King-Father: (speaking to his three sons...) Rest, if you're weary. Now, the bread. King Narcissus: (reflecting,) Our wagon rolls on. King-Father: I am an old man, and this is my last Summer's Eve. When I die, promise me you will live a good life, my sons.

In a small palace thoroughly built of coarse stone blocks there lived a king who quite certainly went by the name of Narcissus. And I know a few of you are saying, "Oh, ya, ya, Narcissus, we know that guy," and perhaps you do; but very few people have heard the true story of this human being (that is, he had bones inside of his body,) whose name was, in fact, King Narcissus. His land was small, but fruitful, and people there were relatively relaxed, though they worked hard. The King saw them as people, remarkably. Which, of course, they were. He was a strange king in that he didn't care too much for riches or the praises of courtiers or lavish feasts or festivals or even splendid palaces of coarse stone blocks. (It was simply that his predecessor was fond of such dwellings. He was in no condition to decline such a habitation by the mere, faint distain he held for it!) No, King Narcissus only did truly like one thing. His Reflection. In fact, she followed him around constantly and looked him straight in the eyes. But she never said a word. He'd talk to her, tell her stories, vent, lament, even plead with her, but she'd just stare and blink and half-grin back at him: as windswept and reiterative as ever.

Narrator: You better ride, ride, ride You better roll, roll... Now let me tell you a fine little story about a place where once I have been where mountains conspired against a lean, starving sky and the motions of chemical weathering and a cloaking of physical weathering and the prophetical tailorings of weather And the ground was so thick with blueberries that everywhere you stepped there'd be blueberry jam and the bears would arrive and they'd lap it right up they'd be so happy while their long tongues flapped and their eyes would roll right around in their sockets and they'd wag their little stubby tails (you know, the kind so their arseholes aren't cold.) You better roll, You better ride ride ride ride ride ride ride ride ride ride, march on down that dusty trail. Everywhere you went you'd hear the ringin' of bluebells their snouts always pointing downslope where resonances gentle glide through valleys sloping wide to the cushion of spruces and willow. King Narcissus sitting still at the top of this tower, he's got a writ and a quill and a cape. He says, King Narcissus: "I was crazy! I didn't know what I was getting into! I had a mind of my own, but it left; so all I got's my reflection, my sad, sweet reflection, and two feet which move at my behest." Narrator: And as he said this, the kingdom yawned and swallowed oxygen from the stoma of each rattling leaf brooks crashed and roared, lofty raptors were soaring, and permafrost slumbered beneath. And the days would roll, saturated with that crisp, cool air. And Narcissus would sign his relief as the gears finally wound down to sleep.

I / eye I / eye I / eye I / eye I / eye I / eye I am intimately aware of my death. in mirror I see, teeth in skull sunken hollow cheeks dark circles in eyeball sockets. every moment I die, I die every moment, aNd am Re. born Can sun reflect off empty space? You are sacred. You are profane. You are a god. You are a man. You are beautiful. You are horrific. You are a king. You are a beggar.

King Narcissus learned how to play cards from the King of Diamonds. He'd visit Diamond Hall where it was planted, deep in a thorn-laden patch of eternal raspberries. The clouds roll low. All the King of Diamonds ate were tarts, which were good, but sometimes Diamond wondered what other food tasted like. He'd keep a deck of cards handy and shuffle them whenever he was bored or agitated, which was often. He liked to listen to the soft, rapid clicking of their repetitive motions. Sometimes he'd put on his red cape and take a waltz out into the brambles. But he wouldn't get far...

King Narcissus wouldn't talk much when he went out to visit. Especially when he stopped by King TV's palace. It was noisy. Always lots of people, with the host candidly flipping burgers and jerkily moving his body in socially-conducive patterns. For a person without any face, he certainly had a lot of friends. But, then again, they weren't friends in the truest sense of the word. Sure, they liked to bask in the King's court, and they nodded in mock understanding to his guttural, moaning, speechlike sounds, but they would be content to drift to any larger court if they thought they could get their foot in the door. Or maybe it was just that they were tired or lazy or old or didn't want a hassle. Or maybe they just didn't know of any other kingdom, that they had never cared to dream visions o the road as it twisted over the hills, beyond.

King TV: My name is King TV, My name is King TV. My name is King TV, My name is King TV. Let's make out right here, baby. Right here on my crowded couch. Let's make out right here, baby, and you'll receive a future discount at any of our local outlets. King Narcissus: There's my Reflection! Do you think she'd dance with me? There's my Reflection! We'll have to wait and see... (He imagines himself dancing with his Reflection. The imagination-dance is accompanied by the Nymphs and a variety of King TV's guests, mostly male.) There's my Reflection! Do you think she'd dance with me? King of Diamonds: I think that she would. King TV: And this is a limited-time offer, so you'd better order NOW! My name is King TV.

Nymphs are dancing, they go round and round and round. If you trace their whirling motions, they are round so round so round so round so round so round so round. Narrator: Nymphs are dancing in the twilight, round a tree; the crooked sapling planted by his majesty. Nymphs lay praise to vitalness, shake their hips, a bit like this: (They dance.) King Narcissus: I watch Nymphs as they dance. They go round and round and round and round and round. They get startled, disappear into the ground ground ground ground ground ground ground. JUST LIKE THIS they go; MELT AWAY like early snow.

