Krapp's Last CD

“Went down to BAM to see Krapp. Heard box 3 spool 5. And just because it’s high art doesn’t mean that it’s not  crap. (sighs) Spool, stool, they’re all emetics. Quiddity refers to 'the real nature of a thing; the essence?' I said again that it made no sense continuing and she who was sitting next to me in the car assented particularly since we’d stopped for a red light at the corner of Ashland Place. Because of two headlights shining, she was squinting. Perhaps it isn’t a wonderful life and I lost the one opportunity I had, but I don’t want any ot it, for reasons I can’t disclose. I knew it was all going to be like silent film, man stripped down to the basics, a tramp slipping on a banana peel, our tramp (whose stage business was written by a one-time graduate of Trinity College, Dublin) making it crystal clear 'this is just a play and I’m just an actor since notice I refuse to step out of the limelight.' Like modern art, a painting’s just paint, an actor just mouths words and consciousness is disemBODIED, the supposedly integrated personality we presume to recognize in the mirror simply a delusion. John Hurt cradling that tape deck is holding on to what brains Krapp has left. Lucky Krapp has a tape to do the remembering for him, but why not a CD? Should be called Krapp’s Last Sound Byte or digital something or other. By the by, on the way to BAM I realized that Marina Abramovic and Robert Wilson must both have been deeply influenced by Krapp even before either had heard of it. Why? What are you saying? Because silence is not merely punctuation? Lucky I brought a banana.”