MEMORIES OF TIME PAST AND PRESENT: Written at BALTHAZAR, Aug 12, 2010

 MEMORIES OF PAST AND PRESENT Written at Balthazar, 2010

You need. a notebook girl

Sunday is not a good time. 

He is arriving and I have to be home

To receive him.

I want to get back home at a decent hour

I was never like that.

What about your repressed family memories?

Memories?

What memories?

Mine?

Or your memories?

It must be yours because I don't have any.

You never had a family?

Never...

He dropped out of nowhere

No where? 

 Hhhh,  ahahahha

Nowhere, (Start to sing) Nowhere...nowhere, nowhere...

I just made it up

You must be a genius

I am. 

 You didn't know that?

How would I know? 

 I never met you before

Doesn't matter. 

 You had to know Geniuses all over the planet

They throw off these vibes

 over the sky, 

over the occeans,

 over the mountains.

I am a genius and you need to know that. 

 I am smarter than all of you 

Sons of bitches...

and you need to know that.

I am going to get everything in this world

And you need to know that

And if I can't get the things that I want, 

I am going to steal them,

Frome everybody.

You need to know that.

I am going to hustle

I am going to be the biggest crook, 

biggest criminal,

Biggest snake, 

biggest fox and you need to know that.

My purpose is to get what I want and I am going to get it.

No stopping me.

No person, 

no memory, 

no mother, 

no father, 

no wife, 

no goddamed

Children are going to stop me from what I want.

You gys---you losers, 

you can have all the suppressed,

 repressed,

Melancholic romantic memories of your past 

...and thats all

You are going to have.

The lousy, 

miserable, 

stinking, 

awful memories.

 And you are going...

To wallow in your shitty,

pissy memories for the rest of your miserable

Lives.

"Oh!my life,

 Oh! my life, 

it was so woderful,

 it was so faboulous,

Oh! my garden full of roses..."

Liers, 

All of them, 

They never had a garden and no roses in those gardens.

Maybe some dry, 

Thorny bushes on a dusty corner of a desert look alike Oasis.

Which pricks their subconscious and remind them of the imaginary garden.

They are all liers. 

Liers, liers, liers.

Any one who raves about his/her past is a raving maniac in denial.

They do know that they had the lousiest possible birth, 

lousiest...

Possible childhood, 

lousy parents, 

lousy one room flat in a horrible ghetto...

No food in the house, 

father, a clerk, 

a clerk, 

a goverment clerk...

Very glamourous slavery and you are behaving as if your father

Was the chairman of a hedge fund with unlimited reources. and

Connections with other corrupt hedge fund bankers and financiers,

All over Switzerland and Mayfair of London...

Your mother perhaps was a cleaning lady.

I am sure everyone here who came from somewhere else,

Their mother was nothing but a. cleaning lady because they,

Are always bragging about how clean their houses were.

And who cleaned those immacually clean houses for them?

Their mothers did that.

Their mothers were cleaning ladies in their own houses.

They got up

, put a scarf over their heads, 

got a broom,

In their hands and startted cleaning like witches.

Clean--clean--clean. 

  Clean again. 

Scrub--scrub--scrub. 

Their,

Sons and daughters can impress  us, 30 years later with their clean houses

And wonderfully romantic memories of their mothers holding brooms

In their hands with bent backs so they can substitute them with

The image of "A cleaning lady."  

'A servant."

  'A serf."

 Who bring memorie and sulk for the rest of their lives.

Memories of

 Scrubbing their floors so they can impress us with their clean memories.

So they can sit on their memories 

And sulk for the rest of their lives.

No I don't have memories. 

Memories of no one. 

 None.

No mother holding a mop.

No father a goverment's clerk, 

Bowing to the corrupt boss 14 hours a day.

And bring only a few Copeks,

 A few pennies, 

A few coins home...

And then beat up his hungry children

 Whom he couldn't feed even after

The slavery of 14 hours a day job.

No, I don't want memories.

Why would I have horrible memories like these?

I am going to let all the memories go out of my way.

Infact I have already taken them out of my path. 

To achieve success of a world class crook with billions

Of dollars of other people's money at my disposal so,

I can have yachts, boats and villas and chateaus.

