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