Human — Inhuman

Characters: Human—a talented University poet.

Inhuman—the soul of joy and gladness.

Setting: God knows where, how or why.

(Fanfare of stereotypes. "Human," brooding left centre. Dramatic back-lighting of course.)

Human:

Despair wells up within me.
Despair, gloom, despair, gloom.
The sheerest pace of living, thus
And thus, doth turn and twist
Wrenching my being to the depths of torment.
And there is no interest,
No interest.

Inhuman:

(Floating, right, upstage, immersed in bluish halo.)
No interest.

Human:

(Hollowly)
Born of despair, a child of grime,
Dust, and Darkness, and careworn crime,
Spring, not from cause eternal,
But from Vice and folly and greed,
Lechery, poverty, avarice, progeny of evil.

Inhuman:

Sentiments of beauty, Stark beauty,
Thou speakest, Human.
Thou art indeed the child born of despair.
Tell me why thy life is filled,
With ash-cans and kerosene tins
And the like.

Human:

Light, I would Have light.
Too much introspection,
Too much soul-searching,
Too much analysis,
Too much Examination,
Too much discussion, research, thesis, antithesis, theory, hypothesis, and empty-sullen words,
Too much bad poetry and verse,
Too much pretentious verse and prose,
God, for a poem!
God, for a song!
(Speaking very fast). Values have gone to be replaced by nothing, if, indeed, they ever existed, can we not teach ourselves of our foolishness, can we not reveal to ourselves our lives, can we not,
Not, not, not, not, not see.

Inhuman:

Ho, ho, ho,
Thou seest and yet are blind, Human,
Thou speakest yet art dumb, Human,
Thou livest yet thou art Dead, Human,
Thou art ---------------- Human!!!!

Ha ha, ha ha ha ha (receding back stage and fading in deep purple).

Curtain.

—Omow (Alias B. P. Dawkins.)

(I composed this short, brilliant piece in protest against the tripe levelled at us by the latest issue of " Experiment")