I like the word, "Chateaue." 

It's so romantic.

Makes me feel like I am  an aristocrat, 

French aristocrat with,

Great taste in excellent cuisine, 

wines and chcolates and paintings.

Oh! the French painters...

I will learn all the names of all the important

Painters.

 I know some of the names already.

It's extremely essential to know the names of the important

Painters and designers and chefs and jewelers and stars.

One has to memorize the most important names of all

the people with important careers

 And crafts so you can drop names...

When you are in the company of other billionaire crooks.

That's all they do.

Drop names all night...

"Oh! I just bought Picasso for 100 million dollars."

"Oh! I do know Jack Nicholson." 

"He is a good friend of mine."\

"I had lunch with him the other day at. Balthazar."

Oh! He didn't mean the actor, Jack Nicholson,

 He meant the painting by Picasso called, "The actor."

Oh! I have that painting as well.

I bought it a while ago

It's hanging on one of the walls of one of my villas in Normandy.

I also have villas in Provance and Burgundy.

I know all these beautiful places because,

 I have villas and Chateau's all over.

I even know the name of Louise the sixteen, 

So I can drop his name....In the company of others

When I am in the company of other clever and cunning crooks,

Who know how to steal millions and never get caught.

They were all lawyers.

Or they knew top most lawyers

Who can get them out of all kind of frauds.

I am not a lawyer.

I don't need. to be one...

I am already a bigger crook than all the lawyers.

I can teach them a thing or two.

I also know the names of important restaurants and important chefs,

So I can drop them like a bad waiter who in a bad, cheap restaurant

 Can drop all the spagetti and meatballs on your Gucci dress.

Right on your lap...

 ruining your  artner's expansive Tom Ford's suit, 

(See I know his name too)

It's all a game and crooks play that game to get ahead. 

  One has to.  Play the game, I mean...

One can just go home some time 

When one is too tired to play games,

Send all servants home,

 Shut the door, 

make a scotch, 

(McCanne...$60 a shot at Balthazar,

Gulp it down and curse all groups.

 All people you don't like and curse them till,

Doom's day in  the privacy of your own home.

 But outside in the corrupt world of money,

You have to behave as if you like everyone

 And you like them so much that you buy everything tey make, everythin,

They design,

 eat all the food by gourmet chefs,

 See plays by famous writers,

 Get invited to

Their yachts, 

drink $4000 a bottle wine

 With them and do every other damn thing of importance in a cheerful manner

I do all what I have to do.

Part of the job

And the job is to make money...tons and tons of it.

'Money,

 Money, 

Money...

So much money that no one would be able to count.

But don't worry about counting your billions, 

Just have them in your safe locked up...

You just make money and let the accountant count it.

The bigger the crook the accountant is better will be his counting skills

Accountant who is a crook who counts other people's money would know

How to cheat you of a million or two and you would never know it...

That's the accountant for you.

Thats part of their job

You cheated some one else,

 Let them cheat you,

 At least they are keeping your money safe,

From. the corrupt govt.

 But don't worry, 

Corrupt govt never touch corrupt billionair's money.

That's part of their job as. well.

Everyone has a job to do

And they are doing it to the best of their ability.

Give some money to the govt, like you let the accountant have it.

Be silent and discrete about it.

It's all part of the game

Everyone involved have to know how to play it.

And if you don't know, learn.

Learn the game of money.

And to play the game of  corruption,

 You have to cut the part of your brain to forget all morals,

All decency, all integrity.

The part of the brain...

Which stores your painful memories,

 Of your clean and honest childhood,

Which you are trying to twist around,

 To change the nature of your memory,

 which is not part of your new game.

Not the part of the the game of making millions.

Millions of corrupt dollars.

 Your memory was to be a decent, honest, clean human being.

Just like your honorable parents, 

poor but honorable. Etremely honorable people with character.

That memory of your extremely honest parents is always there,

To haunt you....

Image of your mother with the bent back mopping the floors...

Well,  that particular memory stood in the way of your honest, hard earned success.

And the memory of your tired clerk father coming home every,

 Evening exhausted,

Bitter and angry,

 Unable to feed his children properly,

 That poverty and the trap...

Of that routine of misery...