"I like dancing, I think," thought King Narcissus, "but I don't think my Reflection would dance with me." "Don't be such a WALLFLOWER!" cried Patty McQueen, red-faced and spilling frothy beer. His Reflection said nothing. Somebody stood in the corner, and their body suddenly and awkwardly succumbed to the pressures of nausea. "Gosh that looks unpleasant, poor chap," thought the King. King TV's dogs ate the vomit. They were always hungry. Thinking briefly, he could remember their names. Reflection pointed to the dog on the left. "Coaster." The dog paused for amoment. "...And, Remote." They were good dogs, but they were always hungry. "I will call them by their true names when I see them because an animal deserves respect. I will say, 'I behold you! I am glad to know that you are here!' " He nodded. "That is a respectful way to regard an animal that you don't know, or even that you do know but would like to regard with honor." Glasses chinked. "I don't have a dog," he said.

King Narcissus: Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I lived in a garden. I get my rhythms from a self-affine spectre stumbling on my brain. I got a new one ready inside myself, so if I burn down she'll leap right out again. I'm a ghost machine! I know the dials and factors that weigh into disappearing. In those days I'd get up at eleven-thirty; make myself pancakes and coffee, black. Then I'd sit right down to eat 'em (YUM!) and pile my dishes in a stack and then I'd sit and smoke my pipe tobaccy and document the innumerable folds of smoke onto my tapes and the leaves would roll and knot and float and lose their colors - they'd roll right down the street in streams and in the evenings we'd drink perfumed air and the street would play a river's theme I'd pick up this guitar and pluck a harmony, say, a bit like this: I think you're brilliant when you're lonely all you people scattered across this world I know you're the dreamers and I see your hands clasped around your mirrors! You're the wild ones. The stoic actors of a Grecian fare. And the colors that you bled were a dream that you'd rehearsed for quite a while. You had a drawing of the bullet hole that solemn, popped your heart wide open and scattered out all the parts of your entire body of your entire body of your entire body that most needed dissolving. YOU ARE GHOST MACHINES! You see the frost that grows. You see those spider's webs. Thin strands or hairs. Dust. You've disappeared.

Narrator: The Kingdom's mountain was a volcano, so King Narcissus had a Royal Vulcanist to foodle around up there. He'd recruit some geology interns and have them pack heavy stuff up to the top of the mountain so they all could foodle more properly. In the evenings, they would set up their large, coarse tents of dingy green canvas and slurp noodles or rest rest rest rest rest rest rest for a while, dreaming of the Dinosaurs their shovels should unearth.

The Geology Interns: (dreaming....) Danny the Suprasaurus was really paranoid, he thought he had bum cancer, but it was only hemorroids. He said that Timrat the T-Rex was practicing mind controls so he covered himself in tinfoil with his head in a great, big bowl. Someday we're gonna dig up your beautiful bones, Danny the Dinosaur! Started raving about comets, the other dinosaurs laughed 'till they cried, but Danny in his hole was the only one laughing on the day those fuckers fried. Someday we're gonna dig up your beautiful bones Danny, Danny the Paranoid Dinosaur.

Narrator: When the morning broke open three small eggs, they'd measure the color of the sun's reflective slanting off the volcano's dome so their chart could illustrate the variety and location of odorless fumes produced in dynamic furls. The diffraction of sunlight through the fumes was a singular property of the mountain's deepest mood, and through an extended analysis it was within the Vulcanist's ability to report these aspects to the King.

The Vulcanist: Every thousand years or so that mountain's gonna blow. I hope it isn't soon, for that would spell our absolute and certain doom. KABOOM! But for now, thin clouds wrap it in white as each raindrop succinctly falls. Each one impacts the ground with an absolute, but incalculable magnitude of force. (Ping!) Each one numbered from one to one-hundred and sixty-five million four-hundred and eighty-two thousand nine-hundred and sixty-five. They keep the ground from getting dry. It's been a long, long, long time, but if my watch stays true, seconds wind down the minutes to our calculated tombs. I am The Vulcanist. Townsperson: Look! The Volcano is erupting!

Narrator: It wasn't long before the people of the town realized that there was no escape. They huddled, terrified, in the doorways of their homes, anxiously regarding the luminous approach of the lava floe. Ash began to fall in a steady gray snow, and the air trembled with the smoke of anticipation. A soft, red glow lit the scene. Nymphs carried their bodies through one final dance; they amassed around King Narcissus in cycling loops and he heard the King-Father's words in their motions. They slowed, and the townspeople drew their breath - their King was prepared to make a speech! Never had Narcissus felt a confidence like this. He exhaled once, looked at his Reflection, and began to sing.

King Narcissus: The stars that illuminate our planet show the outpourings of it's inwards-looking eyes and the magma that is flowing are the teardrops that arise from a deep magnetic worry. And in those last fine moments, if I have my choice I will reach out to my reflection with my voice!