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The Krishnamurti Theatre presents
CandyLand
a short play
The setting is a fantasy kingdom—lollipop trees, cupcake hills, gumdrop huts, etc. Enter two soldiers in desert combat camouflage. They carry full weaponry…and parasols. They stroll across the stage from right to left. From the ceiling an occasional dead bird falls, hitting the stage with a heavy thump.
1st soldier: Huh?
2nd soldier: (louder) Huh?
1st soldier: (louder still) Huh?
2nd soldier: (softer) Huh?
1st soldier: (loudest yet) Huh?
2nd soldier: (louder) Huh?
1st soldier: (normal voice) Huh?
2nd soldier: (shouting) Huh?
1st soldier: (louder) Huh?
2nd soldier: (whispers) Huh?
The two soldiers continue this exchange at various random amplitude until they reach the opposite end of the stage.
Curtain.
Off stage
1st soldier: (loud) Huh?
2nd soldier: (louder) Huh?
Continuing all the way back to the dressing room & until they change out of costume.
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(envelope art)
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(richard canard)
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(Richard Canard)
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(mini-manifesto #4)
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(mail art, front & back)
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I'm one of those people. Murakami's meandering, circuitous style works best for me in shorter prose pieces. I suppose convention has it that such a style would work better in a novel, where the form permits a pace more leisurely and there is plenty of room and time for digression. But that's not how it is for me.
In his novels, I often find his oblique digressions can be excruciating—and exhausting. Maybe that's because I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. It's like when someone tells you a dream and it just goes on and on and on with no internal narrative clock to cue you to where you are and when the dream might be coming to an end. In fact, the dream might theoretically never come to an end. What torture!
Such a narrative journey—at 350 pages—makes me irritable and impatient. While in a story of 15 to 17 pages, I can see the end in sight from the start. I can see that no matter how it feels, the story will not go on forever. I'll come to the end soon enough and I can then start another. I'm making traction. I'm getting somewhere. At least from one story to another.
I understand that I'm approaching the novels in the wrong spirit. And, in fact, theoretically at least, I fully endorse such a rambling, non-Aristotleian non-structure. But somehow, in practice, I just can't tolerate it. Maybe it's also because while I find my own endlessly digressive dream-stories fascinating, I don't find other people's nearly so.
I know very well that I should let myself fall under Murakami's narrative spell. But I just can't seem to do it in his novels. There are other books I want to read. I don't want Haruki Murakami to monopolize so much of my time. In the stories, he doesn't.
Haruki Murakami: My short stories are like soft shadows I've set out in the world, faint footprints I've left behind. I remember exactly where I set down each and every one of them, and how I felt when I did. Short stories are like guideposts to my heart, and it makes me happy as a writer to be able to share these intimate feelings with my readers.
Your stories make me happy, too. Thank you Haruki! Eventually, I probably will once again try one of your longer novels. Maybe "Kafka on the Shore." Your voice is so immediate and human and compelling. I really shouldn't try to force you to hurry up and get to the point.
(mail art, front & back)
15.
(Richard Canard)
(book recently read)
I'm one of those people. Murakami's meandering, circuitous style works best for me in shorter prose pieces. I suppose convention has it that such a style would work better in a novel, where the form permits a pace more leisurely and there is plenty of room and time for digression. But that's not how it is for me.
In his novels, I often find his oblique digressions can be excruciating—and exhausting. Maybe that's because I don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. It's like when someone tells you a dream and it just goes on and on and on with no internal narrative clock to cue you to where you are and when the dream might be coming to an end. In fact, the dream might theoretically never come to an end. What torture!
Such a narrative journey—at 350 pages—makes me irritable and impatient. While in a story of 15 to 17 pages, I can see the end in sight from the start. I can see that no matter how it feels, the story will not go on forever. I'll come to the end soon enough and I can then start another. I'm making traction. I'm getting somewhere. At least from one story to another.
I understand that I'm approaching the novels in the wrong spirit. And, in fact, theoretically at least, I fully endorse such a rambling, non-Aristotleian non-structure. But somehow, in practice, I just can't tolerate it. Maybe it's also because while I find my own endlessly digressive dream-stories fascinating, I don't find other people's nearly so.
I know very well that I should let myself fall under Murakami's narrative spell. But I just can't seem to do it in his novels. There are other books I want to read. I don't want Haruki Murakami to monopolize so much of my time. In the stories, he doesn't.
Haruki Murakami: My short stories are like soft shadows I've set out in the world, faint footprints I've left behind. I remember exactly where I set down each and every one of them, and how I felt when I did. Short stories are like guideposts to my heart, and it makes me happy as a writer to be able to share these intimate feelings with my readers.
Your stories make me happy, too. Thank you Haruki! Eventually, I probably will once again try one of your longer novels. Maybe "Kafka on the Shore." Your voice is so immediate and human and compelling. I really shouldn't try to force you to hurry up and get to the point.
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(Mudhead Reynolds)
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(envelope art—before folding & sewing)
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(Mudhead Reynolds)
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I might get burned up by the sun
But I had my fun
I've been loved and put aside
I've been crushed by tumbling tide
And my soul has been psychedelicized
Now the time has come
There are things to realize
Time has come today
TIME HAS COME TODAY
—Joe & Willie Chambers
(mail art-front & back)
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22.
(book recently read)
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(book recently read)
26.
I might get burned up by the sun
But I had my fun
I've been loved and put aside
I've been crushed by tumbling tide
And my soul has been psychedelicized
Now the time has come
There are things to realize
Time has come today
TIME HAS COME TODAY
—Joe & Willie Chambers
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(book recently read)
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(envelope art)
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