Made you who you are today.

You who sold his soul to the devil

You are the character in Faust.

You are the black, dark soul of the devil

Unlike your noble, honorable, struggling parents.

You wanted to forget that part of your memory...

At any cost...

At any cost...

And the cost was corruption

But it doesn't matter

Because your aim was not to have any mention

Of that memory...that painful memory, that reflection of poverty...

There shouldn't be any talk of that misery in a chateaue...

That was the decision you made...

Which made you the most corrupt financier in the world.

No one talks about that memory in any of their Chateaus...

Because they are all so cunning, 

Corrupt crooks, 

hey want to believe that they never ever never ever had those...

Honest parents with bent backs and miseryof centuries..

.Crushing their hopes and dreams...

Those people from miserably honest and kind families 

With fear of god and feel for humanity 

Could not have become what they became,

But they lost all decency and became billionairs.

Now they own a chateu or two rave about

How wonderful their past life was...

And that's the very reason for their brilliant success here in the present

While they are drownig themselves in chamagne...in a group

Of huslers with the same past of misery...

But they are just raving and raving about their theft.

  People like that talk about money only and whatever that money can buy.

Most of them talk about their slim mistresses, 

flowers they send them,

 holidays, 

jewels,

 paintings and 

Caviar...Yes, thats what they talk about...

But people with an ounce of humanity and love of their parents

 Always cherish their memories of the past

 No matter how sad and tragic they might have been. 

The others looters have no time for that.

They talk with money people how to make more money..

.Never the right way though...

Its wonderful to make money the honest way...

But no one can make a billion the honest way...

And for them mnoey is never enough.

There is always more money to be made.

Money has an imagination, so do the money makers...

Money knows many ways how to make more money

Money knows how to be spent

Money knows how to impress others

Money knows how to travel fast and vast

Money knows how to get to the. most beautiful mountains and valleys

And lakes and occeans.

Money's imagination is not limited.

No, not at all.

Not like the narrowest possible,

 limitations of a memory.

"A memory" which is always stuck in one place,

 In one spot...

Like glued to the part of the brain with the strongest possible glue.

Memory is stuck in a moment of pain even if by an extraoridanry miracle.

A memory is a good memory...but still gives you pain.

Memory's function is to give you pain and make you sad

And when. you have pain and when you are sad...

You can never make money.

And to make so much money like I have made have made, 

Sadness becomes the enemy of that kind of money

But not me...I am far from sadness...

The one who don't make money are the sad ones

The ones who don't make money are the one's who feel pain

Pain is the biggest obstacle in your way...

The failures of the world

The losers of the world

With memories

Memories of their past

The mother withe bent back

And a broom in her hand

Father a clerk, how embarrasing

To mention that in a Chatuea....

Corruption is never sad.

Neither are the corrupt ones...

They never have pain

They are always busy

Thinking, 

Planning...

How to make a deal.

THEY DON'T HAVE THE TIME FOR ROMANTIC SADNESS.

THEY DON'T HAVE TIME FOR A PAINFUL MEMORY

THAT IS THE JOB OF A POET

TO BE SAD...

TO REMEBER HIS PAINFUL MEMORIES

LIKE A BRILLAIANT ACTOR

WHO MEMORIZE HIS SCRIPT METICULOUSLY

AND IN A FRACTION OF A SECOND CAN RECITE 

WITHOUT LOOSING ONE SENTENCE,

 ONE WORD....

A POET CAN'T BE A POET WITHOUT HAVING THE

POWER OF RCALLING A MEMORY,

VERY PAINFUL MEMORY AT A MOMENT'S NOTICE

A MELANCHOLIC MEMORY OF HIS MOTHER

HIS FATHER

HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS

OF HIS NEIGBORS

OF HIS NEIGBORHOOD

OF HIS LONG LOST CITY

WHERE HE WAS BORN

OF HIS LANUAGE

A MELODIOUS LANGUAGE

WHICH NO ONE UNDERSTAND

IN A CHATEAU

WHICH NO ONE SPEAKS IN A BILLION DOLLAR CHATEAU

ONY MONEY SPEAKS THERE

THAT'S ALL...

ONY MONEY

THERE IS NO POET THERE

NO POET

AND NO MEMORIES.

