© Josh Sullivan Richter, Iowa 2009
Comrades, beloved sisters and brothers, headhunters of darkness and gloom, thou shallt live to see the light! Only seven hour and thirty-five minutes past now, whatever your time is, you lovely eavesdroppers of disaster, only very few moments before this sparkling moment hath gone to crumble into dissolution and chaos, our very honorable, Germany-based, bow-legged Wolfram Lotz made some very lasting, very remarkable remarks, because this is what remarks are: remarkable, yes, indeed, dear fellow red-skins, green-furred campanions of truth, and this is what Lotz said: This is the way it is! Then he said: This is not the way it is. He said: The Theatre of the Impossible is possible, whatever they say. Swans of Dick, he calls them, our enemies. He said, stupid question. He talked about fiction, he talked about reality. He talked at lenght about his two cats. Fiction, he said, should not follow reality, reality should follow fiction.
We here in America have not always lived here. We shall undress and bathe under the poisonous sky in the red rain of laughter! Wherever we shall live we will listen closely to that voice that calls from that place called Beyond, which it is our mission to turn into reality, forever rejecting reality for the sake of fiction, forever moving beyond what’s to be seen.
I will now disappear, and those who see me, those un-disguised actors, those generous typo-specialists, those revolting human beings (little & small) and those revolting, huge, loud-barking horses, those will see themselves in my place, themselves on that stage which is not the world. No! It is not. It will be. It will never be. Yessir.