Order & Hope

Today I devoted some time to the Work, the results of which I'd like to report here.

I'd also like to make a few comments about how I go about it. I think my method is a bit unorthodox, and perhaps even interesting.

I've been writing Pilgrims Dream for quite awhile now--a professional writer would probably say for too long. I don't put in set hours and write write write with hope that inspiration will fill the vacuum and suddenly Come while I scribble away vapid nonsense: I wait. I build and let settle. I look at what I've done and rest.

Because I'm working with dreams. You can build dreams. I use my imagination and see the scene before I write it. I begin to write it. And then I build the scene in my imagination some more. Putting down words changes the composition of a dream, and it's important to take a step back after you've started to see how the scene will react. I let it grow. As the scene grows & becomes more complex, the elements start to intermingle--and only then does the scene come alive. Then, a process begins that no longer requires my intervention. At that moment, the scene is autonomous & has its own existence. It is an under-appreciated fact that our thoughts become realities. I am a reporter of realities that begin in dreams.

I've been working on the scene w/the Agents in the bar for a long time now. The name of the bar changed from Off the Wagon to the far superior Beat & Path. A professional writer would've finished the scene long before he even received the true name of the bar. I've taken the necessary time to build every detail. Maybe I spend an afternoon to think, What is the bouncer like? Or, Who is the band? (Radical Subjective: I spent a lot of time building them & their performace.) Or, Who are the patrons? Essentially, What are the Agents looking for? And, How do they find it? An afternoon spent on random sensual details. Do we overhear any conversations? Every question becomes a stone with which I build--a stone the professional writer rejected.

Today I asked myself about the bartenders. That's all. And only because I felt I had the imaginative capital to spend. I spent a few hours dreaming only about the bartenders. How else could I know if they are important? I had to do some imaginative research.

Here's what I got:

They are dressed as government officials, which plays nicely into Radical Subjective's performance of "Here Comes the White Man." Various uniforms. Perhaps one or two in a suit & tie to represent the office bureaucrats. Field uniforms, dress uniforms, etc. From every branch of government, every type of agency--as long as they got a good looking uniform.

They are under strict orders never to speak or smile or lean closer to the patrons. If they don't hear an order, they simply continue their stern gaze. Not a muscle moves. It doesn't matter how loud the place is--it is the responsibility of the patron to make their order heard. The bartenders do not blink, and they do not look away. If after a second attempt they still can't hear the order, they are trained to move on to the next order without any sort of acknowledgment of the failed attempt. They can only use their voice to tell the cost of an order after it has been successfully placed. Cannot answer direct questions about cost, ingredients, or available beers. Tourists like to ask questions to watch the response, like teasing palace guards. Any question at all makes the bartenders immediately move on to the next patron. No one makes inquiries to the bar. If you want to receive a drink, you must simply & directly state your order.

ORDER & HOPE

is the sign above the bar, which practically means you must place your order & hope it will be filled. If it cannot be filled, for whatever reason, you will get the Gaze. At that point, you must decide whether you should repeat your order (because he couldn't hear) or place a different one (because he lacks the supplies to fulfill your order)--neither option is safe, and you have no indication which to choose. Patrons help each other out: Oh no, you can't order that; they ran out of lime juice. Some people are experienced--experts in the ordering process--and they help out other patrons as much as they can. These experts are so highly appreciated by the other patrons that they are automatically given seats at the bar--like Kafkaesque representatives of the Court in The Trial.

Imagine:

Could you help me? I was wondering if I should order a Bloody Mary.

(Expert isn't exactly forthcoming.) Ok. That's interesting. How am I concerned?

Well, I have no idea if they have celery. I don't care if they have celery. But maybe they consider celery a necessary ingredient in a Bloody Mary, and they would reject my order because they don't have celery. So, would my order be rejected? I just want a Bloody Mary, with or without celery. Though I'd definitely prefer celery.

(Expert's measured advice, for which he's earned his seat, and the seeming approval of the Bar, which is evidenced by his insights into the bar's arcane prohibitions.) Your order for a Bloody Mary will not be rejected because of celery.

On the other hand, though the bartenders could be accused of taking that stereotypical NY rudeness and bureaucratic lack of empathy to an extreme, the bartenders are also impervious to all raucous behavior. No insult bothers them, no wild action prompts them to summon a bouncer. And Beat & Path is certainly a wild place. Not many places would consider giving a stage to Radical Subjective, for example. Things you've never seen, brother. But the bartenders are simple functionaries, and the limit of their authority is to distribute alcohol.

--

Now, I am certainly not going to devote paragraphs to a description of the bartenders. It's just something I might be able to use in the writing, as a random detail--to evoke the scene. What I'm writing here on Lightning, Mirror will not go directly into Pilgrims Dream.

Indirectly.

These are simply notes that aid me in the preparation.

Like notes toward a recipe.