Well, have you ever seen a billionair poet ever?

Never...

ONLY THE POET

ONLY THE POET

WHOSE PAINFUL MEMORIES BLOCKED HIM

FROM MAKING MONEY...

MONEY OF SUBSTANCE

MONEY OF CONSEQUENCE

MONEY OF CORRUPTION

MONEY WHICH BUYS CHATEAUS AND VILLAS. 

ALL OVER THE WORLD.

POET DOESN'T HAVE CHATEAUS.

HE IS ALWAYS DREAMING ABOUT THE VERSE

HE WILL COMPOSE,,,OR THINK ABOUT THE,

 THE VERSE HE WISH TO COMPOSE...

But it would have been nice if he ever owned a villa

Thats where he would have put the memory of his. mother

With the bent back and mopp in her hand

And his poor, angry, frustrated govt clerk of a father...

They passed on....

Passed on before he could buy a villa

But he could have never been able to buy that vialla

Even if he dreamt of it sometime

Because he was an. honest man

Who was a poet and all his possessions were

Just memories.

Memories of his past and present

No memory of the future

He had no future...

Just the memory of a sad childhood

Which occupied his mind day and night

AND THEN THE POET WOKE UP

AND A FLY WAS BUZZING ALL OVER THE

DARK,

 DAMP, 

DIRTY ROOM MAKING THE 

BUZZ, 

BUZZ, 

BUZZING SOUND

WHICH INTERUPPTED ALL HIS DREAMS

AND NIGHTMARES....

ANOTHER HAPPY DAY: PART TWO

 ANOTHER HAPPY DAY: PART TWO

P: Look, another happy day!

B: Oh! another happy day is upon us.

P: Arn't you happy about another happy day?

B: Of course I am. I am thrilled. Look how grey, dark

     and cloudy the sky is. Oh! look, it's snowing too...

    That sleet kind of snow., not the fluffy, white Santa claus kind

     but the icy, cold slippery, bone breaking kind of snow.

P: I love it. I love mornings like these, waking up to the feeling of shiver

     which goes right trough my spine.

B: Yes, get out of bed and welcome the coldest possible floors.

      Get your feet cold.  It's healthy to have cold feet. Fire places

      are good but cold makes you breath better.  Now get up and smell the coffee.

P: Oh! there is coffee as well?

B:  Of course, of course...

P: Isn't life wonderful? What a happy day! Snow,  cold floor and hot coffee...

    I hope coffee is hot...I detest luke warm coffee...Oh! I love waking up to

    another happy day...

B: Me too. I welcome my happy day every day.  What would I do if there was

     no happy day to wake me up?

P: You. will keep. sleeping.

B: Yes! I am sure of that. I will never get out of bed. Unhappy days keep one drowsy

     and depressed.

P: You are using two words which are the enemy of a happy day, Drowsy and depressed

     That certainly brings an unhappy day and we can't afford any unhappy days.

      Every day in our lives we have to have a happy day.  We don't live in the third world

      though we look like the third world but luckily we don't live in the third world

     because. that world never ever have a happy day...

B:  They can't.  Because all the happy days are reserved for us, the people of the first world.

P:  I know, I know. You are also part of the first world though you too look like the 3rd world...

     but we can't let that depress us because then we won't wake up and we would be depressed

     in bed for a long time like the 3rd world people.

B:  The 3rd world people are not depressed- they are dead mostly.

P:   Yes, I forgot.  Most of them are dead and the rest are poor,  thus depressed. Even the hot

       sun in those parts of the world doesn't make them smell a happy day.

B:  It's not the hot sun, it's the coffee which starts our happy day...they drink tea...where is the coffee?

P:  the coffee? The coffee? oh! I forgot.   Let me make it.

     (goes to the stove, try to turn it on. it doesn't work)

P:  B?

B: Yes?

P:  Do you mind having a cold coffee?

B:  What?  A cold coffee on a cold day,  on a cold floor?  How happy can that be?

       You told me, "We are waking up to a happy day?"

P:   Yes, we are.  We have another happy day upon us.  It's just the gas is turned off

       and water can't be boiled if there is no gas.  We don't live in the 3rd world where

       they do all kind of cooking by burning the cow's dung

B:   I know, I know, we are the first world thus need coffee first thing in the morning

       when we wake up...

