The Dream Engine

TRIGGER WARNINGS: This rock opera contains content of a very explicit nature. Strong language is used, including slurs. People fuck. Violently. Reader discretion is advised.

THE DREAM ENGINE BY JIM STEINMAN A VERY HARD ROCK ODYSSEY MUSICAL ORIGINALLY WRITTEN SPRING 1969 WE PRESENT BAAL'S COMPILATION OF THE DREAM ENGINE (2024) (PREFACE) ACT I THE HISTORIAN'S INTRODUCTION I: THE INVOCATION AND FORMATION OF THE TRIBE COME IN THE NIGHT II: INDOCTRINATION OF THE TRIBE STREETFIGHTERS PRAYER VOYAGER NOW THE SONG OF THE INDOCTRINATION (BUTCHER) WHO NEEDS THE YOUNG THE SEDUCTION SCENE- III: THE INITIATION COME HOME, CHILD LIBERATION THROUGH PAIN- LOVE SONG LIBERATION THROUGH PLEASURE- RIDE A COCK HORSE IV: THE INTERROGATION V: THE FAMILY REUNION VI: THE INDUCTION CITY NIGHT SONG THE GOD GAME VII: THE ANALYSIS THE VOICES OF THE CIVILIZATION: THE WANT ADS HYMN TO FIRE: PYRO ACT II ENTRACTE/SUNDANCE KEEP ON TRUCKING IIX: THE INVASION AND SLAUGHTER OF THE CITY SONG OF THE MOTHER RIVER IX: THE REVOLUTION IN WORDS AND MUSIC THE SONG OF THE DREAM ENGINE X: BAALS DELIRIUM AND CALL TO THE CITY DREAM OF THE ANCIENT BEAST DELIRIUM CONTINUED, DREAM OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WHILE WE STILL HAVE TIME, IF WE STILL HAVE TIME, PLEASE--LET'S MAKE OUR CEMETARIES SAFE FORE OUR CHILDREN... GOOD NIGHT. THE END. =============== PREFACE =============== (There is no overture... The stage is set as follows: there is a large black disc in the center. It extends over almost the entire playing area. Up front, close to the audience, stage right and left are two elevated platforms. All the songs are sung "out of the action," i.e. sung by SOLOISTS, like rock "arias" on the platforms, while simultaneously on the disc, the strongly choreographed or "directed" dances and rituals are performed. These rituals cannot be loose or ragged or have anything to do with pop dance steps. and they are never too self-consciously arty or modern dancy … i.e. completely part of the world of calculated deliberate modern dance. They should be similar in concept to the work of people like Robert Joffrey or Alwin Nikolais: They must convey a ceremonial quality and epic texture... strenuous, strong, always very muscular, sensual and extreme and never musical comedy-like or cute. Like Grotowski, and perhaps, most strongly, the richly choreographed theatrical textures that Peter Brook created for "Marat/Sade" and Seneca's "Oedipus." There must be physical intensity and power on stage capable of equaling and finally merging with the power and ritualistic drive of the rock music. The work is, in essence, a rock opera, despite the fact that it is not all music. Music runs behind and weaves through almost all the scenes, and in the next draft I am preparing, the most important changes have to do with making the entire piece more operatic, more totally ritualistic and ceremonial; the dialogue should be much more incantation-like... more chants, visions, deliriums... Ideally, I would like the work to unite the "music-drama" structure of Wagner's opera with the more immediate political and social bite of Brecht-Weill's "Mahagonny," still retaining a modern equivalent of "Mahagonny's" epic scope... and adding, especially in keeping with the nature of rock, elements explored by the Living Theater, Grotowski, Joseph Chaikin, and Peter Brook... all of whom have created astounding works which, for me, push the theater of today right to the edge of magic - "religious" and ritualistic theater for the future, capable of awe and holy immediate power: to arouse and then to cleanse. I can't help thinking that Artaud would have adored rock and found in its sources and textures a true example of "Theater of Cruelty," a truly new an paradoxically primitive but electronic Church. It seems to me that rock is now the perfect musical tool for welding together the theatrical styles mentioned before... A new form of music drama based on rock's inherent theatricality and immense power of communication and a new form of Brechtian "epic" theater and a new form of Artaudian ritualized theater of cruelty... "The Dream Engine" is certainly far from achieving this complete synthesis now. I wouldn't presume to put it in the company of Brecht, Wagner or Artaud. But I wanted to indicate the direction I've tried to make it go, and also to suggest the nature of the staging when it was first performed in America for 10 performances at colleges on the east coast... The band, ten pieces (lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass guitar, drums and tympani, two pianos, organ, trombone, trumpet, sax, and electric violin) is on stage behind the disc. THEY are covered by a scrim in front. They are UNSEEN in blackness during the 'play' sections; but during the songs, though the scrim stays down, they are lighted from behind, usually with very pure colors: deep red, dark green, or soft UNDERWATER blue, always seen in vague shadowy silhouette. During certain sections of the show, projehctions are used on the scrim, but never the usual multi-media effects like light shows or strobes. but more the "visionary" work best exemplified by Wieland Wagner in his Bayreuth productions and Robert O'Hearn in the Metropolitan Opera's production of Strauss' "Die Frau Ohne Schatten," or the N.Y. City Opera's work in Boito's "Mephistopheles." In essence, what I'm trying to say is, the nature of the lighting has more to do with the stylized textures of epic opera than the whining, bouncing, clumsy stuff of discotheques. In summary, the texture used in staging the entire work was derived primarily from three really "inspirational" sources: the mythic density of Wagner's Bayreuth work ("the hypnotic force of an heroic hallucination, taking place in a strange god-inhabited world of the primeval future!") ...the unique and prophetic writings of Antonin Artaud and the realizations of so many of these visions, and more, by Peter Brook in his work and the book by Mr. Brook, "The Empty Space." ============= ACT ONE ============= ============= THE HISTORIAN'S INTRODUCTION ============= Immediately as the show starts, the Historian enters. He is a dirty, greasy, crotchety, withered old man. But he must be played by a young man, and though he can suggest all the above-mentioned qualities, he should still be strangely appealing to the audience, and much of his role is played for comedy like some cosmic W.C. Fields, without the accent. The Historian enters, stares at the audience, spits a few times, utters some absurdly guttural noises. From his filthy desk, on stage left, he brings forth a collection of model airplanes, ships, toy soldiers, dusty books, raw meat, and plastic anatomical nude models of the male and female body. Methodically, he smashes the soldiers to the floor, rips the pages from the books and hurls them away in a cloud of dust, shatters the airplanes and ships with a hammer, cracks off limbs from the anatomical models and caresses them, and finally throws chunks of raw meat over the whole thing and smothers it all with ketchup. He says to himself, quite pleased, "Delicccciousss." He stares stonily at the audience, and goes over to his blackboard and writes "KETCHUP OR BLOOD" in big letters as if beginning a lecture. He turns back to the audience as he finishes, wipes his hands to signify that the time has come to officially begin, takes one step forward and promptly falls off the stage. After one "SHUT UP!" at the audience, he regains his dignity.) (During the course of the following ten-minute speech, projected on the scrim behind him is an animated film. It runs the course of the speech. It is done in very stark, strongly contrasted black and white shades. In other words, richly drawn, heavily outlined forms either in pure white or very dark black or grey. It depicts the growth and fall of a city in the form of a slow evolution, like Walt Disney's technique of showing a tulip opening in time-lapse photography. First we see nothing but a barren wasteland. Gradually shapes start rising from the earth: young boys and girls. More and more bodies arise. Soon they start "evolving" into metal, shiny cold metal. They become beams, parts of a structure, and gradually we see a huge building rising, and then another, formed from these "metal bodies." More and more buildings. Finally, a soaring city has formed. Then the reverse evolution begins. Decay, filth, pollution seeps in. The beams of the city become blacker, begin to collapse. The city begins to crumble. And then finally, there is ruin everywhere, broken stone, shattered walls, stained sky, and dried-up land. The fallen parts of the city turn back into young men and women again, crawling on the ground, reach for each other, grasping at each other's bodies. The bodies merge into one tombstone. In the background, we see other clear white tombstones. In front, two people are left, a young boy and girl. They hold each other and begin making love. If there ever was an erotic animated film, this should be it...hopefully. They continue, and around them, more and more tombstones arise, surrounded by flowers. Finally, the whole scene is a huge cemetery extending forever, complete with flowers, and the two kids making it. The sky is black. At the end, the heads of the two kids become skulls and from the skulls two lips come out and kiss each other. On the sky the letters: "FLOWER POWER, 1971" appear. And it is over, coinciding with the end of the Historian's speech.) (NOTE: There is an optional little ending that can be used with this film: a lovely white haired old lady, smiling cheerfully, everybody's favorite grandmother, wheels herself up to the large grave in the center on her wheelchair. She blissfully gets up and strides over to the grave, ignoring the young couple next to her, who are sleeping on each other, She's wearing a pretty hat, and smiling all the time, she "waters" the grave, and when arms immediately begin to grow up out of the ground, she snips them off with a shears, places them in her little basket, and gets back in her wheelchair, driving right over the boy and girl, singing happily to herself.) Ladies and gentlemen, I am an historian. (He tastes a bit of the raw meat and ketchup, savors it, smacks his lips, then chokes) Ketchup or blood … Yes? … No? … YES! Ketchup or blood? And which is which? … Yes? … No? … Yes! Ketchup or blood! Does it matter? They both disgust me. Ketchup or blood!? Does it matter? I ASKED YOU A QUESTION! KETCHUP OR BLOOD!? KETCHUP OR BLOOD!? KETCHUP OR BLOOD!? KETCHUP OR BLOOD!? DOES IT MATTER!? We pour one on our meats to make our meals more colorful. We pour the other on our flesh to make our deaths more colorful. To make our banquets more colorful, to make our wars more colorful! To make our stockyards shine brighter! To make our streets run richer with red! [He has been pouring ketchup over raw hamburger meat during his speech, and now he shows the glop to the audience as he finishes.] … So … Yes? No? YES! We pour one on our meats to make our meals more colorful and the other on our flesh to make our wars more colorful, to make our slaughter more colorful for the movies! And yes, we do have colorful movies … Yes. Do you like the movies? I find them immeasurably more entertaining than the theatre, don’t you? Ketchup or blood! We enjoy them both! Ketchup or blood! We love our movies! Ketchup or blood! We love our lives! Ketchup or blood! We love our banquets! Ketchup or blood! We love our wars! Ketchup or blood! We love our games! Ketchup or blood! We love our stockyards! Ketchup or blood! We love our bodies! Ketchup or blood! We love our meat!!! Well, don’t we? Don’t we love our meat now? DON’T WE!? I asked you a question … DON’T WE LOVE OUR MEAT NOW!? Yes … No??? YES! YES WE LOVE OUR MEAT! ALL TOGETHER NOW! LOOK AT ME! YES WE LOVE OUR MEAT! YES YES YES YES WE LOVE OUR MEAT!!! … so why do we smother it in ketchup? Why do we drown it in blood? yes? no? yes … yes … yes … (spits) We love our meat and our flesh and our movies and our lives and our banquets and our wars and our stockyards and our streets and our ketchup and our blood! And who can tell the difference from one to the other? It’s all the same, no matter how you slice it … The Last supper will be no different from the Last Day of Judgement … nothing but ruin … and emaciated people … (He smiles) nibbling on one another … with ketchup … with blood … Deliccciousss … (He laughs to himself) Yes,Ladies and gentlemen, I am an historian. I have to keep reminding myself. Something that hideous you try to forget. (Smug) I deal in life. (Sarcastically stuffy) So little to do and so much time to do it in. Centuries. Endless centuries. What a pity. I think I’m going to puke … (cheerfully) I make myself sick, don’t you? Well, forget what I said. It’s irrelevant. It has nothing to do with tonight’s subject, nothing to do with it at all. Forget what I said. SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! Don’t anybody move. You’re trying to surround me as usual, a common tactic, circle him on all sides, pounce on him when he’s not looking. Well, I can assure you it won’t work. I know what you’re trying to do. I’ve been watching you! I’ve been watching every one of you and I know what you’re trying to do! But it won’t work … You can’t hold me here, you can’t keep me prisoner, you can’t bind me in chains, you can’t stuff me with nails! TAKE YOUR SHINY SPIKES AWAY! I protect nobody’s filthy secrets! It does no good to try and torture me, no good to try and surround me, no good to try and destroy me or my sick swollen memory! I’ll remember everything. I’ll tell it all! I protect nobody’s filthy secrets! NOBODY’s! SO SHUT UP! … I know just what you’re thinking … forget it! (Pause) Ladies and gentlemen, I am an historian. I am also your narrator for tonight. (Gags) Don’t anybody speak! Don’t anybody so much as look around, or blink, or wince, or twitch, or laugh, or convulse, or cry! Stare straight ahead … as stony as a corpse … Now that shouldn’t be too difficult … Most of you look like rigor mortis was a way of life … FOOLS! … you bore me … (Dozes off for a second) Who do you think you are!? Well, you’re not! Or maybe you are. Well, so much the worse for you … Only the slightest breathing … Only the slightest. Ah, Ladies and gentlemen, how do I appear to you? Oh, I can guess your answer. (Very cavalier) You see one very slimy, very greasy, perhaps even repulsive man. Don’t let it bother you … It’s only my business manner, my own special brand of distilled insanity. Without my madness — I’d lose my mind. Whatever’s left of it, anyway … It is not easy being the caretaker of the largest, most inevitable, most relentless, most rancid, and most inescapable cemetery in the scope of the human imagination. It is not easy being an historian. For centuries we have continued, oblivious and diseased. For years we have all been at the brink of eternal coma, and I am sick of playing nurse to a patient without hope! There's nothing you can do about it. And the vomit and blood and shit and piss get thicker and thicker ...crawl up your legs...nest in your cunt...eat at your balls and your prick ...tear at your stomach....strain at your brain...and blindfold your eyes. Oh! The scabs are extraordinary. For a while I tried being optimistic. I wrote long tracts on the grandeur of man, the progress of civilization, and the sublime hopes of humanity … Gradually it made me sick to my stomach. At least now I am honest with myself. THERE IS A MAJOR LESSON TO BE LEARNED HERE! And I don’t have the foggiest idea what it is … (Rummages through notes) Oh yes! Vaseline is no cure for cancer! I offer no more comforting lubrication. Only the facts. Therefore, my admittedly putrid business manner. I am what you see, no more, no less. You can ignore me for now. Do you think I care? Most of you mean nothing to me. Sooner or later you’ll all be victims of the Historian. (Seized by convulsions at once frightening and comic) My heart is foaming, my brain is soaking wet, my eyes are shaking my tongue, my stomach is queasy, my thighs are hallucinating … I’m in the middle of a fit! It’s starting again … (Suddenly very pleasant and polite) Won’t you join me? (The old boy collapses) (Trying to retain dignity, blubbering) I am an historian. My products make you sick, and yet you remain my faithful foolish customers. Why can’t you learn, idiots!? Or — perhaps my products don’t make you sick, perhaps it’s too late for that now. Maybe you’re immune … A terrifying thought … What good is the historian if he has lost his power to shock? Am I no longer rated “X”? Have children ceased to be afraid of my finest atrocities? Oh God, is there no succor!? Shit … Oh well, at times like these, I remember so well the words of the great Indian mystic Petoooroo, who said to me with infinite sadness: “(Here he improvises some absurd Indian-dialect gibberish in the best Peter Sellers style)” … which means almost the same thing in English … God help us … AAAAAAAGHHHH! My vein is twitching again! A vein in the middle of my eye! Twitching again and again and again! There … now it’s stopped. Now it’s quiet. It’s waiting to catch me off guard. I can feel it out of the corner of my eye. I can feel it. It’s waiting … Always waiting … (simply, sadly) How nice it would be to feel clean again … I can see you smirking. How amusing all this is. The little man is making a fool of himself. At least that’s what the younger ones think. The older ones understand my power better, they’re closer to me now. But the young ones—- sometimes they never do understand until the time comes. (smiling) And the time has come. The ludicrous parade of young boys, the ludicrous display of young girls, stuffed to their cruel mouths in exhaustive breathing, ecstatic moaning, and voluptuous couplings … I am going to cough. Again. And again. And again. It’s expected of me. I always do what’s expected of me. That’s why I’ve lived so long. I think … All right already! ALL RIGHT! I am an historian! We know that, but I have vomited up your poisons for centuries and still you feed me with your vile foods! Still you continue to live in your own shit, and still I continue to deliver it to your doorstep! Must we continue to torture each other!? AAAAAGGGHHHH! Watch the vein! Watch the vein! … (He clutches at his throat, and stumbles onto the lap of someone in the first row … He speaks softly and very confidentially) We can’t go on meeting like this. It just won’t work … (He gets up) Now, where was I? Oh yes. The young girls and the young boys, with whom we concern ourselves this evening. First the girls: the girls who submerge themselves night after night in long strenuous swims against the hard stiff undertow of young boys’ waves — and don’t give a damn if they drown or not! How long do you think it will last? How long before you find yourselves sweating from one supermarket to the other, looking with horror at your own flabby irrigated flesh? I can see you now, yes, I can see you — wobbling down the street, your fat tits erupting in front of you, your fat hideous tits, smothered in silicone, bouncing hysterically like two middle-aged cheer leaders trying desperately but hopelessly to arouse enthusiasm for the tired antique body that follows far behind … I use the word body loosely. I — giving you the benefit of the doubt, to say the least … And, finally, you’ll turn into a gnarled twig, hobbling home, and wherever you go, there is always frost … AAAAH! Where is my vein!? Where has it gone!? You fools, you let it get away! I warned you! Look around! Don’t just sit there like assholes! FIND MY VEIN! THERE! I’ve got it! (“Moves” it up from his foot to his neck) I — sorry … My body has a tendency to drift and flake … I’ve got to be careful at all times … I’m sorry. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the fine young boys, the blue-eyed boys. How proud they are, hurtling themselves through space, in the middle of a clear green field, legs tightly wrapped around a pliant apple tree … They rip open their pants, they pull out that panting naked capsule which they softly call their own, that sadistically exultant prick burning in their hands. Yes, I can see them, I can see them watching with monstrous desire. (Getting out of control) The goddamned bullet goes shooting its way up toward the sky, a bullet of flesh pointing its way toward the heavens like some divine gargoyle accusing God himself and challenging HIM to a confrontation! One spurt of rushing youth to cleanse the polluted sky! (He collapses, “spent”) (Brushing off his clothes) How I hate them all. And how soon before all that is gone? I can ask all of these young boys: How long before your shattered remains are found in some enemy swamp somewhere far off in some enemy swampland and then sent home to Mother in a tin-pan coffin with your name inscribed on your ass and the lid opened wide … How long before your lovely head explodes in a blaze of blonde chaos, after just one golden overdose more than you can stand? How long? You can’t escape. The battlefield of eternal undeclared wars is unbounded and endless. There are no limits there, there never will be. And terrified young men, very much like yourselves, will continue to set one another’s skulls on fire and hurl them into the sky — like strange birds that are burning themselves alive — JUST LIKE YOU ARE. There is no way out. And after that, how soon before you find yourself trapped in a business suit, a prisoner in your own nightly bath, with pink soap balls for eyes, with nothing to see, and no reason to try … The perfect American marriage, perhaps … The vegetable husband and his vegetarian wife … (Laughs harshly) SHUTUP! JUST An empty shell, nothing more, a shell in which you can’t even hear the ocean, no matter how hard you try, no matter how close to your ear you listen … An empty shell … FOOLS! Young boys! FOOLS! Young girls! I warn you but you never listen! FOOLS! ALL OF YOU! Well, I could go on but I won’t. There’s no point. Tonight is a festive occasion and I let myself get carried away. (Exaggerated, like Bette Davis) Forgive me. It won’t happen again. So, I am an historian. I don’t ask for pity, I don’t ask for compassion, I don’t ask for condolences, I don’t ask for hope, I don’t ask for promises and I don’t ask for feelings! I ask only that you keep your distance as I have tried to keep mine, though we have both failed too many times to count. I am an historian. I ask only to be left alone. After all these years, I think I deserve that! I think I deserve that, don’t you!? (He begins the final, total crack-up) If you would all just leave me alone! Give my veins some peace! Leave me alone! Die faster, die more cleanly, die more smoothly, forget the ketchup, forget the blood, die in black and white and fuck the colors! But please: Give history the rest it has earned! Give us all some mercy … (He explodes) Take your confessions somewhere else!!! Give history the rest it deserves! TAKE YOUR CONFESSIONS SOMEWHERE ELSE!!! (Pause. He is shattered. Quiet) I’m sorry. There is nowhere else. I will do my best. I’m really very sorry … [Muffled sobs. Pause.] I suppose I seem to be crying … Well, don’t let it fool you shit-holes! I admit it. There is nowhere else. I’ll do my best. I’ll do what’s expected of me. (Moves back with dignity to his blackboard) I’ll do my best. (Stares straight at the audience. Quietly. Strongly) Can’t you see how much I hate you? (The film ends behind him. On the screen is projected the effect of waves, water, an ocean. The play itself begins here) Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, tonight’s history! Let us begin with our location. (Like a herald) We are on the coast of northern California, on the jagged rocks overlooking the ocean, on the shining rim of the searing edge of the west, in the farthest dream of essential America! And we are in the near future! You can’t go any further than here. This is the end point, where the wind drives you out to the open sea and never back again. You can’t go any further than here. On the cliffs overlooking the purple water, we find our main character. His name is Baal. B-A-A-L. Baal. Get it right! He is 19 years old, and has left his home to live on the rocks in the open air. Young men and women will follow him there. And now, a song for your pleasure. BAAL and his followers express their disgust with our society and offer an alternative. (A light on Baal. He comes forward to sing the first “rock-aria”.) PHASE ONE! The Invocation and Formation of the Tribe! ===================================================== I: THE INVOCATION AND FORMATION OF THE TRIBE ===================================================== [COME IN THE NIGHT] ( While Baal sings this, the tribe is formed from all sides. First, a boy and girl come from opposite sides of the stage and kneel next to each other in the center of the disc. The boy stares at her, then raises his arm high into the air and brings it smashing down on her body. She clutches at him. In essence, then, they inflict pain on each other and then hold each other desperately. They bring each other into the tribe. When done, these two bring over someone else and perform an “initiation ritual” on him and her. Then the three of them repeat the process on a fourth person, and so on till all 19 of the tribe are formed by the end of the song. The first half of the song is sung by Baal, and he is joined in the second half by a girl with a strong gospel voice who has already entered the tribe at the beginning of the song. All the staging is violent, strong, and often exultant, rising to a peak at the end when the tribe is together. ) Come, in the night, come in the day Any time, and play our game It's all right Special flight You'll fly home into our game See the light Shining bright Shining down upon our game In the night Come in the day Play our game, come a- -way! Turn around! It's a black day dawning Turn around! There's a corpse in mourning Turn around! In your tin can graveyard Turn around! To your tin foil savior Turn around, bright eyes! Turn around, bright eyes! Turn around! There are napalm babies screaming Turn around! There are poisoned rivers steaming Turn around! To your forests rotting Turn around! To your assassins plotting Turn around, bright eyes! Turn around, bright eyes! Don't let the slaughter drag you down Who ever said that madness was a sin? It's too late for the rain to wash you down Who ever killed the ocean and the wind? Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? How do you bury the skull of your country? How do you bury a nation of fears? Where do you put all your long years of dying? Give me a tombstone and a wreath of all your tears Bring in all the children, with their bodies up against the wall No time for crying and there's no time left to stall No time for love now and there's no peace left at all We're on the edge now, and there's always one more fall Turn around! For the blood on your highways Turn around! Fuck up a new war each day, now Turn around! For your skies are hungry Turn around! For your earth is thirsty Turn around, bright eyes Turn around, bright eyes Turn around! Let a new world in, now Turn around! Let the final dance begin, now Turn around! Give us all your guns, now Turn around! Look at us! We're your outlaw sons, now Turn around, bright eyes Turn around, bright eyes Don't let the slaughter drag you down Who ever said that madness was a sin? It's too late for the rain to wash you down Who ever killed the ocean and the wind? Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? How do you bury the skull of your country? How do you bury a nation of fears? Where do you put all the long years of dying? Give me a tombstone and a wreath of all your tears Come, in the night, come in the day Anytime, and play our game It's all right Special flight You'll fly home into our game See the light Shining bright Shining down upon our game In the night Come in the day Play our game, come away! =============================================== ( After the song ends, the tribe rises up and stands quietly together in a pure blue light. Here begins the “Indoctrination song,” which is preceded by a brief “Indoctrination Scene.” It is chanted, but with variety: not all loud, most of it whispered, or even almost moaned. And some parts build to a complete howl. During the course of this next section, “rituals of rape” are enacted … very stylized, very slow-motion, animal like noises … two boys and a girl, three boys and a girl, three boys and a boy, two girls and a boy etc. All this is accompanied by the ”Indoctrination Scene.” ) INDOCTRINATION CHANT (Baal speaks the next sections softly, numb, as if in a trance) [No music] Seek and find America’s children. Send them back. Send them back. Seek and find America’s children, 1971. And America finally came home. She came with her outlaw son deep inside her belly, waiting to be born. She came with her outlaw son Her eyes full of lightning Her hair all undone And her screams melting into the sun. She came with her outlaw son And she bathed in a sheath of silk With the sweet smell of sperm and the warm smell of milk. She came with her outlaw son And she gave birth till the night decayed away … … To a hint of gun dust — tinged with hair spray … America’s children, 1971. (smiles) A hint of gun dust — tinged with hair spray … (The next section is lightning fast, Baal and the Historian overlapping, and alternating lines with whip-lash tempo) BAAL and HISTORIAN) Aren’t we beautiful? Answer me. ANSWER ME! Stop looking at me like that. Over here. Over here! Before it’s all gone. Save me! STOP! Over there! Answer me! Look! Save me! Get away from here! Stop looking at me like that! This is not a microscope and we are not your specimens. I am sick of the smell of the laboratories. Fuck the laboratories. (very weary)The experiments are over. The test tubes are starting to bleed … Your mutants are fighting back and this is the result! HISTORIAN) And then what? BAAL) And then what? HISTORIAN) (furious)And then what!!!? BAAL) (soft)America’s children, 1971. Aren’t we beautiful? Aren’t we filthy? Aren’t we real? We have no need of a God! Each of us is his own! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! HISTORIAN) WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO!? BAAL) (while the Historian cackles)Aren’t we more than beautiful? Aren’t we more than filthy? Aren’t we more than real? (The tribe whispers “yes” from every side) BAAL and TRIBE MEMBERS) There are no lies on my body … yes … Worship the truth … yes … touch me … yes … no lies on my body … swell to my size. yes. Swell to my size. yes! SWELL TO MY SIZE! YES! HISTORIAN) Enough! (It is quiet) HISTORIAN) So — America seems to be choking — So — BAAL and HISTORIAN) Make love to the rhythm of its gasps. HISTORIAN) And then what!? (cymbal crash) Ladies and gentlemen, Phase two! The indoctrination of the Tribe! A prayer for the future! ===================================================== II: THE INDOCTRINATION OF THE TRIBE ===================================================== (The following “prayer” must be carefully “orchestrated” for voices to get the richest possible variety of tones. The effect should be intense but stately) BAAL and CHORUS) Voyager now! Surveyor of ruins! Beautiful mutants! Voluptuous acrobats! Psychotic magicians! Mescaline cowboys! Renegade niggers! Amphetamine prophets! Satanic orphans! Anarchist bike-boys! Alchemical freaks! Voyager now! Surveyor of ruins! Off to a million midnights, black black voyager Off to a million tomorrows, black and black Seek and find Hiroshima’s children, Send them back. Send them back. Tear open doorways to unknown altars! Fill vacant theatres with miracle and wonder! Stain the streets with the magic of chaos! Give us back the twisted sons poisoned by mildewed fathers! Find again the used up whores, dying in forgotten corners! Find sunlight! Find thunder! Find wolves to devour! Find hunger to feed on! Find pity! Find hell for wax bitches! Find love and an everlasting fix for nightmare junkies! Find lost nights! Find lost time! Find fury! Find power! Find tears of fire! Find tears of rage! Find the flesh of assassinated poets! Find linen and light to clothe all the wretched! Find chemical blood to fill all the vessels! Find suns of fertility to melt all the ice fields! Voyager now! Surveyor of ruins! Off to a million midnights, black black voyager! Off to a million tomorrows, black and black! Seek and find Hiroshima’s children, Send them back! Send them back! Find Hiroshima’s children, Find Chicago’s children, Find New York’s children, Find Missouri’s children, Find California’s children, Find Wichita’s children, Find Alabama’s children, Find America’s children, Send them back! Send them back! Send them back! (The tribe continues to chant “Send them back” softly under the following) BAAL) (very fast)Voyager now, Surveyor of ruins, Beautiful mutants, Voluptuous acrobats, psychotic magicians, mescaline cowboys, Renegade niggers, Amphetamine prophets, Satanic orphans, Anarchist bike-boys, Alchemical freaks! Voyager now, surveyor of ruins, Off to a million midnights, Black and black, Seek and find all of the children, Send them back! Send them back! HISTORIAN) Give them back the twisted sons poisoned by mildewed fathers! Give them back!!! (It becomes quiet) BAAL and HISTORIAN) (very soft, sharp)We need all the mutants we can get HISTORIAN) “The song of the Indoctrination!” [THE SONG OF THE INDOCTRINATION] Lyrics Can’t you hear the choir now? Listen to the amputees sing? Can’t you hear the slaughterhouse bells? Listen to their lovely old ring! In the land of the pig, the Butcher is king! In the land of the pig, the Butcher is king! And I’m the only one that’s free For I’d rather have my country die for me! BAAL and HISTORIAN) (After the song)For hundreds of years, they’ve been butchering up my reality, chopping it up into sick bloody pieces. Reality is in agony, and it’s about time it stopped. It’s about time we put reality out of its misery. There has got to be somebody left with the grace to try euthanasia … (whispered) Aren’t we more than real? (Loud cymbal crash) HISTORIAN) It is said that strange orgiastic and brutal rites are performed on these rocks. Nearby is a huge black city, a monster that breeds on its own inescapable pollution and wears its decay like a shrill mincing smile. The citizens of this nearby metropolis are terrified, worried that Baal and his savage tribe might leave their cliffs and come wandering into the city limits, thus destroying the peaceful balance of urban life. Civilization is tense. Action is taken! Baal’s youth and apparent freedom are a threat! The city sends out Max and Emily, two special agents, assassins of the young and masters of impersonation! Their job is simple: Tame the Wild Beasts and bring them back alive! Girding their loins for the task before them, Max and Emily sing “The Assassin Song”, their bitter creed and fervent anthem! “Who Needs the Young!?” (Two large coffins are brought in, flag-draped. As the music starts, on the first dissonant down-beat, the lids of the coffins simultaneously open. Max and Emily are inside the plush velvet interiors, holding microphones. They immediately launch into their song, which is very Kurt Weillish. During their absurd “ballet interlude”, they perform a wild sort of mini-marathon dance, smearing makeup on each other trying desperately to look younger … The whole effect should be very funny, but very grotesque.) [WHO NEEDS THE YOUNG?] LYRICS Who needs the young? The revelation of their faces and their hair When all we have are withered traces of the faces we once were And suffocation in the dirty fatal air Who needs the young bodies floating in the sun Who needs the young!? The celebration of the races that they’ve won The self-indulgent things, of course, we’ve never done And all the places that we never will have gone Who needs the young bodies floating in the sun Who needs the young!? My eyes just aren’t what they were. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can see? Blind him! My lips just aren’t what they were. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can kiss? Spit on him! My legs just aren’t what they were. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can dance? Cripple him! My mind just isn’t what it was. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can dream? Wake him! My voice just isn’t what it was. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can sing? Silence him! My sex just isn’t what it was. (repeat) Is there anyone left who can fuck? Screw him! (“Ballet interlude”) Who needs the young? The perfect star of flesh that never has to cry Who needs the filthy moaning passed from thigh to thigh Who needs to see them take the trips we’ll never try Who needs the young when we’re spending all the rest of our wonderful lives learning to die! HISTORIAN) After pouring out their deepest feelings for you, Max and Emily retreat to plan their strategy … and they will return! But now, to keep things moving right along here, a necessary component of any romantic musical: The seduction scene! A 14 year old girl escapes from the iron grip of the city and, having heard of Baal and his tribe, she comes to the rocks of the coast. First she sings a bitter tune in honor of her homeland, and then love takes its course. LOVE SONG HISTORIAN: Come home, child! Take a look at your pages all shining Come home, child! Take whiff of your sweet scented gas. Come home, child! But don't let the pigs catch you crying. Come home, child! Where your flowers get shoved up your ass! GIRL: Nightsticks smashing on innocent heads, now: A broken skull, but the brain escapes and flies away free. Phantom policemen counting up all their dead, now, Maybe four, maybe more, extra corpses. People living just like slabs in a ruin, Greasy women linked to tired old men, and Not a trace can be seen of the land, now, Nails are piercing every orphan's hand, now, The city feels like a cold cancer tomb, We live and die in an open wound. Hunchback writhing on an oily street, now, He's dying slow, he's dying fast, but he's finally dying! Tourists crowd around and they take their (unintelligible) They're hurling stone, they're hurling spit and they're spitting curses. All the people just don't feel the pain, now, All the children waiting for the rain, now, Skies are covered with a nauseous stain, now, Anywhere you look you know it's all the same, and The city feels like a cold cancer tomb We live and die in an open wound. HISTORIAN: Ladies and Gentlemen, THE INITIATION! (The 14 year old girl crawls up the disc to Baal, standing at the top. She sits at his feet. This scene should go fast, since the real point of it is contained in the two big songs that come at its climax) GIRL) Let me in. BAAL) Why? GIRL) It’s getting hungry. I can feel it. BAAL) Yeah. I know. GIRL) The air is hard and my face is dry. BAAL) And your eyes are empty. Empty space. It’s very sad. GIRL) It’s not my fault. BAAL) Ask me for something. GIRL) Well, what do I need? BAAL) (smiling)A hiding place? GIRL) All right. Yes. Please. BAAL) I’m sorry. There are no more hiding places. All the hiding places are hiding. GIRL) I’m sick of this game! Tell me what’s left. Tell me what I need. BAAL) Mattress of velvet? GIRL) Let me in now! Hurry! Tell me! BAAL) (like a chant)Mattress of velvet and a clear water candle … How old are you? GIRL) 14. BAAL) Years? GIRL) Yes. BAAL) Good. That makes things easier. GIRL) I can't go back. It might be following me. You can never see it when it does, you can never feel it, or hear it, or know that it's there, until it comes from behind and grabs you and pulls you back. All the way back. BAAL) How did you get here? GIRL) I escaped. BAAL) From where? GIRL) I don’t want to talk about it. BAAL) From where!? GIRL) Where I came from! BAAL) (violently)Say it!! GIRL) From the city! They know about it. They know about me. They all know by this time. The city is following me. It sends out assassins. It breeds assassins and then it spits them out to bring us back. The city is creeping up behind me, you can never see it when it does, you can never feel it when it does, you never even know it's there! BAAL) You haven’t escaped anything. Not yet. Maybe soon. GIRL) I can’t wait anymore! BAAL) You’ll have to. Tell me about yourself. GIRL) What do you want to know? BAAL) Well— are you anal, rectal, vaginal, oral, genital, bestial, hetero, homo, bi-, tri-, quatre-, cinq, six, sick, lonely, desperate, monolingual, bilingual, cunnilingual, passionate, poetic, hallucinogenic, barbarian, Caesarian, mammalian, cornucopian, horn of plenty, plenty horny — GIRL) All right! Stop! What do you want me to say? BAAL) ALL OF THEM! GIRL) Yes, I’m all of them. (weary)I’m everything you want. BAAL) (smiling)Aren’t you exhausted? GIRL) (pause)Yes. Very. BAAL) How do you like it out here? GIRL) It’s very lovely. BAAL) On a clear night you can see the labia minor. GIRL) Can I stay? BAAL) Yes, you can stay. I need you here. What do you know about mirrors? GIRL) What kind of question is that? BAAL) What do you know about mirrors!? … Just that. GIRL) Nothing. Just nothing. (From the tribe, two other kids step forth now, a black boy and a white girl. They stand on either side of Baal. The girl must now face this “tribunal.” Whatever lines are designated here for “Baal” can be split between these three members of the tribunal. Sometimes a sentence can be said by all three at once … ) BAAL) I believe that. Nothing at all. But you'll have to meet my mirrors. They're very strange. [Members of the TRIBE spread themselves across the disc, here, and begin pantomiming in couples some of what BAAL describes.] BAAL: You see, my mirrors keep getting larger, they keep growing, they keep spreading out, they keep getting larger and I can’t seem to stop them! I have to keep filling them up, I have to keep feeding them, and they are still getting larger and larger and larger and larger … My mirrors have become vast and beautiful and very very hungry. My mirrors have become vast and beautiful and hungry and pretty soon they’re going to devour me, they’re going to swallow me up, piece by piece, bit by bit, flesh on flesh, limb by limb, kiss on kiss, shiver by shiver, tremble by tremble, sliver and sliver and splinter by splinter! But you're going to help me. You're going to help me fill them out. You're going to help me spread them out. I'm going to feed you to my mirrors. I'm going to make you one of my reflections and feed you to my mirrors. I'm going to pin you to the cold glass and watch you soak up the sunlight on the surface of the water. I need you here. We're going to share a little chromosome damage. With your genes melting into the sun! GIRL: Now, please now! It's been too long. BAAL: Soon! Soon! Come here. [GIRL comes closer to BAAL. She is sitting on the stage as he stands above her.] BAAL: You're so soft. I like to finger clay. Soft clay. Come here, soft clay. I'm going to make a shape - don't be frightened, it will be beautiful. Soft clay. We're going to make a shape. GIRL: Hurry! BAAL: Slowly! (Abrupt change of lighting … Actors are frozen … Then suddenly they begin another segment of the initiation) Look at me. GIRL: I can't see anything else. BAAL: Touch my leg. GIRL: It's wet. BAAL: It's soaked. There's a flood coming. GIRL: I can swim. BAAL: No, it's not good enough. GIRL: Why? BAAL: It's not good enough! GIRL: I don't understand. BAAL: Louder! GIRL: I can swim! BAAL: Again! GIRL: I CAN SWIM! BAAL: NO! It's just not good enough. GIRL: What do you want, I can only go so far. BAAL: Then you're going to have to get there faster, that's all. GIRL: I will not be tortured like this. BAAL: Oh, but you will. You will be tortured. You will be tortured and celebrated and worshipped and suffered and exulted and caressed and submerged and awakened and pierced and shattered and sucked on and spit upon and cried into and held onto and lovingly torn apart until we are ready to stop. Until we are ready to put you back together again and you are ready to open your eyes and begin to see! GIRL: See what? BAAL: You'll see. GIRL: I'm not an object. BAAL: I know. I am trying to show you that - step by step. Don't deny the soft, white, underbelly. Don't defy the dark black forest. Let the coachman drive you through until you reach the end. Bumper to bumper all the way. Bumper to bumper all the way. BUMPER TO BUMPER ALL THE WAY! GIRL: All right - stop! There's a flood coming. BAAL: Well, what are you going to do? GIRL: I don't know. BAAL: We're going to have to teach you, then. We're going to have to teach you a little bit more. GIRL: A little more? BAAL: We're going to have to teach you to drown! GIRL: More? BAAL: Drown! GIRL: Yes! BAAL: Show me! [Pause.] Say it. GIRL: Teach me to drown. BAAL: Again, you know the rules! GIRL: Teach me to drown. BAAL: Slowly...There's time. We're young and in love and the whole world is springtime. Your skin is so white. There are no scars on your body. GIRL: I'm sorry. BAAL: ["Gently, smiling."] We'll have to make some. GIRL: My skin is white. Incredibly white. BAAL: There are no scars. GIRL: You will have to make some. BAAL: We'll have to make some. ["Pause. They stare at each other. Her back is to the audience. He rubs his clothes and body. She runs her hands along her face and chest. She turns around. There is blood coming from a wound in her forehead, neck and breasts. She touches it sweetly. She smiles. She has entered the game."] GIRL: Mattress of velvet? BAAL: Mattress of velvet and a clear water candle. GIRL: Don't move. There's a spider on your leg. BAAL: Good! You know the rules. GIRL: I have very shiny eyes. BAAL: Bullshit! GIRL: You want to see? BAAL: Fuck off! GIRL) (harshly)More! (black-out) (When the lights go, the girl is in the center of the disc … she is tightly bound with leather straps; they tear and pull at her body. The straps are very long. They are wrapped about her body and held on the other end by members of the tribe. Each tribe member has a strap that goes around her body. The tribe members surround her and are standing all about the outer rim of the disc in a circle. One by one they fall backwards, thus causing, one by one, each leather strap to pull viciously tight on the girl’s body. While this strange ritual goes on, Baal speaks from behind her, like a man in a delirium. While he speaks he pulls at her skull, as if to detach it from her body in a slow, strange hypnotic manner) GIRL: [Touching BAAL's clothing.] Leather. BAAL) Yeah. Leather. Black and tight. Leather. Clinging. Black and tight. [As BAAL speaks, other members of the TRIBE start echoing his words. Eventually they are all chanting together, but not in unison.] BAAL: The revolution likes leather. The revolution wears leather to survive all the storms … Leather looks for holes to hide in … Dark holes. Damp holes. Dark damp holes. Black and tight and clinging. Deep holes. Dark damp deep holes, black and tight and clinging. Dangerous holes. Dark damp deep dangerous holes, black and tight and clinging! And it’s all over my body. It’s looking for hiding places all over my body. Do you want to come inside now? Do you want to come inside and look for holes now!? Do you want to come inside and look for hiding places now!? Do you want to come inside and look for deep dark damp dangerous holes now!? Do you want to come inside and look for dark damp dangerous deep holes now!? Do you want to come inside and look for damp dangerous deep dark holes now!? Do you want to come inside and look for dangerous deep dark damp holes now!? Do you want to come inside now!? Do you want to look for holes now!?! Do you want to look for hiding places now!!? Do you want to look for mattress of velvet now!? Do you want to look for clear water candle now!? Do you want to come inside at all now!!!!? … And do you ever want to leave? And do you ever think you can? Do you ever think I can? Please? … BAAL: Leather. Slash! Leather. Slash! Leather. Slash! The skin of a beast. Slash! The skin of a creature. Slash! The skin of a mammal. Slash! You have to work for it. You have to earn it. Have you ever been clawed? GIRL: What? BAAL: You heard me. GIRL: The sun is too bright! BAAL: You're melting, like vanilla syrup...soft and loose and thin, white and sweet. GIRL: I love the dawn! BAAL: Prove it! GIRL: The sun's too bright! BAAL: You're melting! GIRL: Make it go away! BAAL: Soft and loose and thin and white and sweet! GIRL) (As the tribe pulls the cords tight and begins closing in on her)No! Not again! I couldn’t stand it! Not again! PLEASE! BAAL) (To the tribe)Go ahead. We’re almost there. GIRL: TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! (A thump is heard, loud and hard. Silence. A girl gasping; a sharp intake of either pain or pleasure as the lights go out) (On the screen behind the disc we now see a very important film projection. First the screen is dark. Then in the distance something lights up, very far and small. The sound of a huge engine revving up. The spot of light begins coming closer, and the engine gets louder. It continues to grow. We gradually make out that it is two large headlights coming straight at us. Then we make out the outlines of a large luxury car. It’s facing us. We see the huge clear windshield soaring back. When it gets right up front, comes as far as it can, and looms huge and overwhelming on the screen, we hear twelve terrifyingly loud gun shots. The windshield shatters. And then a face, that of an old, white-haired lady takes up the whole screen. She is screaming, though we hear nothing but the shots. Both eyes have been shot, and she runs her hands wildly over her white hair, smearing it with red. Finally she collapses out of the screen. It is blank. Lights come up on the girl sitting on the edge of the disc.) GIRL) I aimed and shot twelve times. Just like you said. It was all just like you said … I didn’t cry afterward … Just like you said … I’m going to be all right … My mother was always very proud of her white hair … She used to let me touch it … That was the worst part … all that beautiful white hair … ruined, reddened like that … that was the worst part … but I’m going to be all right … just like you said … (Blackout) BAAL) Only one more step. And then you’re ready. GIRL) I don’t want any more dreams. I’m stuffed with dreams! There’s no more room! Can’t you understand that!? There’s no more room! BAAL) Listen to it … Listen to it beating. Listen to it beating down on the rocks. Listen to it beating down on the cold rocks! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT? GIRL) I don’t want to hear it! BAAL) It’s going to break out, very soon now! It’s going to break out! Listen to it! (We hear the sound of an ocean getting louder and more out of control, as if the record was turned from 16 rpm to 33 to 45 to 78 rpm) Listen to the revolution!!! GIRL) What revolution!? Tell me! Give me an answer! Give me something I can hold on to! Tell me! What Revolution!!!? BAAL) All of them!!! (Lights very bright,[TRIBE falls silent. Pause. BAAL lights up a joint.]) GIRL) (drained, resigned)No more room, just no more room. [Pause.] [The TRIBE has withdrawn from the disc now as has BAAL. The GIRL is suddenly all by herself in the middle of the stage. The TRIBE is hidden around the outside of the disc. When the GIRL starts talking, the TRIBE repeats her words in mocking whispers. The whispers grow louder as she panics.] GIRL: I don't want to be on this stage alone. I don't want to be on this stage alone. I don't want to be on this stage alone! Why don't they touch me. Why don't they touch me. Why don't they touch me! I DON'T WANT TO BE ON THIS STAGE ALONE! WHY DON'T THEY TOUCH ME! I DON'T WANT TO BE ON THIS STAGE ALONE! WHY DON'T THEY TOUCH ME! BAAL: [Still standing at a distance from her.] Quiet. It's only theater. It's nothing to be afraid of. Be still. I'll guide you. We're all watching. We're all listening. [The GIRL turns her head in despair.] BAAL: DON'T TURN AWAY! [She looks back at him.] Don't you ever turn away! [Pause.] GIRL: I can't do it. BAAL: Every single muscle is in revolt. Every single muscle wants to love you. There are no lies on my body. I want you to swell to my size. Swell to my size. SWELL TO MY SIZE! SWELL TO MY SIZE!! I want you to spread forever and swell to my size. GIRL: I don't want to be on this stage alone. Why don't they touch me? BAAL: They will. When you're ready. When you've learned to scream. GIRL: I have screamed! BAAL: No, not really! Only words, that's only part of it. We want something purer. GIRL: Why must I scream? BAAL: So they'll know you're here. So we'll all know you're here. So I'll know you're here. So I'll be sure. GIRL: I don't want to be on this stage alone. BAAL: It's all right, it's only theater, it's nothing to be afraid of. I'll guide you. And I'm really very beautiful. I look like I was made up on the phone by two fags. A hint of gun dust, tinged with hairspray. GIRL: I can't see anything else. BAAL: That's enough. That's enough. [The TRIBE begins making strange wind noises. BAAL goes off to a corner of the stage, as though looking down at the ocean.] BAAL) Step by step … all that’s left … we want to hear you scream. GIRL) I have screamed. BAAL) No, it’s got to be better than that. We want a perfect pure scream. Then you can join. GIRL) I’m much too tired to scream. BAAL) Then we’ll help you again. BAAL: Step by step. Lie down. Don't move. Don't move! ["She lies down facing up at him on the bottom of the disc, center stage, her head pointing up the disc, turned away from the audience... BAAL stands over her and very methodically flicks ashes in her eyes from a burning cigarette. She writhes and tries to cover her eyes."] (They grab her hands, hold them down. He continues to drop ashes. She twists, contorts in agony, but is unable to scream) BAAL: No! Don't cover them! Look at it...look at the tip. Look at it burn. Slim, slow, slider...Look at it. Look at it! Breathe...More! Breathe! Harder! GIRL: It's burning my eyelids off! BAAL: Good! Without eyelids you can't close your eyes. And if you can't close your eyes then you won't miss anything. GIRL: No more! NO MORE! [BAAL kneels down over the girl, still flicking his cigarette ash.] BAAL: Now. Beating down on the rocks! Beating down on the cold rocks. We're there! We're there! Breathe! Scream! Fly! Breathe, scream, fly! BREATHE, SCREAM, FLY! LET IT OUT NOW!! [BAAL stuffs the cigarette out in her eyes and slams his hand down next to her on the stage.] GIRL: STOP! [Pause. BAAL stands up.] BAAL: I already have stopped. [Pause.] Pain is the flashiest high. Insanity, of course, is the ultimate high. I'm still working on it. GIRL: I'm sorry. No. I can’t do it … Why must I scream!? BAAL) To prove it. To prove that you need us. GIRL) There’s nowhere else. BAAL and HISTORIAN) And this is the end point. You can’t go any further than here. And you just can’t go back. GIRL) I don’t want to go back. GIRL) That’s why we want the scream. To prove that. To prove that you belong here … on the edge. GIRL) Help me. BAAL: It's all over, don't rub them. GIRL: I'M SHAKING BAAL) Well, that’s something. (Machine-like, quick)Mattress of velvet. GIRL) (Playing the game like a reflex response)Mattress of velvet and a clear water