The Devil and Tom Jones Scene 2

Fade up with Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” Give the Devil till the first chorus then fade out on him and up on Missy and Sigmund.
Missy is at a threshold. Her life has consisted of a self-imposed obliviousness. She was very much a “go with the crowd” type of person, and she liked to be noticed within that crowd as well. She has potential for self-awareness and discovers this as the night goes on. Sigmund is technical awareness. He has done all the reading and studying he needs to in order to understand the way things really are…or at least to construct himself an easier reality to live in. Because of this his actual awareness is limited.

Missy: This is a strange place.

Sigmund: What do you mean?

Missy: I mean it’s strange.

Sigmund: In what way?

Missy: Strange in…well hell! I don’t know. It’s just strange is all. Does there have to be a specific reason for it?

Sigmund: Yes.

Missy: Why?

Sigmund: Because, admitting “you don’t know” is a revelation of self-ignorance. And I’m terribly sorry dear, but ignorance is not bliss. (He picks up his drink and swirls the ice around in the glass smugly)

Missy: Hey! I resent that! I’m not ignorant of myself! I know who I am better than anybody else does!

Sigmund: Then explain yourself better than anybody else does.

Missy: I guess…maybe…the symbolism of it is…unusual.

Sigmund: (leans forward) Ah. Now we are getting somewhere.(He gives her his full attention). Please. Do go on.

Missy: None of it seems, I don’t know, real. This table, this glass, this cigarette…not a real one in the bunch.

Sigmund: Am I real?

Missy: As real as you can be.

Sigmund: Aren’t we all? (swirls drink) Well, if this place isn’t real then what is it?

Missy: (Thinks on this for a moment) Imagined? Like a mass hallucination. Delusion on an ultimate scale. (eyes him precariously) Do you like the sound of that?

Sigmund: I like the sound of running water better.

Missy: Why?

Sigmund: Oh I don’t know. I suppose it has something to do with the purity of the act itself.

Fade out on them and up on the bar. The Devil is taking a break. So, he decides to saunter over to the bar and check out the “scene.” At the end of the bar stands a waitress. This is a country song in so many ways. He walks up to her. With a swagger that is more awkward than impressively sexy. She is alone at the bar waiting on drink orders when he approaches. The air is secreting awkwardness.

Devil: Hi. What’s your name?

Second: Second.

Devil: Second, huh? You must’ve been born with a complex. Don’t sweat it though. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, Second.

Second: What’s that?

Devil: You’re gorgeous. I mean, sexier than Eve. And she was hot.

Second: (Rolls her eyes) Thanks.

Devil: Yeah. But I bet all the guys tell you that, huh?

Second: Actually, they do. So what makes you Mr. Special? What makes you The New Kid on the Block who’ll shape my world in ways it’s never been shaped before?

Devil: (fidgets) …Nothing… I’m just…you know…the New Kid on the Block I guess…or something.

Second: Yeah…

Devil: I liked Jordan.

Second: What?

Devil: Nothing…

Second: …I liked Donny…

Devil: What?

Second: Nothing…

Devil: Yeah…

Second: Yeah, well, um…

Fade out on those crazy kids. And back up on lonely ol’ Marvin at the bar.

Marvin: Then, you wonder if she is cheating on you. It makes sense, right? I mean, she used to be there nurturing your ego and making you feel like someone that mattered. She was there to lift you up, tickling the fringes of your imagination in just the right spot. Made you purr almost, right? You thought it’d last forever. And then out of nowhere (literally) she just leaves. So, now what? I mean, it actually feels lonely without her. But who wants to be a miserable bastard all the time? So you start going to all the places you used to hang out. Your computer desk, a coffee shop, the park, wherever. The point is you begin to haunt these places, hoping to catch a glimpse of the muse that showed you how to enjoy yourself so you could enjoy life.

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About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on January 8, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Movies, Spirituality, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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