A Discussion with My Self

And here's the first creative piece to be posted since my epiphany about production / consumption. Enjoy.

"A Discussion with My Self" by David Darmon

[The scene opens in a small room on the second story of an even smaller building. A young man, about 20, sits alone, cross-legged on a pillow. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be breathing slowly. By all appearances, he's at peace.]

Young Man: [quickly opening his eyes, in an agitated voice] God damnit. This never seems to work. No matter how many times I do this shit, it never works. [falling to his back] Someday, man. Someday. [he mutters to himself for a few seconds]

[As he gets up to retrieve his computer, he notices someone standing in the shadows in the corner of his room. The man in the shadows is just barely visible. Darkness obscures his features. Taken aback, the young man slowly walks towards the corner, nerves on edge.]

Young Man: [grabbing at the person in the shadows] Who the hell are you?! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!

Stranger: [completely relaxed and at peace] Who am I? I am that I am.

Young Man: [even more perturbed by the smart remark] Yeah, that's real great asshole, but how about you tell me your real name. Okay? Or else you're going to get hurt. And I mean bad.

Stranger: [smiling] Call me Ishmael.

Young Man: [turning red in the face] Okay, now you're going to get it!

[As the young man swings at the intruder, the intruder dissolves into a cloud of smoke. Seconds later, he reforms, still smiling and at peace.]

Stranger: Why do you strike so hard? Why do you try to hurt me? Why are you so mad?

Young Man: [breathless] Why the fuck do you ask so many questions?

Stranger: [Taken aback] Why do I ask so many question? Why, because it's what I do. Do you ask why a fish swims, or why a bird flys? No, it is simply the nature of those things.

Young Man: [The question diffuses the anger in the young man. He begins to cool. Interested] Okay, I can see this line of questioning isn't going to go very far. Let's try something else. Why are you here? Why did you break into my...

Stranger: [Interupting] I can be nowhere other than where I am. Wherever I go, there I am. And I did not break into "your" anything. Nothing that is yours is not already mine. I am part and parcel to you.

Young Man: [confused] Okay, dude, what the hell are you saying. You sound just like all the crappy koans that I have to read in my shitty Eastern Religious Studies clsses. Heh, maybe you can riddle me this. What's the sound of one hand clapping?

[Suddenly both the young man and the stranger dissappear. In their place, the entire universe spans before them. It's almost as if the entire history of the universe, all 13 billion years of it, occurs before "them" in a single second. Nothing is said, nothing is seen, and yet everything is seen. Just as fast as they dissappeared, the young man and the stranger reappear]

Young Man: Woah! What WAS that?

Stranger: THAT was the sound of one hand clapping. You are that. I am that.

Young Man: Dude, I don't know what's going on here. I don't know who you are. I don't...

Stranger: [interupting again] Then you are already halfway down the path. And the path that may be spoken of is not the true path.

Young Man: Okay, dude, if you don't stop talking in riddles... Just, just. I don't know.

Stranger: [his grin becoming ever wider] I don't speak in riddles. I don't talk in rhymes.

Young Man: I'll ask you one more time. And that's it. Who. Are. You.

Stranger: And I will answer again, as I have answered for eons before and will answer for eons after. I am that. I am you. I am your original face.

[Stepping out from the shadows, the stranger's identity is discovered. He is the young man.]

Young Man: Wait, wait, wait. [falling to the floor] How? Who? What? Why?

[The stranger dissolves into mist, and then the scene fades to that of the young man, sitting on the pillow, peace on his face. A smile breaks accross his lips. He opens his eyes and rises.]