candle … I won’t be able to go through with it. BAAL) Yeah. You will. (He bends down, puts her face against his chest)Breathe with me. Make it even. Make it rhyme. (From the tribe: Sounds of breathing, rhythmic, speeding up and slowing down smoothly) Can you hear it now? GIRL) YES! BAAL: Our breathing will rhyme. Don't stop it. GIRL: Don't let it stop. BAAL: And the fragrance of forests clings to my skin. GIRL: The smell of... BAAL: No, fragrance. GIRL: The fragrance of forests clings to your skin. BAAL: It's been missing from this country for too long, and we're going to bring it back. GIRL: The fragrance of forests clings to my skin. BAAL: Give me some. GIRL: Don't let it stop. BAAL: And finally, what I mean by revolution is that very moment when my prick becomes a political force. Now...finish it up. GIRL: The fragrance of forests clings to your skin. BAAL: Clings to my leather clothes wherever I go. Even to the whip hidden in my boots. GIRL: Even the whip. BAAL: Don't let it stop. GIRL: Our breathing will rhyme. BAAL) And your eyes are still empty holes. They’re still empty space. GIRL: Hurry! [TRIBES noises are now a distinct buzzing, which grows louder here.] BAAL: Slowly! GIRL: What is all of this for? What are we trying to do? BAAL) We’re filling a space. Bit by bit. That’s all. It’s all right. We’re filling a space. Spacccccccccccce … (He walks off) (The chorus takes up the sound of “spacccccce” like hissing air) GIRL) (realizing she’s alone)The ashes! BAAL) Leave them alone. GIRL) They’re still burning. BAAL) Dont touch them! I just wanted to teach you. Never protect your eyes. Let everything in. Let it all come through … (Cymbal crash. Blackout) HISTORIAN) The Liberation through Pain! Love Song! (During the singing of this song, by Baal and another tribe member, the tribe enacts “pain-dances”, stylized representations of all forms of agony. Their appearance is like those seized by convulsions and controlled by horror. The girl is surrounded by them and tries to reach out to comfort them. Each time she touches one, his pain is intensified. The pain spreads to her. She tries to escape. They hurl her from one to the other. At the climax she is thrown into the air, and caught at the last minute, with the tribe clutching every part of her body, like many knives … After the song, she stands in the center, and the whole tribe, starting with a low humming sound, builds up almost into a monstrous howl. Just as the howl is about to break, the girl gives off a powerful scream that racks her body. It should be amplified, and then echoed on and on. Then it is still) Lyrics for the Love Song Walking down by the riverside I can hear those wild dogs barking And I know that it’s cold outside And I just can’t keep from walking You’ve got to come to me now Let your hair hang heavy and low You’ve got to come to me now Cause you don’t have anywhere left to go! Walking down by the riverside I can hear those vultures calling And I know that it’s cold outside And I just can’t keep from falling You’ve got to come to me now Let the night hang heavy and low You’ve got to come to me now Cause you don’t have anywhere left to go! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! Until the day that you go blind … And I can’t feel your body Tell me does it flow anymore And can I go with the hungry tide Where have the mountains gone to? Why is the sky so low? Is anything left on the other side? I can’t touch my legs now My eyes are frozen still And I can’t tell if I’m still alive I don’t need your nightmares I don’t need your smiles And I don’t have to hear your song You’ve got to fly in the morning You’ve got to fly at night Cause I’ve been waiting so damn long! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! You’ve got to love me with the sun in your eyes! Until the day that you go blind … Until the day we both go blind … You can be free from questions why! You can be free from questions why! But you’re gonna have to die and die You’re gonna have to die again and again Until you learn how to live And we’re gonna take from you until you learn how to give … (Now the scream is performed … Afterwards, Baal walks over to the center of the disc, directly behind the girl. He slams his hands down on her shoulders.) BAAL) On a hot summer night — would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? GIRL) Will he offer me his mouth? BAAL) Yes. GIRL) Will he offer me his teeth? BAAL) Yes. GIRL) Will he offer me his jaws? BAAL) Yes. GIRL) Will he offer me his hunger? BAAL) Yes. GIRL) Again! Will he offer me his hunger? BAAL) Yes! GIRL) Yes. BAAL) On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? GIRL) Yes. BAAL) You’re ready. HISTORIAN) The Liberation through Pleasure! (The last stage of the girl’s initiation is now undertaken. It is a form of stylized “orgy” wherein the girl is “sucked into” the pleasures of the tribe … ) (What is most important about this segment is that, in contrast to the “heat” of the “Liberation through Pain”, this ritual is cool, icy, strangely muted though extremely sensual. The tribe is almost like children rediscovering their bodies. The tone is very narcissistic and yet very innocent. The main theme of the music is set to “Ride a Cock Horse”, the nursery rhyme which starts off very prettily, then becomes darker and sinister, and builds finally to hard rock and strong solos on electric violin, electric cello, and harpsichord. The song is sung by a black girl at the center stage top of the disc and by Baal down stage left. The girl sings the verses. Baal sings the chorus.) Lyrics for “Ride a Cock Horse” And the time for your prayers will be done When the god and the body become one! And the light will come! Pretty boy in the city, staring out at the sea And your dreams are wild, and your eyes can’t believe what you see In the city, In the circus in the streets By the snipers at your feet Come over here, I’m gonna give you something sweet! Find yourself a new god! Pretty boy with the needles that wash out your veins With chemical blood And you drown in the flood that you made In your body and it’s almost the end Now can you think back to when you could still find peace at home! Find yourself a new god! Pretty boy with the power that shines on the bike The leather and spike, and the thunder you bring to the sky Pretty bike boy, The call of the road, And how far can you go And your head is opened wide! Find yourself a new god! And you sing once again that innocent song The childhood rhyme that you’ve known so long And your pain … Ain’t it almost gone!? Come along and Ride a cock horse To Bamberry Cross To see a fine lady upon a white horse … (Repeat this “Cock Horse” chorus alternating with solos to the end of the song) (All the following Max and Emily scenes merge together and slip from one to the other smoothly as if in a dream. In between the individual segments, Max and Emily perform their “dances of power” to the hard music of interludes, while changing costumes onstage for the next segment. They always enter in huge (over 8 feet) plaster of paris puppet figures, monstrous symbols of their roles. For instance, as the cop, Max enters in a “giant puppet” figure, exaggerating a sort of robot-policeman, armored, with a gas mask for a face and headlights for eyes. These puppets are made so that the actor can actually step out from them, become himself again, and the puppet figure is still left standing on the stage like a statue. All the Max and Emily scenes have the black-humor quality of a bad dream) HISTORIAN) Max and Emily re-enter the scene! Baal is confronted by the forces of power! We enter the nightmare of a 19 year old boy! First, Max becomes the Chief of Police! He has come in the name of — Force! Phase Four: The Interrogation! (The chorus crawls about almost as animals, making strange sounds, as if speaking a new language … Max comes forth as the giant policeman … He slashes at the bodies with a confetti-streamer, used as a whip. He wipes the sweat from his face with an American flag handkerchief) MAX: All right, where is he? Give him to me! It won't do any of you any good. I'm going to find him sooner or later ...sooner or later! I don't have time to waste here. My cereal's boiling, my uniform needs pressing, and my bath is waiting. You understand that, animals!? Ha? MY BATH IS WAITING! My bath is calling me home. We have order to our lives. We have to live within boundaries. Complete freedom is destructive. Total license is sick. TRIBE MEMBERS:[Howls] MAX: You can't escape me Baal. Sooner or later I'm here and sooner or later I'm all that's left. I always win in the end, Baal, I thought we understood that from the beginning, hmm? No? There must be an interrogation. There must be questions, there must be answers. There must be QUIET! [Blows a toy whistle.] There must be limits, there must be boundaries. There must be law, there must be order. And I must have Baal. BAAL: (“rising up” from the bodies) You can have me Max. You can have me. HISTORIAN: THE INTERROGATION! (Cymbal crash. With a single harsh white light on them, Baal and Max begin their “Interrogation” … very fast … like rifle shots) [BAAL and MAX sit at a table. MAX often stands and walks around. He conducts himself as a policeman. BAAL faces the audience, sometimes leans back in his chair, looks at MAX only occasionally.] MAX:[Begins strongly, becomes weaker as Baal ignores him.] Baal. Answer me! Confess! Baal. Answer me. Confess! Listen to me! Remember me! Look at me Baal! Think of me Baal, think of me. Confess! Remember me, Baal! Remember me? Taste me. Smell me. Hold me, Baal. Don't, don't hurt me, Baal, don't hurt me Baal. You won't hurt me, will you Baal? You won't hurt me? MAX) Confess! Confess! Confess! [Rapid fire dialogue begins.] BAAL: I can't hear you, Max. MAX: Baal! BAAL: I can't see you, Max. MAX: Answer me! BAAL: I can't reach you, Max. MAX: Confess! BAAL: I can't taste you, Max. MAX: Baal! BAAL: I can't feel you, Max. MAX: Answer me. BAAL: I can't smell you, Max. MAX: Confess! BAAL: I can't remember you. MAX: Listen to me! BAAL: I can't touch you. MAX: Remember me. BAAL: I can't smell you. MAX: Look at me, Baal. BAAL: I can't hear you. MAX: Think of me, Baal! THINK OF ME! BAAL: I can't remember you. MAX: Confess! BAAL: I can't reach you. MAX: Remember me, Baal. REMEMBER ME! BAAL: I can't feel you. MAX: Taste me. BAAL: I can't smell you, Max. MAX: Smell me. BAAL: I can't see you. MAX: Hold me. BAAL: I can't touch you. MAX: Don't hurt me, Baal. BAAL: I don't need you, Max. MAX: Don't hurt me, Baal. BAAL: I don't need you, Max. MAX: Don't hurt me, Baal. BAAL: I don't need you, Max. MAX: Don't hurt me, Baal. BAAL: I DON'T NEED YOU, MAX! [Rapid-fire dialogue ends.] MAX: You won't hurt me? BAAL) Only if you ask. Only if you ask — nicely. MAX) (seeming confident)Well! I’m glad that you’ve decided to co-operate … It’s been a fine interrogation. (strong again) Let me hear you, Baal. MAX: Let me hear you Baal. BAAL: Think of me, Max. MAX: Let me taste you. BAAL: Remember me, Max? MAX: Let me smell you. BAAL: Taste me. MAX: Let me hold you. BAAL: Smell me. MAX: Let me reach you. BAAL: Farther! MAX: Let me see you. BAAL: Darker! MAX: Let me hurt you. BAAL: More! MAX: Let me answer you. (interrupting Max’s reverie)Answer me! MAX) What!? BAAL) Answer me! MAX: No, enough. BAAL: Answer me. MAX: No, please. BAAL: Answer me. MAX: No, no, there's nothing... BAAL: Answer me, Max. MAX: There's nothing... BAAL: There are no lies on my body, answer me. MAX: Boundaries, limits... BAAL: Confess! MAX: I can't remember! BAAL: Confess! MAX: Boundaries, Baal... BAAL: Confess! MAX: ...boundaries! BAAL: Confess! MAX: We agreed! BAAL: There's always more, Max right behind you: SHRIEKS! MAX: STOP! [End of rapid fire dialogue.] BAAL: Silent shrieks...dripping from every single body. Listen to them Max. They've heard you. You've seen them. Silent shrieks dripping from every single body, silent shrieks. MAX: QUIET! BAAL: You can't hurt me, Max. MAX: Why? BAAL: You can't hurt me. MAX: Why!? WHY? Why? Confess! Why? Stop! Why? Confess! I can't taste you. I can't answer you. STOP! I can't feel you. STOP! I can't hurt you. STOP! I can't remember you. STOP! BAAL: I can't stop. MAX: Why? BAAL: Because I'm too young to stop. MAX: Remember me, Baal? Remember me? BAAL: I'm sorry, no. MAX: Why? BAAL: Because you're too old to remember. MAX: Then touch me, Baal, just once. Touch me. BAAL: I never touch what I don't want to remember. MAX: You're very young, aren't you? Nineteen? Nineteen... We're getting nowhere. You're going to have to cooperate sooner or later. [Assumes a German accent.] Ve have vays of making people talk.[End of accent.] Now where were you last night? BAAL: I was here. MAX: Where were you last night? BAAL: Here! MAX: And the night before? BAAL: Here! MAX: Before? BAAL: Here! MAX: Before? BAAL: Here! MAX: Where were you before you were here? BAAL: Before I was here, I was on my way over here. I was either here or on my way over here. It's only here that matters now. MAX: So, you would have us believe that you were always here or on your way over here. BAAL: Yes, that's all. MAX: Just where do you think you are now? BAAL: Here. MAX: Where is here? BAAL: Right here on the edge! MAX: Well just what are you doing here on the edge? BAAL: Balancing myself. MAX: Just answer the questions! [Pause.] How long are your legs? BAAL: They're hard. MAX: How long are your legs without your clothes on? BAAL: Five inches. MAX: Is that all? BAAL: Eight when erect. MAX: Are your arms very white? BAAL: In the sun they're gold. MAX: And at night? BAAL: Silver. MAX: How long are the legs of all your friends laid end to end? BAAL: Silver. MAX: Are they hard or soft? BAAL: Silver. MAX: Why is your hair so long!?- BAAL) (fast)I don’t cut it. [Pause.] MAX) (not hearing him)It disgusts me. (almost seductive) [Baal is silent. Max stands beside Baal's chair and begins touching his hair.] Is it soft? Does it glow in the dark? Does it curl at the nape of your neck? If I touched your thigh with an ice pick, would you blink? BAAL) I might. MAX) You’re very young, aren’t you? BAAL) About — MAX) — 19 … (sad)19 … I’m rather old, don’t you think? BAAL) Yes, Max … What does it taste like? MAX) I don’t know … I can’t remember. BAAL) Then you’re very old. Then you’re past the limits. MAX) But there are no limits … you promised that … BAAL) Is this the end, Max? Is this when you win!? MAX) There are no limits! BAAL) Is this when you win!? MAX) (trembling)Your hair is long and dirty, you have no sense of morality, your body is distasteful, exposed and caked with earth, you’ve forgotten how to wash, violence means nothing to you, you’re a sick dangerous outlaw, an offense to the society we all know and love as our own, a danger, a threat to the ideals we fought for, the principles we stood for, the life we hoped for our children a nd the hopes we lived for our fathers! You disgust me!!! BAAL) (soft)I know 36 positions. MAX) (raising his hands in anguish)Why am I so pale!? BAAL) Your face is like chalk. MAX) It must be the moon. BAAL) 82 positions if three are involved. MAX) (sadly)There are no limits at all? BAAL) And I’m only 19. MAX) Give or take a little? BAAL) Just a little. MAX) Just a little? BAAL) You can have more later, but just a little for now … You can have more later. [Emily appears as a Policewoman. She draws near to Max.] MAX) No! Emily! It is unfortunate but we must resort to cruder methods … (Emily strides in, as a grotesque policewoman, carrying a large bag. She pulls out a gun and throws it to Max.) MAX) Emily! Release the gas! (She fumbles in her bag) MAX) (impatient)Emily! Release the gas! Now! Emily! The gas! Now! You fool! (Emily pulls things from her bag frantically … Finally, desperately she brings out a red spray can … She starts spraying the tribe in the eyes, almost a robot gone berserk) EMILY) There! Begone! Cry your tears now in the clouds of gas! Begone! Freaks! Infants! There! Begone! Submit! Submit! Begone! Submit! — MAX) (interrupting her)Emily — EMILY) Yes — MAX) That’s not the Mace. EMILY) It isn’t? MAX) That’s your feminine hygiene deodorant spray. The Mace is in the blue container. EMILY) Oh, dear … (She puts the can away)(To the tribe) Let that be a lesson to you! … (As she leaves) You don’t have to understand the law to obey it … MAX) (Takes the gun out, begins shooting at the tribe. A searing burst of feedback is heard … Tympani) Confess or die! One-two-three! (The lights go out and on the back screen a large projection of an American flag is seen. It provides the only light for the ending of the scene. During the “Confession”, the colors of the flag change in sickly patterns. The stars become blue green purple pink, the stripes black, orange, green, yellow, etc. Constantly shifting colors to the end) (The chorus begins the “Confession” which is a recitation of the “Pledge of Allegiance” spoken in a sepulchral, gasping, hollow, slow tone of voice. ) TRIBE: I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands... (When they reach the middle, they seem to become frozen. No words come from their throats. Their bodies become like stiff rods … ) MAX) (afraid)Don’t stop there … Are you all right? You were almost done! We were almost home free! Finish the confession! Don’t stop there! (Suddenly the flag projection “catches fire”) [Members of the TRIBE begin getting sick on stage. Pantomime vomiting, gurgle horrible noises. Then they transform their noises into raucous laughter. Lights suddenly go off. The stage is very dark. TRIBE makes sounds of the wind.] MAX: Baal, where are you? Where's the flag, Baal? Where's the light? BAAL: Is it the moon, Max? Is it the moon? MAX: Give me my bath. Give me my flag. BAAL: It's dark forever, Max. It's over and gone. MAX: I can't see, help me. BAAL: Listen to me Max, the flag is extinguished, the flag has blown a fuse. MAX: No. BAAL: You've gone blind and this is only the beginning. MAX: We agreed. BAAL: We're all you have now, Max. We're your only chance. Look at us! Do we glow in the dark, Max, THIS IS OUR LAND YOU'RE STANDING ON. Do we glow in the dark, Max?! MAX) Don’t leave! I can’t find my way. BAAL) Follow your gun. MAX) Don’t leave! BAAL: There's no light for you now, Max, there's no room for you, Max, I'm only nineteen and you've gone past the limits - do you understand that? You've gone past the limits and I'm right behind you. MAX: What have I done. Where is the sun, Baal? BAAL: It's