Argument

More known or peeled of as script.
Just a small man, an old one.
No argument to depend upon.
Some echoes, voices echoing.
A breeze in the air.
Full moon or a dark one, DARK TONE.
Still the voices.
He’s rambling, trying desperately to leave.
Grey room, with no rats on.
Big centipedes and spiders.
No!!!
Hammering, torturing, killing him.
What should I do?!!
Fuck I don’t give a damn.
Go that way.
Don’t cross that line!!!
Watch out!!!
Green and Red!
Halo, fine thanks.
Oh, what can I do?
What shall I do ?!
Too cheap, too expensive.
I don’t know let’s borrow it.
I want to rob it.
Do you have a gun?!
Just a pen, a lousy one.
Is it big?!
It depends.
Don’t buy it.
I want to do it.
Fucking asshole, he jumped in front of the car.
I pulled him off.
Was he pushed?!!
No, he sort of flew.
Oh, no shit!!!
I want to comb your hair.
Have you brushed your teeth?!
Have you done your homework?!
No pen, no pencil, no paper.
Scrub it, clean it, and wash it.
OK, let’s do it.
Still the hammer.
Lights flashing green and red; red and blue.
Like that.
Tones; darker ones.
He’s got an old jacket, some dirty trousers, he isn’t shaved and his hair’s stinky, making a speech to himself.
Rambling, like a crook.
Wanting to start without a start.
A madman in a sane world.
Is it like that?
Exploring deep the forest, through a tree, through disorder, getting mindless.
Running through red lakes.
Hitting the brain.
No pulse.
Streets empty, it’s dark, 11h30p.m.
He’s trying to have a snack, looking in the trashcans.
People lurking through curtains.
Silhouettes all over his mind.
The curtains, the conscience, the SCENARIO.
Unravel them let them see you.
MEN...
Blood pumping, O2 running wild, through the heart, till the head.
He’s snoring, thinking loud or maybe dreaming.
Curtains are wide open.
He’s awake.
Troubles with his conscience.
Dreams plenty of them.
I’m rich, NO!!!
I’m healthy, NO!!!
I’ve them in duplicate!!!
Nuts?
No.
A man and a woman scarcely running around.
Something’s broken.
Necklace and a fall, he can’t make it.
He’s failing.
Sex, they’re trying it, and he can’t.
Sad and shallow.
Cleaner mind.
The tree is full of them.
Too full.
He’s smoking a cigarette, with no dime in his pockets.
Mister, hey you.
Curly hair, give it to me.
The sting he’s got it.
Look at it.
So blue, so pale.
He’s got lots of ink.
He’s a tinker.
Was?!!
Yeah, no money to rely on.
Nice life, just like a cat, always a loner.
A spell is made.
That’s it, that’s all.
Cigarette one, after another.
A foggy night.
Crippled in the winter.
Freezing in the cold.
Such a strange thing deep in your inner self.
A forest filled with dreams.
Each fruit as only one.
Branches are leafless.
It hits hard on you through your doors, circulating by your veins, almost too much to bear it.
Damn hot coffee, a damn good one. (Flaws and Flaws)
In this seamless fog in this turned out battery, just like a pen with no ink on.
A human body, without a heart.
Der Kopf ist nicht alles.
Schwarzkopf full of dreams, empty as a garbage can.
You must store it.
Is organisation all?!!
Empty streets, narrow alleys, all too complicated.
This human warmth I can feel it, I can touch it, but I can’t sense it, like an empty barrel.
Just thought that’s all.
All in an urge, a struggle to release it, to punch it on your face.
Just a story.
So where are you?!
Are you still waiting for me ?!
Still closing your door on my footsteps, or is it a drink, something to think or to embrace.
Lots of onions with heart, they have it, did you noticed it?!
All this garbage in the street.
All these full stomachs, all this noise beating in my ears.
All with no sound, almost soundless, because it’s all here, in the core, strange and hard.
I feel it also.
I see it also.
Auch in den buchen.
Ich will schreiben, Ich Muss schreiben.
Ich will ein kopf, nicht ein kugelschreiber oder einen gummi, so that I can erase this head and stop startling.
You can find all your troubles at Peter’s, you can tremble without shaking.
C’est la vie.
Have you lernen this?!!
Have you fucked it all?!!
Have you done it all?!!
I’m still trying to do it.
I’m a virgin, did you knew.
We are at a grey area, trying to figure, how to spot a green one.
Sugar, honey, love, I have called it all, I have screamed, I’m a person also.
So near Deutschland, so go figure it out.
A bunch of losers, who I can’t comprehend.
Fifteen and a half, twelve, forty or eighty-five, all numbers with handsome tits, and bits.
Frightening and scaring everybody, just a sweet one.
Full of nausea and disgust.
Do you have a table?!
A small one, handmade, rat proof.
Why?!
Rubber one.
A closet filled with paper, without ink.
A liquid one, not a solid one.
Egyptian papier, Chinese ink.
Japanese pen.
English iron.
Deutsche rubber.
What do we do in this country?!
Only food to get stuffed coffins to sleep, coffees to drink.
Italian ones, sure.
Have you got something?!!
I have a nice house, with a nice table, back there in the alley.
Do you enjoy your life?!!
If I enjoy it?!!
I love it.
A parable of identities in crisis.
An argument with no structure.
Something to live or die for.
A life, a death, the beginning, the end.
A torture by a thousand ways.
An art of slavery, of decay, of chewing something that doesn’t count much, so you have to spit it out.
Some useless gum, some dirty thoughts, a fog of ideas, with grey colours not visible.
The pen and the men, a strange association.
Why is the pen, a faithful servant of men?!!
Why can’t I speak?!!
Why are they always putting in paper and ink, what they can’t tell face to face?
It’s the eyes?!! It’s the mind?!!
Turning the difficult in simple, and the simple in abstract?!
In a world of TV’s, phones and computers, is it valid talking to someone face to face, in the eyes?
Is it the simple as complex as people point out?!!