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Info This is not a chair. |
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SCENE.
In a corner of a nondescript room, there are two individuals. They are sitting next to each other in a cubicle, reading a web page on a CRT monitor.
You are telling me this is all about a chair?
Four legs, yes. Something that you can sit on, indeed. A back? Perhaps. No clue. Probably.
And, to your knowledge, are chairs known to be capable of homicide?
Not on their own, no. To my knowledge. The ones we are sitting on are at the very least merciful towards us.
Surprising then that this one piece of furniture seems to have been responsible for the deaths of wanderers.
Perhaps we're among the dead.
Maybe. Does it truly matter?
I am unable to remember whether it's supposed to.
I can feel myself breathing, I think it's enough to deem myself as "living".
Life. What do you think of it?
Not much. How's your parents?
From the last I have seen of them, they have been doing well. They have been doing well for ten years.
Life. What do you think of it?
Ebb and flow. Everything and everyone is a little different yet all the same, all of the time, everywhere, every time, everything. I remember waking up here yesterday. I don't remember my past ten years, but I remember my yesterday. It was okay. It was the same everywhere everything every time. My parents are doing fine, my mom is- And it all seems so strange, where is the sales report? We were supposed to get it by today! No one comes into my office anymore, they'd rather get lost in a maze of hallways, I got lost in one once, it was all yellow and humid, and since then I have been stuck here. Was it yesterday? I think it was, and also ten years ago and just now. What do you think of chairs?
Four other individuals walk by. All seem comfortable to sit on. They do not notice them.
What are we waiting for?
Not much.
Beat.
And you?
I'm doing fine. When will the picture show up?
They point at the monitor.
When it is convenient for it to do so.
Ah, so not now I gather? Then wait we must. What do you think of it?
What?
The Chair.
It led us away from our sorrows, away from our primitive concerns. It gave us a new meaning and purpose by leaving us without meaning and purpose. I'm glad we finally gave ourselves to it, everyone is happy and united around a single objective. I am thirsty, do you have any water? And above all, we finally found a truth worthy of our worship. We feared this place before, we feared the creatures roaming around it, we rejected those who were once decried as "crazy" or "delusional" and what did it lead us to? Death. Despair. Denial in the face of our new reality, our new home. Not much, and you?
Wise words.
Has it still not l- Hey, do you mind if we exchange our place?
Oh no, go ahead.
Much better. Now, where was I? Let me read the script…
They shift through papers.
Okay… Has it still not loaded?
Now is not the time. And you, what is your opinion of it?
Of what?
The Chair.
A real tragedy, those deaths. But perhaps they were necessary for the salvation of humanity. Come to think of it, why are we questioning the Chair's true intentions when it has acted in our interest all along? We are no longer strangers of these worlds, we make one with them. That is thanks to Its benevolent work.
Yet, there are still many who have not seen the light.
Who has not?
If we are to be truthful, anyone outside this room.
What is outside the room is not relevant.
As long as we are protected by the Chair, although, other forces have been attempting to challenge its authority. As a matter of fact, it has been said that Argos is currently waging a war in the legal world.
What does a legal war entail?
Legal arguments. Legal documents. Legal disputes. Legal results?
And what are the legal conclusions?
Legally inconclusive. Legally still going on. I have heard that the documents resulting from the dispute somehow filled the library of the Lady. Such are the immense powers of our benefactor.
Impressive. I realize that we have never turned our backs.
What for? It's not as if there was something behind us.
No, you don't understand. We cannot turn our backs. Go ahead, try.
My body is rigid. How disturbing. How strange. How arbitrary. I have the will to turn around, but not the ability. How is that possible?
Mhm. I feel light-headed. Out of this world. You know, come to think of it, how long have we been here? I feel hungry, I could eat a horse! Horses are not real. Chairs are. The only thing you can trust is a chair. That's what my mom told me. My mom is my mom she Where am I I really could drink a chair and we should make one with the Chair But do Tell me what you think of it
My body is rigid. How disturbing. How strange. How arbitrary. I have the will to turn around, but not the ability. How is that possible?
You have just said that.
But is it not what the Chair is about?
What's the Chair made of?
The chair can simply be constructed of only one thing, wood. I love wood. I’ve dedicated the latter half of my life in search of the perfect material for a Chair. I ascertained that it simply must be oak! The texture, its flexibility, its exquisite texture. What is more supple than oak? I could sleep in oak, replace my weary flesh with something so sturdy and healthy. Why wasn’t I born a chair? Not only that, but oak wood is patriotic, I love my nation, and what's a better way to show love for your nation, your chair, and your wood than to buy wooden chairs? Or even, to build your own chair? But even then, a chair cannot be superior to the Chair. Only a pale imitation, at its best. Still, I love wood. Old, old, old, old, wood. Love the smell of it. Could smell it all day. Could eat wood. Hurts my stomach, but it's worth it.