down, Max, it's down. MAX: Baal, let me in. Let me in, Baal! BAAL: LET ME OUT! [The TRIBE's wind noises have gathered into the sound of heavy breathing. They now all are breathing together, like a single being, breathing in a sensual sleep. MAX stands right next to BAAL, leans over him.] (Sounds of agitated breathing from the chorus stops here. It is dead quiet) MAX) (Gently, leaning over Baal)Baal … If I touch my lips to your shoulder, is it my mouth or your shoulder that is giving the kiss? And is it my mouth or your shoulder that is receiving it? BAAL) Does it matter? MAX) Yes, it matters. Help me, I need answers. BAAL) Even for that, Max? … Then you’re older than I thought … MAX) Does it matter? BAAL) Yes, Max, yes it matters. Yes, Max, yes. Yessssssssss … (Sounds fade away) (In the hazy light, Max kisses Baal on the shoulder, then rises. Emily comes and leads him away slowly) MAX) It was a perfect interrogation, Emily … We got just what we wanted … We’re winning now … only a matter of time … This definitely proves it … Definite homosexual tendencies … frightened, trapped … underneath it all, nothing but a weak child … only a weak child … EMILY) And only 19 … MAX) Very sad … EMILY) 19 … MAX) Very sad … EMILY) Max, why are you so pale? (They leave. Lights out totally) (The swirling “Interlude Music” begins again … During their “dance” Max and Emily become the “parents”, a frail little old man and a sweet-looking old lady. Both sit peacefully in their wheel chairs … Baal stands at far stage left, staring straight ahead … During Max’s “Viet Cong” speech, he wheels his wheel chair slowly around the disc till he finally reaches Baal … Meanwhile, Emily sits in the center of the disc … She has a little tray attached to her wheelchair with various personal “treasures” on it … She is reading her Bible … During Max’s speech, strange black-pajamawearing figures rush back and forth along the stage … As they go past Emily, every now and then they take something from her and she responds in horror; First, they get her photo album, then her toothbrush, then her wedding ring, tea pot, silverware, then her wig, then her skirt, then her shoes, then her teeth. She is left bald and almost unable to speak … “They got my teeth! They’ve got my Bible! Help! My beautiful silverware … Give me my hair! No! Not my wedding ring!” etc. interspersed throughout the scene for best comic effect … Toward the end, one of the black-pajama figures with a “coolie” hat “mounts” Emily on her wheelchair and begins obscenely “humping” her while she wildly whirls the wheelchair in circles about the disc … ) HISTORIAN) Max and Emily try a different approach. Gentle persuasion and familial love! They become Baal’s aging parents! Phase Five: The Family Reunion! (Max begins his speech. This is accompanied by soft, bittersweet music) MAX) Baal, listen to your father … It’s dark back at the house, it’s almost winter there, and the Viet Cong are back in the yard … I tried to get rid of them last week once and for all, but it did no good. This is the tenth year in a row … There is no doubt … They plan to destroy your mother and me and ruin our precious home … your home, Baal … I called the police, but they were powerless against them. I’ve tried praying, to nobody in particular, just scattered shots here and there, but we’ve had no response. We even had the garden sprayed, but it just got cloudy. It’s always the same … Those hideous yellow faces smirking through the trees! I threw a rake at them, and they had the nerve to laugh! They watched us through the windows, they listen at the bedroom doors, they know what’s going on in the bathrooms, they can tell what we keep in the closet! I can’t stand it anymore … You’ve got to come back and help us. You’ve got to protect your father and preserve your mother. You’re our one hope. We’re getting old now, much faster than we planned, much faster … You won’t have to stay forever. Just a while. Just until we die, maybe. That won’t be long, I promise you. Just until then, son? That’s not asking very much, is it, Baal? That’s not asking very much! It’s dark back at the house, it’s almost winter there, and the Viet Cong are back in the yard … Help us … BAAL) I’m not moving. MAX) (furious, gets right up out of his wheelchair)Shit! EMILY) (As Max pulls her off)I told you it wouldn’t work. MAX) Shut up! (Black-out) (Again, the interlude music breaks forth, and Max and Emily launch into another grandiose dance. This time Max emerges as a military officer and Emily like some sort of Theda Bara apparition gone berserk. She’s in white silk with a purple hat and her face is pure chalk white with black make-up around the eyes and blood-red lips … All of a sudden the lights come up on her standing next to Baal, who is kneeling in the center of the disc … She holds a large bag again, and begins by making faintly obscene clucking, licking, sucking and gurgling noises — her attempt to be seductive that comes out absurdly comic) HISTORIAN) Baal is visited by an older woman! Emily becomes the Local Selective Service Board #6! She comes with business to attend to, a matter of life and death! Friendlier methods have failed! More devious tactics are tried! Phase Six: The Induction! EMILY) (abruptly)Do you consider me old? BAAL) Now? I don’t consider you at all. EMILY) Oh, but you will. BAAL) Maybe. EMILY) I need a drink. No doubt about that. (Takes out a glass from her bag, throws it away; then takes out a bottle, sticks her finger into its neck, pulls it out, then licks her finger) Cheers! (Offers Baal her finger)Take some. You’ll need it … (She pours the rest of the bottle away in her bag) Whiskey doesn’t interest me anymore. I have no further need of whiskey! (Heaves a sigh of relief) My arms are still good. Look. They’re smooth. You can see that. Anyone can see that. BAAL) All America can see that. EMILY) I’ve always felt that youth is more a state of mind than a — a — BAAL) Youth is a seizure. I’m foaming at the mouth. EMILY) Old wives’ tale. Nothing more. Forget it! (Caressing her arms)Look at them. They’re firm, but pliant — BAAL) Tart but delicate. Light but not too light — EMILY) Would you like your zipper polished? It must be a lovely zipper. Is it bright and shiny? BAAL) It’s rusty. It gets wet. EMILY) Ah, it’s cold. BAAL) Well, it takes time to really get to know it — EMILY) (starting to pull the zipper down)Whatever goes up must come down — BAAL) (slaps her hand)No! Don’t help a good boy go bad! Lock your car! EMILY) Don’t mock me! Max! (Max enters, grabs Baal, twists his arm behind his back, kicks him in the stomach and the groin and forces him down on the floor, facing the sky. He stands by him for the rest of the scene with a bayonet fixed on him)Now, we can get down to business. I’ve brought some interesting news … BAAL) I expected this. EMILY) (Forgetting business again)You know I’ve never lost my shape. BAAL) (sneering)Yes, you’re very clean. EMILY) But it can be easily changed. (She takes clumps of earth from her bag, rubs the filth on her face)I like earthy women, too … and I want you to feel right at home for this. BAAL) Is my hair dry? EMILY) Perfectly dry. BAAL) Change it! I want it wet! EMILY) I was just coming to that … (She takes a large orange from her bag)I’m never without them … BAAL) Bite it! EMILY) (not hearing what he has said)I’m going to bite it! BAAL) Good idea. EMILY) And don’t you wish you had thought of it? … (Laughs throatily, bites the orange)It’s going to burst! There! Just look at it drip! (She stands above him, her legs pinning down his arms) (She starts squeezing the orange over his face … a huge quantity of liquid pours out all over him) EMILY) I’m in the prime of my life! I have nothing to lose, no time to waste, the world at my fingertips! (She turns to one side, as if asking someone a question)How do you like it? (She turns to the other side, as if answering someone’s question) It’s wonderful. Very satisfying. BAAL) The perfect afternoon pick-me-up. EMILY) I feel so refreshed. Look at my face. Look! They’re dying, one by one! Wrinkle by wrinkle! They’re all dying! A sweeping total destruction! My skin is tightening, my wrinkles are falling away, my eyes are stepping out on the town! (Her skin seems to tighten and tighten, finally in a hideous skull-like grin)(Feels Baal’s forehead) He’s hot. No, he’s freezing cold. Like touching an iceberg. No — BAAL) Like being next to the sun — EMILY) (Transfixed. She continues to squeeze orange after orange through to the end of the scene. While she speaks, Baal reaches up and runs his hands along her leg)O brilliant full light! Shine on forever! Give me an hour and my face is reborn! Like a sudden miracle and the left-over years are lost in a vision! The wrinkles are gone! (angrily confronting the audience) And there’s nothing wrong with that, is there!? Having your wrinkles disappear!? There’s nothing wrong with that, is there!? HOW DARE YOU!!! There’s nothing wrong with killing wrinkles, alien wrinkles, here and now in this land, in America, in this beautiful country and it is beautiful. Filled to the brim with magnificent specimens like Baal, filled with promise, just waiting for the rest of us to make use of them, to make use of all this youth, to make it ours! It belongs to us! It belongs to me! You belong to me! And we’re all still young! We can bathe in the sweet sweet juice of our fine precious youth! (Makes a funny face at her little rhyme) (Grabbing Baal) Give him to me!!! His time has come! The wrinkles are captured and tortured and finally exterminated for good! The wrinkles are dead! The battle is won! The war will soon be over! Big money! Cheeseburgers! Quality products! Cheeseburgers! High profit margins and cheeseburgers! Fringe benefits, unlimited prospects, a thrilling young army that’s constantly wounded! Rifles and tanks and Cinerama attacks! Plush carpeting! Skim milk skin that never curdles! Wall to wall luxury! Rockets red glare! More and more more cheeseburgers! The latest in comfort! The glitter of chrome on every coffin! Purple mountain majesties! Our flag is still there! Yes! Yes! It’s all waiting for you, Baal! It’s all waiting for all of us! A feast of riches! The last supper is back! Eat my child eat! Enjoy! Enjoy! The breakfast of champions awaits you in Asia! Fill your mouth with star spangled turds! Enjoy! Enjoy! Eat drink and be merry for tomorrow your deferment is ended!!! (She smiles, pauses, looks at him) Poor little boy-chik. I’m sorry, but we do get hungry; You see, you’re quite young and poor, and we’re quite aged and rich … The result is simple: Your life is our cosmetic … We’ve got to keep growing, we’ve got to keep finding new things to eat. You understand, don’t you, Baal? You’ve been re-classified 1-A. That’s my little surprise. We order you to report for induction in one day. Just to make sure, Dr. Rosenbloom will be here tomorrow to give you a preliminary physical. Now — wasn’t this more interesting than an impersonal note in the mail? I hope you’re not resentful. We were just worried that you were getting a bit out of control, moving out of our grasp. We have a big stake in your young life, Baal, and — we simply decided to drive that stake home. To your heart. Where your love is. Poor little boy-chik. (She squeezes the last orange on him) Don’t you have anything left to say? BAAL) Yeah. Save the pits. I’m hungry too … Save the pits! (Throwing the peels down) EMILY) (With overwhelming contempt)You slimy, pathetic little man … I’m finished with you … I’m done … Black-out! (And, following her orders, it does indeed black-out) HISTORIAN: Baal sings the INSPIRATIONAL HYMN, THE GOD GAME, or 'You, too, can walk on water." INSPIRATIONAL HYMN: GOD GAME BAAL: In the morning, in the morning Will there still be the some time just to soak up the light? In the morning, in the morning Will there still be the chance just for one more fight? We can't wait till the morning Cause we're sinking fast into a piece of the night. In the morning, in the morning Will they say they're all sorry and take us back home? In the morning, in the morning Will they put out their hands and give us a bone Well we can't wait till the morning Cause by then our bodies will have turned into stone. And I can hear the sun And all the planets just calling me home And I can hear the sun I can hear the planets just calling me home We have no need of a God Cause each of us is his own. In the morning, in the morning, Will you kiss all those snipers, don't their guns all look fine? In the morning, in the morning Will you kick out the pigs, and give us a sign? We can't wait till the morning Cause we're too busy drinking, turning blood into wine. In the morning, in the morning Will there still be the chance just for one more fight? In the morning, in the morning Will there still be the chance just to soak up the light? For we can't wait till the morning Cause we're sinking fast into a piece of the night. And I can walk on the river, I'll stand on the waves and I'll rise all alone. And I can walk on the river, I'll stand on the waves and I'll rise all alone. We have no need of a God, For each of us is his own. We have no need of a God, For each of us is his own. HISTORIAN) Night falls! People dream! MAX) (standing with Emily in a blue light in the back)Are you awake? EMILY) I don’t like it out here. It’s unnatural. MAX) Yes, but at least we have our memories. EMILY) I wish we were back in the city, our city. MAX) We will be … very soon … we’re almost done … almost done … (Lights out on Max and Emily … up on Baal and a tribe member in the back) BOY) (He screams in terror)I thought I heard it! BAAL) Be quiet! BOY) I thought I heard the city! BAAL) There’s nothing there. BOY) It’ll never leave me alone! It’ll never leave me in peace! (Lights down on them … ) HISTORIAN) A night for reminiscing! We hear the “City Song”, an ode to a distant homeland! (First verse sung by Tribe … Second by Max and Emily) Lyrics City night. And all the children in their cages sleeping tight. City night. While the inmates are making love by the T.V. light. City night. All the shadows roam the streets looking for fights. So — Give yourself to the rising wind! The gradual execution will now begin! And there’s nothing to lose if there’s nothing left to win! And who knows where America ends and the House of Detention begins? Who knows where America ends and a real new world begins? Bring the bodies in! Let the bodies kiss, let the bodies crawl, let the bodies cry! Bring the bodies in! Let the bodies puke, let the bodies pray, let the bodies die! And give yourself to the rising wind! The gradual execution will now begin! And there’s nothing to lose if there’s nothing left to win! Who knows where America ends and the House of Detention begins! Bring the bodies in! (Lights out) HISTORIAN) The final Scene of the First Act! Force and Persuasion have failed to drive Baal back to the city! Max tries a final tactic! The manipulation of the Mind! He will push Baal into a corner, challenge him to enter the city of his own free Will! Ladies and gentlemen, we meet Dr. Rosenbloom! We have heard his name before! He is a noted psychiatrist! He has come in the name of — reason! Phase Seven: The Analysis! (Max walks to the front of stage right. He speaks to the audience. He’s in a tweedy suit, with a pipe. Speaks smoothly, self-confidently, and with a hint of unctuousness and condescension.) MAX) I find, ladies and gentlemen, that these kids are really fascinating people to meet and mingle with. I like freaks. No, let me change that. I dig freaks. I think these young folk truly do want to build a better world for all, in their own peculiarly charming, naive, idealistic way. I find contact with their fresh new minds bracing, invigorating. After all, we can recognize this phase of growing up. We’ve seen it, we were kids once, weren’t we? And though the hair may have gotten longer in the interim, underneath it all, boys and girls growing up have always been pretty much the same, haven’t they? And I have a fairly strong feeling inside that they’ll continue to be. There’s nothing here that we can’t manage. Let’s try to communicate. That’s the beginning. That’s where it all starts. And I’ve never had any trouble in the least in that area. After all, we have ways of making people communicate, don’t we? MAX) (going over to Baal)It’s nothing, Baal. Nothing at all … All we want, all any of us want, all I want is a little piece of mind. BAAL) Whose mind? MAX) Yours, Baal … Just a little piece. BAAL) Which piece? MAX) Only the piece that threatens us. BAAL) Is that all? MAX) You see, Baal, I find that you’re quite unable to cope with human beings on a mature, civilized level. As an example, your relationship with young girls such as the one we saw a little bit earlier, in that “Initiation” scene … You couldn’t get through to her on a personal basis, so you protected yourself behind sadistic games and rituals, systems whose rules envelop you like a womb. You built a barrier between you so you wouldn’t have to make real contact with the girl as a person equal to yourself. You were afraid! All very common. We could deal with it easily in treatment. BAAL) I’m sure you could. MAX) We first have to get you to redefine your distorted outlook about people. To begin with, a girl is a young woman, Baal, and a woman is more than a piece of merchandise to be bought or sold, more than a stanza in a poem to be studied and collected, more than a prop in a narcissistic ceremonies. (radiant)What is a woman, you ask? Ah, well, I’m glad you asked that. A woman is a proud, passionate, boiling river about to burst its banks — BAAL) What time do the banks open? MAX) (harsh)We danced to Guy Lombardo after the last war and we’ll dance to Guy Lombardo after the next war. It’s what eternally separates men from the animals … You can’t withdraw from reality. Sooner or later you have to succumb to it … Sooner or later you have to negotiate with it … Work out some sort of peaceful settlement … BAAL) (With head low, as if in confessional. The Historian says these lines with him)For hundreds of years, they’ve been butchering up my reality, chopping it up into sick bloody pieces. Amputating and amputating and amputating until there’s almost nothing left of it but the infection. Until you can barely hear yourself breathe above the noise of the infection! Until you can barely hear yourself breathe! Reality’s in agony, Doctor. Listen to it! Reality’s