P:   Yes, we do.  I agree.  But most of the time coffee in the first world is luke warm. Hot coffee with 

       the freezing colld milk...that makes it luke warm at it's best. So I will make you cold coffee

       and you just imagine that you are in a fancy cafe in the west village where coffee has to be

       lukewarm. The fancier the cafe, colder is the coffee.  Use your imagination and think you are at 

       Balthazar..

B:   My imagination is very angry at me.  I always want my imagination to do things which do not

       exist...and are always in my imagination, and it has told me that I refuse to play the game

       any longer.

P:    It's not a game.  It's a fact of creation.  You create hot coffee out of existing cold coffee.

       You create a fire place out of a frozen brick wall. You travel to South of France and Tuscany

while you are dozing off in your shitty apt.  You go to Uffitzi gallery in Florence while you are sipping

         your unboiled nescafe.  That's the function of imagination.  Imagination is to imagine things, 

         things you don't have, things you do want...and because of that you have your happy day every day

         every day.

B:    Yes, i agree.  I am an imaginative person but my imagination warned me yesterday and told me

        that it has a grand headache because of the lack of nourishment.  I think my imagination needs

        some eggs.  Are there any eggs in the fridge?

P:     Let me check.

        (She goes to another side of the stage, after few seconds she come back)

P:     Oh!

B:     What?

P:      I am looking for the eggs in the fridge but I can't find the fridge

B:      What do you mean? You can't find the fridge? What happened to the fridge?

          What can happen to the fridge? All that food in it.  Salmon, truffles, the leg of lamb,

           fillet Mignon, bourbon soaked chicken, veal dipped in glazed pears and apricots.  All that food

           bought from Balthazar for holidays and all those people coming...our friends.  What am I going

           to serve them? They have such good taste.  I can't believe that all our gourmet, organic food

           so delicately prepared is already stolen on the bright morning of such a happy day.  Not only

           the food is stolen, the whole frigidair is gone.  My god, what a surprise, what a shock actually.

           I mean isn't the fridge heavy?  I know the first world frigidaires are heavy and huge because

           we buy a lot of food.  Look at us.  We are quite healthy.  We are.  We are so healthy.  We have to 

B           be.  We are from a healthy,  happy country where every day we have to have the strength to 

                wake up to another happy day and you know how sterneous it is to encounter such enormous

           happiness every day?  One has to prepare for such a happy day.  Now I can't even have eggs...

           My organic, mega 3D, F, B, G, H, L, M, K, healthy, healthy chickens from an organic farm where

           they only eat grass, grass fed organic eggs...that's all I can eat.  I can never imagine eating

           eggs from the supermarket.  Please give me a break.  All those injections given to the chickens..

           by all the pharma...I will get instantly sick and I simply can't get sick...I have to be healthy to

           welcome my healthy day.  I need my lox, my eggs, my salad, my freshly squeezed orange juice

            and, and, and...(Sobs)

P:        Calm down.  You are not fully awake yet.  Take your time.  Wake up first and then we can worry

            about our fridge and the food in it.  Maybe some people from the third world countries came in

             the middle of the night and took the fridge out of the apatrtment. I understand that. They need

             the food too you know...their children are starving.

B:         They might be starving but they don't need our food.  They won't know what to do with it.

             They won't know how to eat the bib lettuce.  They would think they are eating grass. Have 

              pity on them.  Give them real food.  White bread and some salty canned beans for proteins-

              They can't eat salmon, come on, wake up...try to figure out who came in the middle of the night

               to take our food and fridge away from us...I mean how did they carry such a heavy fridge down

               all thosy rickety staircase?  We are on the six floor,  arn't we?  Do we have an elevator?

               I clearly remember that we don't have an elevator.  It was our choice not to have an elevator.

               We didn't want one.  We could just imagine that there is an elevator.  But the third 

                world thieves don't have an imagination.  They can't create an elevator in their heads.  They

                had to carry that fridge downstairs by themselves all the way into the street where it was 

                snowing last night and I am sure was slippery.  They could have slipped and broken their 

                backs.

