OUT OF CONTROL

Now it is

Its out of control

It was never in control to begin with

But now it has gone totally out...

Everyday is the same story.

Every day its the same routine

Of nothingness

Nothingness is good if its put to any use

In this case its just nothingness

Nothing will come of nothing at the end

What other end ?

End is already approaching

Approaching and approaching fast

Who says it was valuable

The experience of exile

What naive piece of shit it was

She was, he was, it was, they were,

Exile it was

Came to the exile for adventure

Didn't know the meaning of adventure

No. Not at all

No body would have come

Go to the garden

Which garden ?

Which garden ?

Which fucking garden ?

You never had a garden

And you always talk about the garden

You never had a garden

Your mother never had a garden

Your father never had a garden

Your grand father never had a garden

What is this garden you talk about all the time ?

Garden, garden, garden, garden,

I am sick of  your garden

I am sick of your fucking romance with a garden without a gaeden

Get hold of yourself

You are loosing control over just one word

And its a nice word

Garden is one of the nicest word in the English language

Because they all have their gardens

All the English have their gardens

Big gardens,

Small gardens,

Gardens every where in England

You should have exiled yourself in England

Where you would spend time in the gardens and not go insane like now

You better control yourself and stop talking about the garden...

You live in the East Village where the tiny little

Plots with a few trees have become condos....

And you still are hung up on the idea of a garden

Talk of cement and steel and sheet rock and face reality

Reality is the most important thing

Reality is the real play

All the realistic plays are commercial

Those plays make money

Those plays gets published

Those plays go abroad

Those plays gets taught in the academy

Your abstract garden is an abstract play

Its not going to sell

Write a play with a kitchen sink and a toilet

Your imaginary garden has no blossoms in it

Your play won't sell

I am not a playwright

Who are you then ? Every one here is a playwright...

Not me

Then why are you here /

Go find a real garden and live in it, don't live here

Only playwrights live here and they have to face reality and write real plays

Not just Imagine them...but write them....

I am not a playwright

What are you then ?

I am an exile who is now loosing control

You mean you were once in control ?

I was.... 

No exile is ever in conrtrol

I was...

Then what happened

I lost control

How ?

Thats a long story...the loss of control

A long story

I will tell you another day

Right now I have to go to the garden for a walk...................