in agony and it’s about time it stopped. It’s about time we put reality out of its misery. And there are only a few of us left with the grace to try euthanasia. (A long pause) BAAL) (vicious)Show me your numbers. MAX) (suddenly he has a German-Jewish accent and seems much older)I could buy you! BAAL) Show me your numbers! Show me your numbers! MAX) (Rolling up his sleeve)All right! Look! There, a feast for the eyes. “1-5-7-3-8-9-6.” My precious souvenir. Auschwitz for four years. So don’t you talk to me about your suffering or your mercy. There is more to that subject than the whinings of a self-indulgent adolescent! There is more to that subject than the endless droolings of a spoiled onanist! There is more to both suffering and mercy than your flamboyant trivial fantasies! There is more. There is also a truth. My truth! Here! “1-5-7-3-8-9-6.” A feast for the eyes! Here! It’s yours. My pleasure. Look! “1-5-7-3-8-9-6!” BAAL) Bingo. MAX) My precious souvenir … I despise you. BAAL) That’s the way it’s supposed to be. MAX) I have only scorn for your pain. BAAL) And my pleasure? MAX) A fraud, a pose. You won’t know pleasure till you really feel pain. BAAL) Is that an offer? MAX) I’d like, just once, to see your pain close up! So close I could grab it! Squeeze it dry of all its puny flimsy grandeur! I’d like to give you just one fraction of the pain I was given! BAAL) Do you want to send all your children to camp? MAX) It might do you some good. Teach you what life’s all about. BAAL) I have nothing to prove to you. MAX) You have everything in the world to prove. Everything! I’ve built a life of civilization, intellectual rigorousness, and peaceful order out of starvation, barbarism, anarchy and hatred. I’ve earned everything I have! The city belongs to me! I am the city, and I’m proud of it! Once I was trapped like an animal, but now I own the trap like a man! A great man! I am not going to relinquish my humanity to the mindless hallucinations of some pseudo-savage in search of the perfect orgasm. I’ve come too far for that — And I could buy you! BAAL) Fuck you. MAX) My race, which has survived apocalypse after apocalypse, spits on your pimply catharsis! And spits on you! BAAL) Fuck the Jews! MAX) I was in a concentration camp for four rancid years! BAAL) You seem very proud of that fact! MAX) I survived!! BAAL) Why!!? MAX) I survived. BAAL) All of you? Or maybe just a piece … Maybe just the piece that threatens us … MAX) I have a right to control you, a right to own you! This is my right! This is my proof! (referring to his “numbers”) This is all the proof I need! Be a victim for once in your life and then you can talk to me about revolution! BAAL) I am a victim! MAX) Prove it! BAAL) I have nothing to prove to you! MAX) Show me your scars! BAAL) Some scars aren’t visible! MAX) You’re not even black. BAAL) Give us time! MAX) Show me your scars! BAAL) Some marks aren’t that easy to find! MAX) Find them! BAAL) (falling)I have nothing to prove to you! MAX) Oh, but you know that you do, you effete little puppet! You turn your back on all the traditional values, all the traditional heroes, you spit on heroism, you say “NO!” but there are no heroes! Easy to say! No heroes! All right, I’ll go along! There are no heroes! We have obliterated them all! The world is devoid of heroes! So what do we have!? Mindless figures of everyday clay, people formed of nothingness! Are you one of those, little boy? Are you one of those!? No, of course not! You have stature, you want to be a god of sorts! A god, of all things! But if, indeed, you cannot reach divinity by heroism, which is extinct, what is left, little boy, but suffering!? Martyrdom!? In today’s world, then, if you are not a hero, you can become god-like by being a victim, the greatest victim, the richest pain-monger! Is that you, little-boy!? Are you the greatest victim!? Well, then where is your evidence!? Mine is here, burned on my arm! I have my proof! I am a victim of blackness! I am heroic! I am god-like! But what about you!? What do you have that sets you above the everyday clay!? Show me your numbers! Show me your numbers! BAAL) All right! All right! MAX) Go ahead, squirm. Squirm! BAAL) You’ve shown us your numbers. Now we’ll show you ours. By the time this night is over, we’ll be glad to compare scars … Tonight we’ll return to the city … MAX) (smiling)Really … what a surprise … BAAL) We’ll pick up thousands on the way; the holy invasion! Tomorrow we’ll return to — (smiles)the land of our birth. MAX) (with savor)You’ll be destroyed. BAAL) Yeah … And then who’ll have the greatest scars? Then who will have won? (Smiles at Max, who smiles back … )Max, when was the last time you really listened to the voices of your beloved city … Think back to it … You might want to join us … We’re going back to camp, Max, and nothing can keep us from swelling! HISTORIAN:Presenting THE VOICES OF CIVILIZATION! ["MAX goes to his chair in the center of the disc. The TRIBE lines up along the rim of the disc. Lights present them with large shadows as vague black outlines, giving them an awesome large stature. They begin to "declaim" personal ads from underground newspapers. These should begin cool, unemotional, gradually building in intensity, until the last few ads are read with feverish desperation. After each one finishes his ad, he repeats the telephone number over and over like a chant. Above all of this, at regular intervals, MAX holds up his wrist and yells out his Auschwitz numbers above everyone ...I'm just giving examples of typical ads here to begin with. Much should be done with improvisation."] TRIBE MEMBER:Young muscular male will pose in the nude. Post Office Box 1922, Costa Mesa, 01394... TRIBE MEMBER:Some like 'em hot, I said hot, not pot; some like 'em gay, for me that's the way; some like 'em young and very well hung; some like 'em athletic, not short fat and pathetic. I am what I seek? You too? Then let's meet. Bob Bennett, P.O. 254345... TRIBE MEMBER:Black guy, 32, seeks gay Caucasian male, 26... TRIBE MEMBER:Determined tall woman seeks friendship with nice gay girl. No men, please. Sherry... TRIBE MEMBER:Childless executive seeks to adopt young man who can offer affection and security and an innocent hard body. 765-9326... TRIBE MEMBER:Husband sucks and takes up the ass. Wife loves couples with big cocks and hairy pussies. Will suck them dry. Detailed letter, revealing photo only. Act fast... TRIBE MEMBER:Amputee girls wanted. Swinging guy, 50, hemophiliac, civilized and daring, seeks attractive, limb-deficient girl to explore mutual interests... TRIBE MEMBER:Animal trainers wanted fast; swinging blonde in need of help. 666-5876 TRIBE MEMBER:Elegant lady on the edge of death cries out for young blond Adonis to explore new pathways of pain. Should be under 18 and over 8 inches. Give me one more pleasure to die with!... TRIBE MEMBER:Alberto, my Mexican friend from Fire Island, please contact me. Please. I am on the verge of falling off! WA 8-5548... TRIBE MEMBER:Help me! Near the end! Almost over! One more chance! Will take anything! Will touch anyone! Will do everything! Help me! Near the end! Almost over! Last chance! Help me! [Keeps repeating. The phone numbers are repeated now louder and louder by all. Suddenly the GIRL bursts forward and stands right behind MAX...She begins her long ad, slowly and intensely. It builds till she's almost exploding with bitterness and fury. After this ad begins, MAX's hands go under his pants and as the rhythmic pulse of the ad builds, we realize he is masturbating to it. He convulses grotesquely and with appropriate noises. He is, then, a complete 'prisoner' of the ad."] GIRL) This is addressed to all the people who answered or are thinking of answering the personal ad I placed in Volume 2 #15 of this newspaper, two weeks ago Friday. First, my apologies to the huge bartender with the voice and the light-hearted dark-skinned advertising man. If either of you had called me back, I might not be writing this retraction of my ad (even though I will soon be too busy to date much). But why didn’t you call back!? But to the others — which include the two lesbians; the under 25’s and over 40’s, the numerous ones who dialed my number and hung up as soon as I said hello; the 35 or 40 of you who made dates with me and never showed up (including the one who complained that his penis was so large that he couldn’t get it into anybody) … The wife-seekers, the already married; that one who was so one-sided that he could think of nothing but sex, and then had the gall to ask me if his nationality was the reason I wouldn’t sleep with him; the two who couldn’t raise their cocks when I was agreeable and the many who could (and did) when I was not; the pleasant young foreigner who turned out to be the private property of his gigantic girlfriend; the ones who were so grotesque in their appearance that I couldn’t possibly get past their faces to even consider a relationship with them (especially sexual); the jerk-off artists and the 69’ers (the latter category which I had specifically stated I didn’t want) and the ones who wanted hand jobs; the ones who wanted to be spanked; the ones who could only boast about the size of their bankrolls and/or their penises, and this definitely includes the teacher who said “All the girls want my cock”; the businessman who had an adjective for every letter of his last name (‘R’ is for “rich”) … The ones, and there were many, who said: “My name is so-and-so. When can we get together and fuck?”; the faggot who wanted me to support him; the diminutive actor and the other short ones; the racists, including the one at whose pad I left my white sweater (and I’d rather cut off my right thumb than go back for it); the drunks, junkies, and acid-heads; the multitude of liars; and especially the nice ones who never called back — to all of you I say: Just forget my phone number!!! I don’t need all the hassles! I’ll be starting school next month and I just don’t want to be bothered! I’ll be leaving home next month and I just don’t feel like looking back! Don’t hold your breath, any of you. Sincerely, The Overweight Brunette ["MAX is sweating, drained in every way. He breathes heavily, looks around paranoid. He begins to clean himself up, recompose himself, get back his dignity as if nothing had happened."] MAX:Stop it. Stop looking at me! STOP IT! I can't stand it. Stop! Baal - Baal, it's nothing, Baal, nothing at all. All we want, all any of us want, all I want is a little peace of mind. BAAL:Whose mind? MAX:Only yours, Baal. Just a little piece. BAAL:Which piece? MAX:Only the piece that threatens us. BAAL:Is that all? You disgust me. MAX:Is that all? BAAL:Yes, that's all. MAX:Don't look. BAAL:I don't have to. MAX:What are you going to do to us? What do you want in our city? BAAL:Max, the greatest gift we could give you is fire! HISTORIAN) (cymbal crash)On the verge of their invasion into the city, Baal and his followers celebrate and sing the joyous hymn to fire, the one element of nature that illuminates as it destroys! “PYRO” celebrating a new kind of hero! (This number is a wild tribal, African oriented dance, centered around the themes of fire and storm. Max is in the center of the maelstrom, attacked from all sides) HYMN TO FIRE BAAL: When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? The smell of kerosene is at your door And your lungs can't seem to take it anymore Do you ever feel like asking yourself what for? Got any doubts? Get out in the streets Check it out! When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? When the sky is hungry Where you gonna run to? When the sky is hungry Where you gonna run to? The smell of kerosene is at your door And your lungs can't seem to take it anymore Do you ever feel like asking yourself what for? Got any doubts? Get out in the streets Check it out! When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? {The following lines were not sung at the stage production:} When the land is thirsty Where you gonna run to? When the land is thirsty Where you gonna run to? And you clean your guilty skin with gasoline Is the fire really there or is it just a dream? And the color of your world is sweet gangrene Got any doubts? Get out in the storm, check it out! When the land is thirsty, where you gonna run to? When the drums are weeping Where are we gonna run to? When the drums are weeping Where are we gonna run to? Ooooh, I can feel my leg, it's getting wetter Ooooh, I can see your lips are getting redder Brothers and sisters we all are come together Got any doubts? Get out in the storm, check it out... Where are we gonna run to? Take a trip on a star ship We've got demon wings to fly Take a trip on a star ship And you'll never have to die Take a trip on a star ship Give salvation one more try Take a trip on a star ship You go higher! You wanna go higher! You're gonna go higher! What do you see now? When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? When your city's burning Where you gonna run to? ["At this point, the TRIBE kills MAX. They literally butcher him...When they kill MAX the realize that there is no turning back. They see the blood on their hands. They touch each other with it...kiss, smear it on their bodies. Each one says, 'I'm sorry,' very gently to another tribe member, who answers with 'I forgive you.' This continues and builds slowly: 'I'm sorry,' 'I forgive you,' 'I'm sorry,' 'I forgive you,' etc. until it is virtually being howled. Then we hear the beginning of a hymn in the background. The music gets louder and the TRIBE all sings the final chorale, 'Pyro.'"] [In the original production, MAX was yelled off the stage by the anger and hatred of the TRIBE. As they moved down the stage in a semi-circle, he cowered at the front of the stage, and then jumped off into the audience, disappearing into the back of the hall. As the TRIBE watched him go, the members formed one line on the front of the stage; then they broke into the 'Chorale' section of the song, below.] BAAL AND THE TRIBE: Pyro, O Pyro, burning cities in the sun! Make us feel alive again and make your holy heat ray come! [In Steinman's draft script, the line above reads, "holy cruelty."] Country bright, my country fair Can I touch you everywhere? Hold you close and squeeze you tight Caress your guns all through the night! Country black, my country blue Will you hurt me if I hurt you? Can I sleep inside your park And will you still glow in the dark? Pyro, O Pyro, burning cities in the sun! Make us feel alive again and make your holy heat ray come! Give us some fire Give us some fire! (repeat) Give us some fire! Give us some fire! Take these dreams away, And give us some fire! (repeat) REPRISE: Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? Down on your knees, now. What do you see now? How do you bury the skull of your country? How do you bury a nation of fears? Where do you put all the long years of dying? Give me a tombstone and a wreath of all your tears. Come, in the night, come in the day Anytime, and play our game It's all right Special flight You'll fly home into our game See the light Shining bright Shining down upon our game In the night Come in the day Play our game, come away! HISTORIAN) (after final chord)Intermission! End of Act One ACT TWO (The act begins with an extended instrumental “Entracte”, which includes a ballad sung by a girl from the tribe, as a set piece, oratorio-style … After the “Entracte” ends, the Historian enters) ENTR'ACTE: SOLO BY THE BAND, "SUNDANCE" HISTORIAN) Ladies and gentlemen, let us be thankful for small favors. I am now able to make an announcement that pleases me as much as I am sure it will please you. As of this moment, history has lost all its shock value. From now on in, it is nothing but endless, boring, mildly annoying, tediously familiar, numbingly brutal and only sporadically entertaining repetitions. We’ve seen it all before: assassinations, holocausts, disasters, celebrations, confrontations … The list goes on and on. How stale and dry it all seems, like dull dinner guests who refuse to leave long after the party is over … Nice metaphor that … Or is it a simile … Shut up! When you get right down to it, without its much publicized shock value, what good is history after all? Now that the prurient interest is waning, why should we bother with it? Now that its big titillations have become so over-exposed, what thrills are left to cull from it? Now that we’ve seen all its big production numbers, what could be possibly left for its climax? So — Cheer yourself up with this bright shiny thought to lead us into the second act: You’ve seen it all! You’re one step ahead! There will be no more grisly surprises from the fun world of history! We have reached the saturation point! And since you’re familiar with all our big numbers, sing along as we go! Don’t despair! No time for brooding or mourning! There’s work to be done, songs to be sung, dances to be done! (He has a violent coughing fit) (In between spasms) Ladies and gentlemen, I say to you as one victim to another: Keep on Trucking! (The “Trucking” number is an absurd, freak-Busby Berkeley sort of thing … All of a sudden the tribe comes out in splashy psychedelic costumes, smiling, dancing and waving their hands like a bunch of happy marionettes. The historian smears blackface on, and the song goes from torch song to rag time to gospel to big Broadway production boom-boom ending) [HISTORIAN picks up a hat and cane, and begins his number like a song-and-dance man.] HISTORIAN: KEEP ON TRUCKING! HISTORIAN: Once I was young, and now I am old The years keep passing by Once I was clean, and now I am soiled My life has come and gone. I asked my savior: What should I do? He put a crown of thorns on my head. He told me never to forget these words And this is what he said: [Slow and dreamily] Keep on truckin'! Keep on truckin'! On down the line, on down the line! [Gradual increase in tempo from here on] Keep on truckin'! Keep on trucking'! On down the line, on down the line! Keep on truckin' your heavy load Keep on truckin' that endless road Keep on truckin'! Truckin'! On down the line, on down the line! (repeat) [Fancy dance steps from the Historian here.] Keep on truckin' your blues away....(repeat) [Intro soft shoe dance number.] [Sudden eruption into heavy Black beat, Chorus Line appears.] Keep on truckin' Keep on truckin'! On down the line, on down the line! (repeat...) Keep on truckin' your heavy load Keep on truckin' that endless road Keep on truckin'! Truckin'! On down the line, on down the line! Keep on truckin' your blues away...