                The fridge could have easily fell on their backs.  Third world people are not used to the snow.

                 They are not from Buffalo...They are not used to walk on the slippery streets.  I am sure they 

                 fell.  I am sure they are dead. Let me see. (goes towards the window and is surprised, calls P)

                 Come here P,  look, there is no window pan on our window...

                 What happened?  Cold wind is howling...shushing through.  it's overpowering...Oh! our

                  fireplace! The thieves didn't only stole our food, they broke all the windows, the fire place is

                  gone...(She begins to cry)

P:              Don't cry.  Please don't cry B.  It's all good for us.  The happy day also demand some tension.

                  Tension creates excitement.  Excitement creates adrenalin and epinephron, all good for the

                  brain. And when brain is excited secreting all those happy hormones,  the body doesn't need

                  any food no matter how gourmet and healthy that food is.  The body needs to be lean and

                 agile to be happy-- to feel happiness, to welcome the wonders of all future happy days to 

                 come.  Everything has a purpose, a plan. God plans for us.  If our food wasn't stolen, we 

                  would have been eating it right now and would have been more healthy than we need to be,

                  We are already so fit and fat.

                 We can donate some of our healthy flesh, (touches her belly) to the third world people.

                 then they won't have to come and steal our food in the middle of a snowy night, if they 

                 got part of our first world organic flesh parcelled to them as charity with the permission

                 of our govt of course.  We need the permission because charity to the third world can be

                 suspect.  Yes, with the permission we can send part of our well preserved healthy flesh to the

                 poor and hungry children. Our government will be very very happy.  They want us to be lean, 

                 muscular and strong to fight all those wars.

P:             We are not fighting any wars.  That's for soldiers to fight and we didn't force them either...

                 They volunteered.  Do you know what that mean B?  Let me tell you.  They said, they want

                 to happily go to fight wars on our behalf.  On our aristocratic behalf.  We make war plans

                 and they happily volunteer to fight it. They are so blessed, our soldiers.  Every day they 

                 encounter another happy day to serve their country.  I admire them so much. They are 

                 permanently happy.  I mean, they wake up happy because it's their own choice.  If you

                 make a choice and put it into action then life is a continum of one long, unending happy

                 day.

B:            I agree.  We are unfortunate, you P and me B.  We are not out there fighting a war on our

                country's behalf.

P:            But we are fighting a war as well for our country B.  We are very emotionally involved.

               We might not use our physical presence for the war but our emotions are totally available.

                We plan the war, we make maps, create borders, draw imaginary lines in the sand and then

                we send our glorious volunteering soldiers to fight over those imaginary lines on our maps.

                We have archealogists. doing research to find where the goods are.  Goods which are really

                 GOOD for our nation.  We write articles about the war, informing the un-informed such as

                 the people in the mid-west.  We have panel discussions about the permanent fear of terror

                 and the benefits of eradicating tht terror once and for all.

                 I mean, we are not just laymen, we are actively involved in pursuit of our goals and our

                 happiness.

                We need to pursue our happiness every day, every day and only then we will have the months

                  and years and decades and centuries of happiness and safety.

                When we wake up luckily...because you never know about the danger and the terror out

                  there and some day its possible that we might not even wake up...Those people who stole 

                the fridge full of food can come back, strangle us in our sleep or rape us and then strangle us

                  or rape us and then cut our throats...they can do that and that would be the end of our happy 

                  day. We have to be positive and optimistic and move forward. We are forward moving 

                  people. We don't look at the past even if its a happy past. Past is just gone. Dead, buried, 

                  done with.  "Done and dusted."  As the English say.

                  I like the English. They can put any one they don't like in solitary confinement in their

                  still existing Victorian prisons.  They are aristocratic people of conscionce and they fight 

                  wars their own way...in a way they are also like us.  We are constantly fighting a war as well

                  but our war is for happiness.  Our demand and desire is to recognize when we wake up

                  that we are so fortunate to have another happy day upon us and we have to take real 

                  advantage of that.  That's the courage of happy people of a happy nation and we are those

                  people, you and me, P and B.  We are those healthy happy people no matter if our food

                  was stolen at night, no matter our windows were smashed,  no matter our stove doesn't light 

               up, no matter that we live on 6th floor without an elevator, no matter if our fire place has no fire

                  in it, no matter if we can't make hot coffee, no matter if our floors are cold, no matter if our

                  blankets have holes in them...we are still blessed with a happy day every morning, the happy

                  day is always there to welcome you back from your nightmarish sleep.

