Dear Double Crossed,

All is corpsed during the disaster, but it never vanishes, it just becomes an infidelity that keeps the story emerging as a blind spot that liberates us from everything--if it could just have a relationship with someone. . .someone just like you.

SCENE 7:'la perruque' (An/other fake calls)

(Scene opens before a table crammed with lipstick, fake eyelashes, a can of beauty spots, eyeliners, creams and powders, unatended wigs of various colors and styles--some seem to have been burnt. A copy of MALDOROR clicks on and off beneath all the stuff. A phone rings and the anwsering machine picks up, we hear Maddy's voice--"What is it about your tiny fragments that misled me to end my silence?" The machine beeps and takes the call. As the caller speaks the camera pans across all the makeup and comes to rest on a photograph of two figures standing next to a building under construction).

FAKE (his voice is harsh and difficult to understand): Queries continue to crawl out of me regarding the letter, the stuff I took from your basement when we first embraced, and always your reversals and confusion about how to build an invisible mass through artificial involments that never engage my questions but always recycles your appearance? Why don't you ever pick up? You just wait for that one call to come. The one that will answer itself. Why must your fatal memories of these impersonal objects always arise before my sight when the real things would do just as well?

(A door is heard openning beyond the frame. As the Fake continues speaking, someone can be heard humming a song, it's jumbled and out of tune).

My hands, my fingers, hurt more and more with each word that you produce, why must you always accomodate those others, they always fall between the lines, they never project spaces, they just sit and introject the common assemblages of separation--without exhaustion. Inventories, like my files, are never enough for your cellularity under the light of scotomization--the recombinant reflections of your public secrets and leaking anomalies.

(The sound of the phone being picked up and a heavy breath coming across the wires).

Your voice is a savage machine, that always hides its uncanny vivsection of itself, and double crosses any of the living around you. Why must you always re-read the old works while you factor out the act of seening? I will never help you dig up the basement and your virtual construction of shame shall not go unpunished--I will never stop watching you.

(The phone goes dead and then after a moment a dial tone can be heard. We then hear a phone number being dialed and the same humming as before. We can hear a ringing in the distance and then the sound of an answering machine picking up. We hear a soft voice say, "I'm gone and won't be returning--leave a message." We hear the machine beep. Then the sound of the phone going dead again).