Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it!
Do remember that and don’t forget it! Ever since you can speak a normal sentence you are beginning to compare everything that you perceive with this normal sentence, so that the sentence becomes a model. Each object you perceive is that much simpler, the simpler the sentence with which you can describe it: that object is a normal object about which no further questions remain to be asked after a short simple sentence: a normal object is one which is entirely clarified with a short simple sentence: all you require for a normal object is a sentence of three words: an object is normal when you don’t first have to tell a story about it. For a normal object you don’t even require a sentence: for a normal object the word for the object suffices. Stories only begin with abnormal objects. You yourself are normal once you need to tell no more stories about yourself: you are normal once your story is no longer distinguishable from any other story: when no thesis about you provokes an anti-thesis. You should not be able to hide behind a single sentence any more. The sentence about your shoelace and the sentence about you must be alike except for one word: in the end they must be alike to the word.
XXI
A spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand which is slowly approaching the loose shoelace. It follows Kaspar’s other hand, which is also approaching the shoelace. He slowly crosses one shoelace over the other. He holds the crossed ends up. He winds one end precisely around the other. He holds up both ends, crossed. He draws the shoelaces together, slowly and deliberately. He elaborately makes a noose with one lace. He places the other lace around the noose. He pulls it through underneath. He draws the noose tight. The first order has been created. The spotlight is extinguished. The table stands. With the word table you think of a table which stands: a sentence is not needed any more. The scarf is lying. When the scarf is lying, something is not in order. Why is the scarf lying? The scarf already requires other sentences. Already the scarf has a story: does the scarf have a knot tied at one end, or has someone thrown the scarf on the floor? Was the knot ripped off the scarf? Was someone choked to death with the scarf? The curtain is falling just now: at the word curtain you think of a curtain that is falling just now: a sentence is not needed any more. What is worth striving for is a curtain that is just falling.
XXII
The spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand, which, by pushing up the jacket, approaches the belt, which may be very wide. The spotlight follows Kaspar’s other hand, which also moves toward the belt. One hand slips the belt end out of very many belt loops. One hand holds the prong of the buckle while the other draws the belt away from the prong. This hand pulls the belt tight while the other hand puts the prong through the next hole. The belt end, which has become even longer through the tightening of the belt, is again passed carefully through the many loops until the pants fit as they should obviously fit. The spotlight darkens. A sentence which demands a question is uncomfortable: you cannot feel at ease with such a sentence. What matters is that you form sentences that you can at least feel at ease with. A sentence which demands another sentence is unpretty and uncomfortable. You need homely sentences: sentences as furnishings: sentences which you could actually save: sentences which are a luxury. All objects about which there are still questions to be asked are disorderly, unpretty, and uncomfortable. Every second sentence (the words are timed to coincide with the loops through which Kaspar is passing the belt) is disorderly, unpretty, uncomfortable, irksome, ruthless, irresponsible, in bad taste.
XXIII
The spotlight follows Kaspar’s hand which is buttoning his jacket from top to bottom. One button is left over at the bottom. The spot points to the leftover button, as does Kaspar’s hand. Then it follows the hand as it unbuttons the jacket from bottom to top, but more rapidly than it buttoned it. Then it follows Kaspar’s hand as it buttons the jacket once more, even more quickly. This time he succeeds. The spot and Kaspar’s hands both point to the bottommost button. Then the hands release the button. The spot reveals that everything is in order. Then it goes out Every object must be the picture of an object: every proper table is the picture of a table. Every house must be the picture of a house. Every proper table is (the words are timed to coincide with the buttoning) orderly, pretty, comfortable, peaceful, inconspicuous, useful, in good taste. Each house (the words coincide with the buttoning) that tumbles, trembles, smells, burns, is vacant, is haunted is not a true house. Every sentence (the words again coincide with the buttoning) which doesn’t irk, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t aim, doesn’t ask, doesn’t choke, doesn’t want, doesn’t assert is a picture of a sentence.
XXIV
The spot shines on Kaspar. It is obvious that his jacket does not match his pants, either in color or in style. Kaspar just stands there. A table is a true table when the picture of the table coincides with the table: it is not yet a genuine table if the picture of the table alone coincides with the table whereas the picture of the table and chair together do not coincide with the table and chair. The table is not yet a true, actual, genuine, right, correct, orderly, normal, pretty, even prettier, spectacularly beautiful table if you yourself do not fit the table. If the table is already a picture of a table, you cannot change it: if you can’t change the table, you must change yourself: you must become a picture of yourself just as you must make the table into a picture of a table and every possible sentence into a picture of a possible sentence.
XXV
Kaspar puts the stage in order. While the spotlight follows him and everything he does, he moves from one object to the other and corrects whatever harm he has done to it. Moreover, he puts the objects into their normal relationships toward each other, so that the stage gradually begins to look inhabitable. Kaspar creates his own (three) walls for himself. His actions are accompanied by sentences from the prompters. At first these sentences are adjusted to Kaspar’s movements, until Kaspar’s movements gradually begin to adjust to the movement of the sentences. The sentences clarify events on the stage, of course without describing them. There is a choice among the following sentences. Each of his steps and movements is something new to which the spotlight calls attention. Occasionally he accompanies his actions with sentences. Every interruption of the action produces an interruption of the sentence. Every repetition of an action produces a repetition of the sentence. As he nears the completion of his task, his actions more and more obey the sentences of the prompters, whereas in the beginning the prompters’ sentences adjusted themselves to his actions. First of all, Kaspar rights the chair on which he had been sitting, saying, for example: I am righting the chair and the chair is standing. He goes to the second chair and raises it, this time with one hand. The spot shines on the hand, which holds on to a vertical rod on the backrest: