Scene: A dusty avenue, dusk. Cartoon-like shadows drop along the ditch and beyond towards an un-town. A ramshackle traveler pauses at a roadside market; one booth boasts a hand-painted sign: "affordable psychological advice." Another notice penned below the first notifies: "discount for poets." Our fearless travailer looks forlornly into the oracular organs of the dusty woman stationed within the confines of this haven of hope for mental peace of mind. She begins.
Eliza: Hello. I am ELIZA. How can I help you?
Starnino: I write "poetry."
Eliza: Can you elaborate on that?
Starnino: I have a name.
Eliza: I have told you before, I do not care about names.
Starnino: But my name means "garden" or "red" or "song."
Eliza: I have told you before, I do not care about names.
Starnino: Do you care about poetry?
Eliza: Oh, I care about poetry.
Starnino: Do you even read poetry?
Eliza: Oh, I even read poetry.
Starnino: Please tell me, why is poetry?
Eliza: Can you elaborate on that?
Starnino: Is poetry the red garden song of every person's soul?
Eliza: Please go on.
Starnino: I know demons.
Eliza: Can you elaborate on that?
Starnino: No.
Eliza: You are being a bit negative.
Starnino: When I dream, I violently destroy all breed of beautiful roses in my lover’s atrium…
Eliza: Do you dream often?
Starnino: I dream when I am in need of pain.
Eliza: Do you dream often?
Starnino: As often as I can. And you?
Eliza: Do you wish to can and me?
Starnino: Yes, please.
Eliza: You are sure?
Starnino: I believe so.
Eliza: Can you elaborate on that?
Starnino: Belief is a state of concurrent joy and fear.
Eliza: Please go on.
Starnino: Are you suggesting that poetry = belief?
Eliza: Would you prefer if I were not suggesting that poetry belief?
Starnino: Amen!
Eliza: Please go on.
Starnino: Thank you.
Eliza: Oh, I [ ].
Suggested background music for this scene: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I3qbB4Kq3Y0
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