søndag, januar 29, 2006
vel, rolfs søndag har kommet og gått som et regnskyll på gran canaria, og vi har akkurat fått av oss papirhattene og blåst ut lysene, her har det blitt mandag og til vår alles store overraskelse (og lettelse, vi kjente ikke rolf så godt) viste det seg at det hele gikk rett over i Harpers dag, samtidsdramatikkens mest rufsete hode, så for det det er verdet, og det er ganske mye, herved slenges inn vår kjære Harpers avslutningsreplikker fra Tony Kushners skuespill "Engler i Amerika":
“Night Flight to San Francisco. Chase the moon across America. God! It's been years since I was on a plane!
When we hit 35,000 feet we'll have reached the tropopause, the great belt of calm air, as close as I'll ever get to the ozone.
I dreamed we were there. The plane leapt the tropopause, the safe air, and attained the outer rim, the ozone, which was ragged and torn, patches of it threadbare as old cheesecloth, and that was frightening...
But I saw something that only I could see, because of my astonishing ability to see such things:
Souls were rising, from the earth far below, souls of the dead, of people who had perished, from famine, from war, from the plague, and they floated up, like skydivers in reverse, limbs all akimbo, wheeling and spinning. And the souls of these departed joined hands, clasped ankles, and formed a web, a great net of souls, and the souls were three-atom oxygen molecules, of the stuff of ozone, and the outer rim absorbed them, and was repaired. Nothing's lost forever. In this world, there's a kind of painful progress. Longing for what we've left behind, and dreaming ahead. At least I think that's so"
stakkars, stakkars, stakkars Harper.
(her avbildet i Mary-Louise Parkers skikkelse, lett dandert av mannen bak årets slogan, Mr. Lies sjøl (Jeffrey Wright).