(repeat) [Music pauses for HISTORIAN's speech:] HISTORIAN) Ladies and gentlemen, let’s build a pleasure dome for every human being in existence, filled with a garden of infinite delights! Watermelon for the niggers, cesspools for the Polacks, grease for the Spics, garlic for the Wops, bar-room brawls for the Micks, fags for the limeys, torture chambers for the Chinks, rice paddies for the gooks, transistors for the Hips, police dogs for the honkies, rifles for the Gringos, Lucky Pierre for the Frogs, cash registers for the Kikes, whips for the Krauts, a minimum wage for the Hunkies, and a truckful of blues for every poor pitiable schmuck in every timid lonely audience in every ancient rotting theatre on the acne-scarred face of the earth! Keep on Trucking!!! (The song crashes to a jubilant Dixieland finale) HISTORIAN) (Cymbal)The Invasion and Slaughter of the City! Thousands of young men and women swarm through the boundaries of the city, breaking through the standing limits. They are met by huge massive lines of armed troops, the brutal protectors of the great metropolis, the promoters of culture, and the defenders of our civilization. A hideous bloody confrontation ensues and lasts long into the night, leaving thousands of young shattered bodies clogging up the fetid gutters and piled high in ancient alleys. But still they keep coming, as if perversely attracted to their own destruction! Ideally, for these terrifying scenes of chaos and violence, we should be able to provide mammoth forces of Police Units and National Guard Platoons, intimidating walls of pure Power. Unfortunately, these particular costumes are impossible to obtain, and our cast must, by necessity, be kept to a minimum of players. Therefore, we’ve done the next best thing. Baal and his tribe will confront a fierce squadron of killer nuns. Why nuns, you ask? Well, don’t ask! I’m running this show and by my proclamation, the killer nuns, led by Emily, the Mother Superior, the greatest Mother of them all, are, as of now, in this very theatre, the feared and awesome Protectors of the Holy City! To begin, Emily welcomes us to the city! She sings the “Song of the Mother River”, a hymn to our urban womb! An aria dedicated to pure and richly perverse power! EMILY) In my family, we always respected the uniform, any uniform. My husband became a cop, because he loved law. I became a nun, because I loved order. Sometimes we exchange uniforms and nobody seems to notice. In effect, my uniform makes me holy … and immune … HISTORIAN:Emily sings THE MOTHER RIVER SONG. A hymn to our urban womb. MOTHER RIVER SONG EMILY: And I'm the only one that's free For I'd rather have my children die for me! I was born on a rack in a rotting shack And the cities have nothing to scare me All my victims are wild and I won't be defiled So the bodies pile up in the alley I adore Novocain I've dismissed all my pain And my children are mine to devour And I don't give a damn for the rights of a man And I can't get enough of my power! Take a look at your Mother River! As it sweeps like a siren through my hair Should you go swim against the current? Never. If you should try to make it, you'll bow to me If you would hope to make it, you'll kneel to me Maybe I'll forgive you if you just learn how to crawl And you're down upon your knees to the greatest mother of them all! Bless you! Doors are locked and windows closed Shut your eyes and wipe your nose Say another prayer and go to sleep now! Send your arms and legs to war Have a party! Rent a whore! Say a final prayer! Do you want to weep now? Then stain your sheets with TV dreams Hide your body, it's obscene! Wash your coffin, you'll stay clean. Don't cry now! Don't cry now! Money buys you all you need Flowers die, so worship weeds Say a prayer to me, and go to sleep now Stop your running, running wild! Surrender now, my helpless child All roads come to me, would you like to weep now? Then stain your sheets with TV dreams Hide your body, it's obscene! Wash your coffin, you'll stay clean. Don't cry now! Don't cry now! And I'm the only one that's free For I'd rather have my children die for me! For a ride on my knees, for a single reprieve You can take what you want if you ask me For I know what's best and I know all the rest And you just can't survive here without me I adore Novocain, I've dismissed all my pain And my children are mine to devour And I don't give a damn for the rights of a man And I can't get enough of my power Take a look at your Mother River As it sweeps like a siren through my hair Should you go swim against the current? Never. If you should try to make it, you'll kneel to me. If you would dare to make it, you'll bow to me. Maybe I'll forgive you if you'd just learn how to crawl And you're down upon your knees to the greatest mother of them all Good times! Look at your mother, look at your mother Look at your Mother River! Say another prayer to the skull of your country Say another prayer to a nation of fears Who gives a damn for your long years of dying So kiss the tombstone with a wreath of all your tears. Bring in all the orphans! Put their bodies up against the wall! No time for crying, and there's no time left to stall No place to hide now, and there's no peace left at all. We're on the edge now and it won't be me that falls! Take a look at your Mother River As it sweeps like a siren through my hair Should you go swim against the current? Never. If you should try to make it, you'll bow to me. If you should dare to make it, you'll kneel to me. Maybe I'll forgive you if you just learn how to crawl And you're down upon your knees to the greatest mother of them all - bless you And I'm the only one that's free For I'd rather have my country die for me!! (At the end, lights up on the set … We see an altar surrounded by laboratory bottles with foetuses in them. On stage right is a huge bottle … ) (Inside is a monstrously big foetus, turning around slowly, immersed in green fluid, staring at the audience.) (Max is performing his litany) MAX) And so to insure peace and quiet for all the generations still to come, and keeping in mind that it is better to prevent the crimes of the future than to punish the crimes of the past, I have ordered the immediate execution of all suspicious foetuses … In the name of the Father, the sun, the moon and the stars, and the infinite galaxies soon to be conquered by our warriors of space. And in the name of the holy ghosts already dead in the service of our country and the unknown soldiers not yet born into the tombs of our choice. Amen, for now and forever, Amen. (Lights down on Max, up on Emily, sitting and holding one of the foetus-bottles in her arms, cradling it, humming the “Mother River” tune to it like a lullaby) EMILY) All of my children … All of the children of the city are finally quiet … calm and serene … Nothing will ever hurt them … I will always protect them. And they will never be without me. They must never be without me. (A hideous scream is heard, followed by two more in succession) EMILY) (To the foetus, frantic)Hush. Don’t listen to it. Cover your ears! Shut your eyes! Hush. Hush! Be quiet … Stop making those sounds. Close your mouth! Hold your tongue! Hush! Hush! HUSH!!! (She hurls the body away) EMILY) Sister! Sister! MAX) (off-stage)Yes, Mother! EMILY) Sister, get over here! MAX) I’m sorry I’m late. EMILY) I think it is time to take firm action. MAX) But what can we do? They’re tearing down buildings, setting fires, hurling rocks, breaking windows, destroying churches, desecrating monuments — EMILY) I know what’s going on! Do you think I’m blind!? MAX) Of course not. EMILY) (seductive)Do you think I’m lovely? MAX) (reflex)Of course not. EMILY) What!? MAX) Certainly … I mean, certainly you are! EMILY) Good. MAX) Then it’s settled? EMILY) Settled. MAX) Good. EMILY) Well, don’t just stand there like a goddamned statue! What do we do!? MAX) Do? EMILY) Yes! Do! MAX) Well, I think there’s only one possible answer … I think it is time to take firm action! EMILY) Yes … an interesting idea, that … (Pause)Then it’s settled. That’s what we do … (Pause) You have good fingers, Max. Like magnets. Rub me … (Max puts his head and hands under her “dress” and rubs) EMILY) (staring straight ahead)I am imperturbable … How do you like it? MAX) (pulling his head out as if smelling something foul)You have filthy habits. EMILY) (kicks him)Get out of my sight! MAX) It was only a joke. EMILY) We are not laughing … And this is certainly not the time or the place for bad jokes … (Another scream) EMILY) What do they want? Why don’t they leave us alone? MAX) They’re insane. EMILY) That’s only a gimmick. MAX) Drug fiends! EMILY) There are no reasons for this, none at all. MAX) Any real revolutionary has a plan, a system, a definite purpose — and discipline. EMILY) They have none of that. They’re just children. MAX) (smiling weakly)Yes, but they’re our children. EMILY) (slaps him)You bastard! I can see you’re weakening. I won’t stand for it. We’ll destroy them all before this is over. MAX) Yes, of course. EMILY) Why don’t they say what they’re looking for? MAX) They probably don’t even know themselves. EMILY) Yes, of course. MAX) It’s not completely real to them. EMILY) Nothing is completely real to them. MAX) This is no revolution … It’s just another one of their drugged fantasies … Just another sick fantasy … EMILY) Yes, of course. I know that, and you know that … but do they know that? MAX) They’re too young to understand. EMILY) Fools! MAX) Fools! EMILY) Stop following me! MAX) (slaps her)You bastard! EMILY) That’s better. MAX) Thank you. EMILY) (smiling)I could have you excommunicated, or defrocked, or crucified, or converted, or martyred — or — MAX) All of the above? EMILY) (coy)Perhaps. MAX) I’d like that. EMILY) Enough! MAX) Of course! EMILY) I have never particularly liked the sound of fire … Look, it’s absurd … Sweating, ripping off their clothes … sweating, endlessly touching … MAX) Caressing themselves. EMILY) Fondling — MAX) Sweating — EMILY) Screaming — MAX) Sweating — EMILY) Soaring — MAX) Burning — EMILY) Moaning — MAX) Writhing — EMILY) Screaming — MAX) Sweating — EMILY) Fondling — MAX) All of the above! EMILY) Shut up. MAX) I’m sorry. EMILY) How are the citizens reacting? MAX) As well as could be expected. EMILY) I have great faith in them. MAX) On the other hand, thousands have joined the freaks — EMILY) Peasants! MAX) Peasants! EMILY) (softer, thoughtful)How do you join? MAX) You run — EMILY) Into the streets — MAX) You rip off your clothes — EMILY) Savages! MAX) Fanatics — EMILY) Sweating — MAX) Fondling — EMILY) Touching — MAX) Holding — EMILY) Grasping — MAX) Clutching — EMILY) Smashing — MAX) Crushing — EMILY) Sucking — MAX) Caressing — EMILY) Soaring — MAX) Burning — EMILY) Screaming — MAX) Screaming — EMILY) Sweating — MAX) Screaming — EMILY) Stop! MAX) Stop! EMILY) I was talking to you, shit-face. MAX) Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. EMILY) Then you must repent. MAX) Yes, of course. EMILY) Ten “Our Fathers” and ten “Hail Marys”. MAX) And a good act of contrition. (He slaps himself) (He begins chanting to himself) EMILY) They must be stopped. The very survival of years of culture, civilization, and order is at stake — MAX) (Looks up from chanting)Well, you pays your money and you takes your choice — (He slaps himself again and continues chanting) EMILY) Their bodies are all over the city. MAX) Nothing seems to do any good. EMILY) They’re mad. MAX) Yes, but who are they mad at? EMILY) I don’t know. That’s your job. Get me some answers I can deal with. MAX) Yes, Mother. EMILY) (sad and wistful)Do they ever — accuse me of anything? MAX) I really wouldn’t know that. (he’s hedging) EMILY) (plaintive)Do they ever even mention my name? MAX) Well, maybe. EMILY) Do they stare at my picture? Do they think of me often? MAX) Perhaps — EMILY) At all? MAX) I suppose they do. EMILY) What do they say? MAX) Just the usual. You know. Just the usual. EMILY) (sad)Yes, of course. Just the usual. But, at least — at least they think of me — they do use my name — sometimes. MAX) Sometimes very loudly. EMILY) And sometimes softly? MAX) (hard smile)Maybe. EMILY) (desperate)Tell me, Max, tell me! MAX) Maybe … Rub my back. You have good fingers. EMILY) Yes, I know. Like magnets. (smiles)I attract metal wherever I go. Hard, cold, shiny metal. MAX) Metal can be very beautiful. EMILY) (rubbing him)Of course it can. I have never oppressed anything or anybody. I’ve only defended — innocent things, I’ve defended — vulnerable things — (smiles) Things which kick with their hind legs … (It becomes dark; a loud bell tolls; another scream is heard) EMILY) Max, are you there? MAX) Yes, of course. EMILY) There is very little time left. We must pray. MAX) Yes, we must pray. (He begins saying the word “Mo—ther!” three times, hideously distorted, as if it is oozing out of his body. On the last time, he quickly contorts the shape of his body into that of a crucified man, then collapses. She does the same thing, saying “Fa——ther!” and collapses. When both are on the ground, they wait a second, then whisper together, very softly, and very hoarsely: “Save us.”) (The lights go back on) [A group of Nuns suddenly drag in BAAL. He is battered, bloody, naked. They hold him in front of EMILY. She laughs.] EMILY) What do you want!? Just say it … Say it! WHAT DO YOU WANT!? With what? From what? Why not? How soon? For what? To what? Then what? How much? Kneel down … For how long? (She kneels and touches him. The nuns itch and scratch)For how long? … MAX) He won’t speak. He’s mocking us. EMILY) Nobody mocks us! Out with it! … I’ll give you one more chance. What is the meaning of all these fires and all these screams!? ANSWER ME! (She suddenly and violently pulls a large jeweled cross out of her habit and pushes it right in front of Baal’s face in a dramatic sweeping gesture) EMILY) Ve have vays of making people confess! (Pause … puts the cross away resignedly) EMILY) Well, it works sometimes. MAX) It’s not your fault. EMILY) Be quiet! Don’t you know where you are!? I have never oppressed anybody! (gentle)I have only defended — tender things, very tender things, isolated things, wrinkled things, sterile things, things getting old — all these things I’ve defended — all these — MAX) There is no need to apologize. EMILY) FUCK OFF! MAX) Yes, of course. (She kisses Baal’s eyes) EMILY) (very tenderly)Oh, a drop of blood falls down his cheek. A beautiful drop of blood — MAX) (reverently)It fell from the sky — EMILY) (looking up smiling)I wonder who’s being tortured up there … TELL ME WHO’s BEING TORTURED UP THERE!? (Blackout) HISTORIAN:THE REVOLUTION IN WORDS AND MUSIC! Baal and his followers assert their complete innocence and proclaim their rebirth. They sing an anthem: THE SONG OF THE DREAM ENGINE ["During this song, BAAL is strung up like a piece of meat and tortured by the NUNS in a parody of a bizarre religious ritual. The TRIBE walks out, nude, and sings the following anthem, standing around the disc...god-like"] [In the stage production, TRIBE members were dressed and undressed in torn clothing, with much body paint, signifying both wounds and war paint. They were now transformed into 'freaks' and their appearance, zombie-like at first, then more animated as the scene progressed, was chilling.] 1. SONG OF THE DREAM ENGINE (The chorus walks out, nude, and sings the following anthem, standing around the disc … god-like) TRIBE AND SOLOISTS: Hear the screams of the newborn dominions Hear the screams of your proud outlaw sons Hear the screams of the old kingdom dying Hear the screams of the new kingdom come God speed, God speed, God speed us home!! Hear the screams of the street-fighting angels Hear the scream of a land being torn Hear the scream of the magic of chaos Hear the screams of a dream being born God speed, God speed, God speed us home!! Don't ask me questions Don't give me flowers Don't tell me love is the only way! Don't look for reasons Don't look for meaning Just get yourself out of the way! Black panthers scream at the heat! White panthers scream at the heat! Flesh on flesh in the street Kingdom come, kingdom come, kingdom come! Hear the screams of the newborn dominions Hear the screams of your proud outlaw sons Hear the screams of the old kingdom dying Hear the screams of the new kingdom come God speed, God speed, God speed us home!! Hear the screams of the street-fighting angels Hear the screams of a land being torn Hear the screams of the magic of chaos Hear the screams of a dream being born God speed, God speed, God speed us home!! Baal's Delirium and Call to the City, during the course of which he imagines himself transformed into what he thinks is a god, and what others think is a beast, and what is, in reality, a combination of the two. [BAAL is tied up, crucified, in the center of the stage. The NUNS and the TRIBE stand apart from him. As BAAL's speech develops, the TRIBE spreads out in front of him on the disc, pantomiming his words in groups of twos and threes ...mimicking the death of the buffalo, for example, in ritualistic expressionistic gestures. For his part, HISTORIAN remains at the side of the stage, standing in the audience, shouting his comments and amplifications from time to time.] BAAL:They asked me where this earthquake would begin. I offered to let them feel my pulse. They asked me if I was insane. I pointed my finger at them. They turned away and played with their pencils. HISTORIAN:DREAM OF THE ANCIENT BEAST! BAAL: Somewhere, not very far from here, in the glittering center of some sequined desert the last buffalo in America is dying. He's dying of onesomeness. Quietly, slowly, painfully. The sky is leaving his face. His eyes are blinded by TV screens and radar antennae. His skin is burned by nuclear dust. His heart is clogged with detergent and cold cream. His lugs are sick with fumes of neon, and he's choking on his own vomit. Quietly, slowly, painfully. But there's no point in being quiet any more! The last buffalo in America is dying of onesomeness, and choking on his vomit. And when he starts to convulse and beg for help, iron robots disguised as cops will beat him to death on the eyes. And then they'll go to their locker rooms, and then they'll whisper sweet nothings to their billy clubs, and then they'll take long showers