A Monologue from
SERIAL DREAMER

Note From the Author: Gypsy is a young woman who is fixated on Albertson's and has just come into the room to confront the other two characters--Docker, and an old man, O'Neill. O'Neill suffers from Alzheimer's or some other brain disorder; he's always in a dreamy kind of state. Docker lives off of those dreams.

GYPSY:

What? What was he dreaming?

(Pause.)

I'm very disappointed. I really am. With both of you. Where's the tenderness in your hearts? The deep affection? You know, at Albertson's we would call this little menage a trois a busted bargain. It would blow you away. You'd lose so many credits. But seeing that we're not at Albertson's, that his throat looks like a mottled cave pumping away at the speed of blood, I'd say we have a problem here. Yes. No doubt about it. Because he dreams. And you don't. And I am most fully alive in aisle four, near the green beans and the salad dressing. Safe. Safer. And now we're here right, and the music's all wrong and you're terrified of breaking down. Of disintegrating. Of death eating a cracker. Because he has to dream for you. Night after night. You've lost the ability to connect. You're death-haunted, full of worms and maggots. But we don't know what he's dreaming, do we? We don't know if he's dreaming of cave painting or kettle drums or fried penguins or copulating rabbits. He's fuck-crazed. Like all dreamers. But he can't fuck himself to the other side. It won't work. He needs transcendence. To be lifted out of his body like funeral smoke. Yes. The godawful body. It gets all of us, one by one. But he doesn't want lust. He wants ocean wind and a sea shell to put in his mouth.