Artichokes arranged on their sides, within a triangle of light on a circular table, in the shape of an artichoke, and the WHIRRING of an electric fan. A hand appears above the artichokes and then in the place of the artichokes. A MAN begins to mutter, at first unintelligibly before words can be made out. No-one else appears to be in the room.
The man walks fills the space in the room and looks out the window.
. . . brder n rder frit. It comes
in the shape of me. My thoughts
come in the shape of me, in the same
shape, mimicking the forms
of the organs of clouds. A cold day
but the heat comes out of the organs
of the house with whistling steam.
INT. LOOKING OUT INTO THE BACKYARD—DAY
The window is covered with steam, and partial words are visible upon it (“orsel,” “ymbiot,” “esperate,” “contempla”). Outside, puddles of melting snow dot the lawn. A rabbit crosses the lawn slantwise, and then another and another, until a swath of rabbits are crossing the lawn.
The man walks over the soggy lawn, his shoes sometimes seeping into the mud, his hands stuff deep in his pocket. He is scouring the lawn for something, becoming more agitated as he does. A woman walks up behind him and starts talking to him.
The man stops, and the woman walks into him and stops herself. The man turns around to look at the woman who looks up at him. He looks confused, squints his eyes, cocks his head. She begins to whistle a song.
Who are you? What are you
doing here? Is there any reason
I I should be listening to you?
Go away leave me alone go away.
Why don’t you go away leave me alone?
I’ve got small feet like a rabbit I do
I’ve got small feet like a rabbit but
these footprints aren’t my footprints
running across the yard across the
snow across the mud the mud and
the snow. My feet are small
so I’m thinking I’m thinking into
the mud thinking into it thinking.
Ain’t enough mud to suck you in
I don’t think. Ain’t enough mud yet.
Needs some more snow to melt.
Needs some more snow to fall.
Ain’t enough mud. Ain’t enough mud.
Gotta find the little rabbits and make,
gotta find the little rabbits and take,
gotta find the little rabbits in the bushes.
You hear them you hear them you hear?
You there, you hear them you hear them?
Can’t find a way to them without
opening your eye. Can’t find the path
without your feet on the ground.
Can you feel the floor with your feet?
Can you feel with your feet on the ground
the feet of the rabbits running around us?
I hear the rabbits too and I feel them,
I feel them running with their feet
all around us with their feet and
I hear their voices like feet running
around me and I feel the breath of
the voices of their feet on my neck
as I walk around on the lawn.
You must know that too you must
know that too when you do it you
must know what you do when you
know it can you show me where
you found how you know it can you
show me how you know you know?
INT. DARK SMALL ROOM AT THE NORTH SIDE OF A HOUSE—NIGHT
The woman is sitting beside a circular table upon which rest artichokes arranged on their sides in the shape of an artichoke. As she speaks, she begins to arrange the artichokes, one by one and slowly, in a circle around the edge of the table.
I see no art in it and no rabbits.
There are no rabbits left and no
art left for me to see. I don’t see.
I don’t see them anymore and I
don’t see it. I don’t see the art
of the table or the feet of the rabbits
the prints of the rabbits in snow.
I don’t see it. I don’t see it at all.
Fade to black.