together. And then there'll be nobody around to stop it! The last beautiful buffalo in America is dying of onesomeness and choking on his own vomit in the glittering center of some sequined desert, choking on his own vomit, and nobody's there to stop it! I'd like to make love to the rhythms of his gasps, I'd like to make love without stopping until he becomes extinct or I become extinct. Whichever comes first. It's going to be a close race. And even now seems too late. HISTORIAN:Half the world is insane, the other half is scared, and who knows which came first or which will finish last. [TRIBE members have reformed into groups on the stage, facing the audience. As a Chorus, now, they join individually, and then collectively, to speak with BAAL.] BAAL AND TRIBE MEMBERS: There is not a blessed tree left in this land! No sacred rivers have been spared! This is a land named after rapists and racists! Cortez! DeSoto! Sherman! Boone! Franklin! This is a land named after its conquered! Dakota! Ojibwa! Iowa! Cherokee! This people has soaked occult power sources dry for every dime and not paid back one watt of power! This race has chased all message-bearing birds down canyon, out of the sky, and replaced them with bloodless planes! Get it through your fucking heads! America was not discovered by Columbus! America is still a secret land, as yet undiscovered by anyone! The circus has gone crazy! The exhibits are turning against their cages! The Dream Engine is ready to attack! Your experiments are over! Your mutants are fighting back! Your test tubes are starting to bleed! And it's about time the freaks really started acting like freaks! And this, sir, is why your fathers are stuffed with chains; why your mothers are turning to liquid; why black children walk the streets with those jungle markings on their chests; why motorcycles reproduce in nocturnal alleys, groaning with greasy pleasure! And this, sir, is why your ketchup is turning to blood; why your highways are turning into stockyards; why the national colors are black and blue and pure gangrene! Why your leaders are all either murdered or haunted; why the limp dick of J. Edgar Hoover is hung at half mast! Why the barbecue pits are stinking of napalm and burning your steaks! And this, sir, is why a broken bargain with the Iroquois tribe is avenged by Vietcong warriors; why the smashing of the Inca temples is avenged by new African Armies, burning the ghettos and dancing with the flames! And this, sir, is why your children are going insane. And this, sir, is because our insanity is the greatest gift we can give a world whose mental health makes us sick! Our insanity is the greatest insult we can give a world whose mental health can be measured in uniformed corpses and packaged decay! And this, sir, is why the War of Liberation has finally come home! Where it belongs! WHERE WE CAN KEEP AN EYE ON IT! I AM THE AMERICONG! I AM THE AMERICONG! I AM THE AMERICONG! (repeat) [The TRIBE remains on stage, but they are straining the bonds of theatrical convention. They seem to be gathering energy, waiting to explode into the auditorium.] HISTORIAN:Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but the War goes on! EVERYONE:Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but our veins are swelling with chemical blood. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but our muscles are swelling with the music of revolt, played at the decibel level of pain. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but our brains are swelling with electrified nerve endings. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but our mirrors are getting larger and larger. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but there seem to be far more gods here than there are temples. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but there seems to be no reason why I should feel all of this, since I've had no experience. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, but the War goes on and even the bullets are bored! Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! TRIBE MEMBER:January 20th, 1969, Inauguration Day for Richard Shithouse Nixon! [The TRIBE breaks its static formation as a Chorus, and swirls around the stage, forming smaller pantomime groups.] TRIBE MEMBERS:The Nix is on! WE'RE ALL NIGGERS NOW!! HISTORIAN) Delirium Continued! The Golden Age of Dying! Dream of the American Revolution! BAAL) Once they killed with silver blades and shiny shadows on guillotined faces dripping sweet blood thickly into pure white sand and soft lace baskets. Once the bodies dripping blood were young and hard. Once the bodies dripping blood would float in the air and point to the sun. Once they killed with silver blades and now we decay in sterile chambers, now our veins are sucked out dry in secret rooms, now our skin is cleaned with napkins, now our eyes are T.V. cameras! Now the bodies don’t point to anything! Now they can’t even find the sun! BAAL and “T” and HISTORIAN) Once they killed with silver blades and shiny shadows on guillotined faces dripping sweet blood thickly into pure white sand and soft lace baskets. Now they kill with foam and mist and spray and gas and poisoned spit from germ-free cans. Now they kill with antiseptics approved by Christ and the President. There are no more silver songs or whistling blades. Once it was better HISTORIAN) Once they killed with silver blades! Now they don’t! It’s all the same, no matter how you slice it! [TRIBE members reform into new groups, develop new, quieter killing rituals, to accompany the chanting.] BAAL AND TRIBE MEMBERS: How do you bury a severed body? Do you bury the head with it? Do you place the head on the neck, in the hands, on the chest, between the legs?? Do they put the right head with the right body?? DOES IT MATTER? Do they dig separate graves? Do they make a trench? Does it matter where they're all buried? DOES ANYONE KNOW?? DOES IT MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE TO KNOW?? BAAL:HOW DO YOU BURY THE SKULL OF YOUR COUNTRY? TRIBE MEMBER: Once they killed with silver blades and shiny shadows on guillotined faces dripping sweet blood thickly into sand and soft lace baskets. Once the bodies dripping blood would float in the air and point to the sun. Now they don't point to anything. Now they can't even see the sun behind clouds of mace and gas and poison spit from germ-free cans. Once the blades were clear and sharp and shining silver. Once you could see your reflection on the tip of the blade. Now they use their dull wooden clubs. Now they shoot from a distance. Now you can't even see your pig! There are no more silver songs or whistling blades. Once it was better! [The rituals have stopped, the TRIBE begins moving towards the front of the stage. The energy is building for them to explode into the auditorium. Their voices build, first one by one, then they begin talking over each other, repeating and repeating until they are shouting themselves towards the audience.] GIRL: There's no reason why I should feel all of this, I've had no experience. There's no reason why I should feel all of this, I've had no experience. (repeat) BAAL:Will this Revolution ever get off this stage? Will this Revolution ever get out of this theater? Nothing can keep us from swelling! (repeat) TRIBE MEMBERS:Kingdom Come! Mutate Now! There Is No Reason Why! (repeat) [The TRIBE picks up the final chant, while BAAL and the GIRL punctuate their rising chant with their voices, their questions. The TRIBE breaks and pours into the auditorium, yelling and screaming. They freeze on the HISTORIAN's announcement. Then they begin chanting again, building slowly, shouting to each other across the theater. BAAL remains in his posture of crucifixion, center stage.] HISTORIAN) The Chant of the War Babies! (The Historian says the first two verses, accompanied by cymbal accents and crashes … The tribe says lines in parentheses … The whole chant is accompanied by bass and percussion effects) Bring the War Back Home! (Won’t you) Bring the War Back Home! (Can’t you) Bring the War Back Home! — Where the War belongs! (Now!) Bring the War Back Home! (Won’t you) Bring the War Back Home! (Can’t you) Bring the War Back Home — don’t leave us alone — without a War of our own … And my blood has come to flow with the sound of a war And my muscles can explode with the sound of a war And I can feel my body grow with every sound of a war I can feel my body grow with every sound of a war And what can you give us to hear above the sound of a war And what do you think can survive over there beyond the sound of a war And what do you think can be born anywhere within the sounds of a war After all the wombs have been torn everywhere within the sounds of a war Just what kind of thing will be born over here within the sounds of a war What do you think will be born anywhere within the sounds of a war And I’ve spent so many years breathing in all the sounds of a war And all of these golden years we’ve been fucking to the sounds of a war All these shiny metal years we’ve been fucking to the heartbeat of the sounds of a war And I’ll give you some more of these very pretty tears If you’ll give me some more of the sounds of a war … I’ll give you some more of these very lovely tears If you’ll give me some more of the sounds of a war … And we’ll give you all we have of all these lovely tears of rage If you’ll give us all you have every night and every day … Every sound of every war … Every night and every day … Every sound of every war … Every time and every place and every chance and everywhere … Now you just can’t leave us alone over here without the sound of a war! You just can’t leave us alone over here without the sound of a war! And you can tell me all you want that the War will soon be done But my body is the trigger and my body is the gun You can tell me all you want that the War is almost done But my body is the weapon and my body is the drum And you can cream and scream cry and Hail the Chief: The War is Done! But my body is still the trigger and my body is still the gun! And my fantasies are the trigger … And my body is the gun! So I’ll tell you very sweetly that the war will not be done Cause the War’s inside my body, and my body is the gun I’ll tell you very slowly that the War will never be done Cause the War is in my body, and my body is still the gun THE WAR IS IN MY BODY AND MY BODY WILL ALWAYS BE THE GUN! YOUNGEST GIRL) They started injecting the sounds of the war into my veins ten years ago, and every year they injected some more. Every year my blood became thicker, and now it’s at its best. It can’t get any richer. It’s the envy of the entire world … By now, my blood is sweeter than butter … And so they injected the sounds of the war into my swollen veins for over half my life. I did not choose to be an addict — but the war is mine now, the War belongs to me. And they have the balls to get up and say that the war is almost over, that the war is coming to an end. They think they can tell me that the war is almost done … They think they can give me peace like giving candy to an infant … NO! I don’t want their peace … I wouldn’t know what to do with it. NO! The war will not end. The sounds of a war will not stop. It is no longer their war to end anymore. It’s gone too far for that. The sounds of the war in my veins, in my lungs, in my throat, in my eyes, in my brain, in my dreams, THE WAR IS IN MY TIME! THE WAR IS MINE! And when a child forms inside me, he will feed on it just as I have … So — it doesn’t make any difference anymore whether they say it’s over or not. As long as I stay alive, I take the war with me … The only way the sounds of the war will ever stop — (She smiles) — is over my dead body … (Very softly, sad, simple) You see, the beginning of the war was yours. But the ending of the war has got to be ours. You owe us that much — inheritance … Thank you … (CRASH) Bring the war back home! (Crash) Bring the war back home! (Crash) Bring the war back home. Don’t leave us alone. Without a war of our own. TRIBE (softly)Kingdom Come … Kingdom Come … Kingdom Come … HISTORIAN) (stage is dark … Spotlight on Historian) Who among you will run with the Hunt, run through the streets of your city, run through the pale forests that never die? Who among you will run with the hunt, battered by clubs, sprayed by gas, rammed by tanks, smashed by fists, and slaughtered by pigs in the stockyards of your own back yards!? Who among you will run with the hunt? Shivering with ecstasy, breaking through limits, breathing the breathless, breathing the breathtaking, beaten cold with beauty, beaten cold with a very final beauty, beaten cold with a beauty that comes right before the end! And this, and nothing less, this is how you bury the skull of your country! The Revolution in Music! (Set to hard rock, this is a wild, brutal confrontation between 10 killer nuns and the tribe … It is filled with spectacle and outrageous violence … nuns swooping through the aisles, hurling people into the air like trampolines, forming a kick line and simultaneously smashing the faces of the tribe, like berserk Rockettes etc … It is all set to bizarre joyous music … It ends with the nuns and tribe wrapped about each other, “eating” each other in death as the lights go down … ] BAAL: American Revolution, 1969. The beast lives forever. The creatures are behind you! The universe is in a state of triumph. I am meat. I am muscled space. I am electrified nerve ends! I am colored light! I am chemical blood! I am the meat of the universe! I am the muscles of space! I am the colored light of a god! I am the nerve end of a star. I am the chemical blood of the future. I am a nineteen year-old boy. There are no lies on my body. Drink from my skull. The revolution will be fought with meat. The revolution will be fought with muscled space. The revolution will be fought with colored lights. The revolution will be fought with electrified nerve ends. The revolution will be fought with chemical blood! With the muscles of space, with the meat of the universe, with the colored light of a god, with the nerve end of a star, with the chemical blood of the future! The revolution will be real, because I am real. I am real, swell to my size. I am real, swell to my size. I am real...I am real...(repeat) [He repeats parts of his speech beneath the HISTORIAN.] HISTORIAN) There is more to a revolution than what is real … There is more to a street fight than what you see in a photograph. The battlefield of eternal undeclared wars is unbounded and endless. There are no limits there; there never will be. Mescaline cowboys and satanic orphans indeed. (Baal begins to crawl over the bodies) HISTORIAN) (smiling sickly) There will be an orgy tonight in the White House. Mrs. Nixon will supply the guns and butter … God isn’t dead. He’s just gone flaccid … Ah, how I love the old jokes. He can barely crawl between the bodies. The fight is over. Everyone is satisfied … or, at least, satiated. (Baal is now kneeling before the bodies) HISTORIAN) And this is, by no means, where it all ends. There’s always enough left to start again, and again, and again. The parade goes on and on. And who cares, and why not? (Leering)There’s always more … (A new girl, in a white robe, comes to Baal. He touches her, takes off the robe … ) GIRL) Let me in. BAAL) Why? GIRL) It’s getting hungry. BAAL) Yes. I know. GIRL) Let me in. BAAL) Even now? GIRL) Let me in! BAAL) Let me out. GIRL) I’m sorry. BAAL) I’m sorry. GIRL) I forgive you. BAAL) I forgive you. (They hold each other gently … He stands with her … She slides down his body. Lights go down except on them. The Historian stands in front of them in the audience, looking around slowly. She performs tender gestures (fellatio) on him while the the excerpt from the record “Sounds of Dissent” is played.) (The excerpt finishes … Baal kneels down to the girl, caresses her) HISTORIAN) STOP! … There is a major lesson to be learned here! What is it? … Oh, yes … Don’t yell for help too loud in the middle of the night. You might wake up your neighbors … (Baal speaks as if hypnotized, still holding the Girl) BAAL) America, how can it be that already you’re reduced to ashes and yet you’ve never burned? America. How do you bury the skull of your country, when the skull is all you have left? America. Last chance to glow in the dark, America. Last chance to glow in the dark. America. You came with your outlaw son. Your eyes full of lightning, your hair all undone, and your screams melting into the sun. America. HISTORIAN) But there are no more screams. All the screams have burned themselves out. There are no more screams. And now what? BAAL and HISTORIAN) And now what? HISTORIAN) AND NOW WHAT!? BAAL) (still softly)America. You came with your outlaw son and you bathed in a sheath of silk. With the sweet smell of sperm and the warm smell of milk. And blood, young blood, all over your streets, America. You came with your outlaw son and you gave birth till the night decayed away. To a hint of gun dust tinged with hair spray. American Revolution, 1971. Aren’t we beautiful? Aren’t we filthy? Aren’t we real? HISTORIAN) (With an agonized cry)NO! Take your confessions somewhere else! Give my veins some peace! Exterminate all of these dreams! Give history the rest it has earned! Give us all some mercy! Take your confessions somewhere else!!! … I’m sorry … There is nowhere else … BAAL) There is nowhere else … HISTORIAN) I’m really very sorry … but I can’t forgive you … I can’t forgive anyone … That’s why I’ve lived so long … I think — BAAL) Aren’t we more than beautiful? Aren’t we more than filthy? Aren’t we more than real? And isn’t our blood sweet? HISTORIAN) Ketchup or blood? Ketchup or blood? What’s the difference? It’s all theatre now. Metaphor is dead … And in the theatre, as well as in madness, it’s not how far out you go, or what you see out there; it’s what you bring back … Give them time … BAAL) It’s almost morning. It’s getting light outside. We’ll be able to see the corpses more clearly … HISTORIAN) And reality is still in agony … And we should have put reality out of its misery a long time ago … but there was nobody left with the grace to try euthanasia … BAAL) Yeah … It’s getting lighter. If it gets any lighter, we won’t see a thing … HISTORIAN) Ladies and gentlemen, while we still have time, if we still have time, please — let’s make our cemeteries safe for our children … Good night. THE END