                  Now get up from your slumber and welcome the wonderful, amazing, ever present happy 

                  day.

                  Now repeat after me, "Hi, happy day welcome, welcome to our home, welcome to our

                  happy household, welcome.

                  Now get up and wear your bright red Channel lipstick and let's go out and smile at other

                  happy people on the slippery streets breaking their bones.  Let's smile at them and wish

                  them happy days, come on, wear your bright red lipstick...

                ( B searches for her lipstick,

                  in her pocket book, amongst her clothes, on the bed sheets, inside the pots and pans, makes

                  a real mess and starts to scream)

        B:     OhI my god, oh! my god, I can't find my Channel lipstick.  I spent 99 dollars and 99 cents for

                 it just yesterday and I can't find it anywhere.  Oh! my god, oh! my lord...those thieves from

                 the third world not only stole our food, they also stole my lipstick.  Why would those men

                 steal my Channel lipstick?

      P:        How do you know the thieves were men?

      B:       They carried the fridge downstairs from 6th floor, they had to be men

      P:        Oh! I see.  But why men would steal your lipstick? Men don't wear lipstick.

      B:        Those must be gay...gay men of third world.

      P:        Third world doesn't have gay men. To be gay is very fashionable and third world is backward.

      B:        They might just behave as if they are backward to fool people like you but they must be gay

                  nevertheless.  They took my expensive Channel lipstick, they steal a good thing when they 

                  see it and I simply can't encounter a happy day without my Channel. ( begin to cry)

      P:        Listen B, I am getting tired of your crying.  Ok? Stop. Be a positive, forward moving,   

                 creative  person.

                  Here... (She take out a lipstick from her own pocketbook and offers it to her)

                 Here...look, I got you a lipstick.  It cost me 99 cents from the 99 cent store but it's bright red.

                 Just Imagine its Channel.  Ok? God gave you a glorious imagination.  Use it, otherw it is 

                          going to rot. 

                 If god gave you a gift and you don't use it then your self destruction is assured.

                 Take the lipstick and imagine it's Channel...here...

                 (B takes the lipstick, put it on, look at herself in the mirror and screams with joy)

       B:      (Immensely happy)  Great, great...I found my Channel, my bright red lipstick.  I found my 

                  Channel lipstick...the thieves didn't steel it... The thieves were certainly not gay men

                  afterall.  Just some small time terrorists but I can't worry about them right now.  I got my

                  lipstick and it's Channel on top of it...and with that I am ready for aother happy day.

                    

     P:        Thats my girl...thats my girl, thats my brilliantly positive and imaginative girl...

                (To B)

                 Come here, come to me, come to mama...let me put the lipstick on your plump, cherry

                 blossom lips myself, come...)

                 B comes near P,  P takes the lipstick from her hand, opens it and in a very sexy manner put

                 it on B's lips... Look, how gorgeous you look. 

                 B: Oh! P, oh! P...you have no idea how much I love you and now love you so much more

                 since you found my channel lipstick...

                (P, laughs heartily and hug B, they kiss and starts to walk towards the door)

                B: Oh! I need my coat.  It;s snowing outside. (she looks for her coat and can't find it)

                P: Don't worry about looking for your coat.  Thieves took our coats as well.

                B: But it's freezing cold outside...

                 P: (interupts her) Darling,  just imagine that the summer has come back and it's

                 the month of August and it's boiling hot...Don't forget that god gave you the power

                 of imagination...

                 B: Oh! I always forget how blessed I am.  Thanks for reminding me. (Very happy now)

                 I love the hot wind of August blowing my beautiful hair and me perspiring intensely...

                P: That's my girl...always blessed with the seasons and with happy days...

                B: Another happy day P

                 P: Yes, another happy day B...

                              (they kiss and starts to walk towards their exit door without coats as the lights

                 begins to slowly fade.)

                                                                      BLACKOUT

                                                                    END OF PLAY