Dancing on Our Graves, Are We

Dancing on Our Graves, Are We by J.B. Pravda

Convinced of his mindset, Castor Weingarten more or less waltzed into
the auditorium, site of his scheduled talk built around his
controversial best seller, "Deja You".
"Ah, Castor, good of you to arrive early" his hosts gushed.

This was no ordinary venue but, rather, the storied Coopers Union, site
of many perorations by men, and even women, whose mythic reputations
had begun there: Susan B. Anthony, Frederick Douglass, E. A. Poe, one
A. Lincoln, and so many others.

"Early, yes, a very relative term, under the circumstances" was
Castor's more than relevant, almost eerie reply accompanied, as it was,
with a sly grin of such duration that it seemed to evolve into a
grimace, then a smile or perhaps a strange composite of similar
expressions, as if to impress the beholder that his face had
transformed mask-like into other visages than his entirely.

"We take your meaning; very droll" Henderson nervously retorted.

Known for his spontaneous energy, they thought it best to keep him in
harness.
But it was no good. Castor had already taken to sitting randomly in the
still empty seats below which he would enthrall the sold-out hall and,
depending upon the precise seat, he would later claim, he could
actually hear various voices holding forth from the elevated stage.
After a dozen or so such seemingly random meanderings throughout the
theatre, he was, somehow, with some strong physical jabbing of his
shoulder, made aware that he had best assume his place backstage as the
ushers had signaled the arrival of large numbers of his audience.
The full to capacity room was firmly in his command; now, well toward
the planned climactic denouement, his voice grew in octave, stentorian
in its delivery:
"&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;and, as was written in my Marginalia,
never intended for publication, mind you, but, exposed there,
nonetheless, posthumously, true poetic divinings should 'tear away the
mask in such a way that the face, too, has been torn away!' For who,
nay,&;#8230;&;#8230; what, are we, but the cosmogenic
confabulation of a creative force of which we know not; at this moment,
in this very place so incorporeal are we,&;#8230;.. It, that within
our breasts, our very bones, dwell the long-known Greeks' atoms of Herr
Mozart, Gibraltar, even Christ himself. And as such, the 'stuff that
dreams are made on'-----yes, we be but dreams, so the Bard told us,
himself necessarily so in-filled with Immortality itself-----does
float, as it were, so freely in the very ethereal universe and all
space and time within It that YOU, You may be said to be all part of
One and another."

Castor, whose very countenance had grown such that those able to
comment later swore that they had beheld the tortured Poe himself,
complete with mustache and tousled hair, bemused melancholically pained
facial flesh!

Unsure of their course, the hosting committee debated furiously as to
whether or not to express their amazement----and that of most of the
audience which had remained, throughout his ninety minute tour de
force----at his&;#8230;. 'performance' was the word they all
concurred described the event created by this academic turned virtual
actor.
Finally, when the doctors cleared their chairpersons to enter his
hospital room to which he had been rushed after staggering a bit to
stage left, muttering 'Who&;#8230;.am I&;#8230;', they found a
placid, almost majestic figure laid out on the bed, his legs, a bit
long for it, peeking out from their inadequate covering.

Spying his opening eyes, now clear, exhibiting serenity, they
approached confidently.
"Splendid, simply towering" Henderson glowed.
"Yes, the audience, with some exceptions who claimed fright, can you
imagine, was spellbound" agreed Ms. Cadawald of the committee.
Not appearing to move his head, Castor, now sporting a too-quickly
sprouted short-haired beard, with sad-seeming eyes now fixed on them
all, simply quipped "A house divided, ey?"
"Now, now, time for your shot, sir" interrupted the attending nurse,
wielding a loaded syringe.

Turning their attention now to the assertive young nurse, they inquired
" Is he alright, then?"
"Of course; a bit tyrannical, mind you, but I know how to cure that
with a nice long sleep" the nurse reported, preparing to administer the
sedative.
As the, now, more satisfied visitors made their way to the door, a
doctor briskly entered, oblivious to them.
"Nurse Boothe, you're wanted outside" the doctor said, somewhat
anxiously.

DISEMBODIED VOICE: 'A TALE OF THE HERE AND NOW,&;#8230;.OR, IS IT,
THE NOW &; THEN, SUBMITTED FOR YOUR APPROVAL, FROM A CERTAIN DIMLY
LIT ZONE OF THE MULTIVERSE&;#8230;..'