I respect your love for wood, but you know who I love more? The Chair. And the Chair, with all due respect, cannot be merely made of wood. Wood has to be worked with to make a chair out of it, which means it is man-made. The Chair is not man-made, it made men. It made who we are. And I wish you could see this. It cannot be made of wood… It just can't! It has to be made of the entirety of atoms that makes up our entire existence. It is that mighty, it is that magnificent. I could do so much to see it, but for now we must wait.
But I love wood.
My head hurts. Hey, have you noticed how much the world around us has changed?
Has it?
Well.
Beat.
It.
Beat.
Has.
Beat.
No
Forking
Way
Yes forking way.
And to think they would want to change such a perfect place! Why would they do that? Why would do they do that?! Why. Would. They. Do. That. We were SO LIMINAL. We were so UNIQUE. We were so GREAT. And what do they do? They put people in it! I loved it when it was empty! I loved it when there was nothing! Look, let me show you how fucking cool it was. Look at this.
They say nothing. The spaces are liminal.
They say nothing. The spaces are even more liminal.
Beat.
Beat.
Beat.
Their physical selves are slowly but surely evaporating, as the liminal character of the spaces overwhelms consciousness. Why have we bothered adding characters to this story, why have we attempted to build upon the lore? This serves nothing! This is all useless! Let us get rid of this waste of memory, this waste of time! Look at this, no more of this "Major Explorer Group" bullcrap, no more of the "Eyes of Argos"! Who even are these "Masked Maidens"? And do not let us speak of the dreaded "Pantheon"! How dare they try to make sense of a world that is better left unexplored, unexplained! We have the best understanding, the best vision, the best ambiance! The rest is a mere parody, a mockery of the one true vision. Now that all has been swept away, Let there be peace.
Loneliness. Riveting.
Pure silence. The liminal quality of the spaces is reaching levels never seen before. The concept itself of "levels" is erased, leaving place for an entropy of liminality, where everything and nothing is liminal. Entities are no more, only the mere suggestion of a past presence. A buzzing noise emanating from the neon lights on the ceiling of our perfect construction can be heard. It is never-ending. The corridors are non-euclidean because that's what liminal spaces are. Non-euclidean, that's an eloquent word, isn't it? It is perfect. It is perfect. It is perfect. It is perfect. It is perfect. It is perfect. It is perfect. Is it perfect. It is perfect.
All that shall remain.
… Are we bored? No, it can't be.
Come on, this is the pinnacle of what this parallel universe has attempted to achieve! Anything after it is derivative. How could it be boring? It doesn't make sense.
… Something bugs us. Ennui. It appears that it is difficult to extract interest out of nothing. Huh. Perhaps it lacked a chair. Or something else.
But then, if a space being characterized as liminal is not enough to make one's story interesting, what is to be done? What happened?
We tried to make sense of things. We explained, we made up, we threw simple meanings at places that had naught. The formats and tones shifted. We were a bunch of teenagers and young adults mimicking scientists and librarians. But it's all… it's all lifeless as well, isn't it?
It must be useful to us. Or else, how could humanity thrive in such a hostile universe?
The Chair. Does it need explanations?
The author certainly tried. I'm not sure whether the Chair is utterly meaningless. We have given it absolute trust, it means we must believe in it; in what which stands for.
What does it even stand for?
Four legs.
Four men make one with the Chair. They do not notice them.
What makes a chair superior from others?
Difficult to argue from the position of a human. But what if we were to become one?
How does one become a chair?
Think like a chair. Act like it. Be of the same make as it.
Is it as simple as that?
On paper, yes. But it takes an immense amount of mental and physical force to become one. Let us try, together.
Both synchronously get up from their chair and sit down on the ground. The taxing process of metaphysical transformation from the human form into the chair form begins. Their minds promptly shifts perspective, rapidly revealing truths otherwise unknowable for humans. Their bones shatter, as the shape of their body closely mimics that of the divine object they venerate. Their skin adopts a new texture, different for each; plastic and wooden.
…
…
They marvel at their new condition.
…
…?
…!
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Beat.
…
…
An interesting discussion about the limitations of the human experience has occurred before our very eyes. We are lucky to witness such a rare and thought-provoking exchange.
…?
They turn to the question of what makes a chair superior to others.
…?!
They are offended by the nature of the question.
…
…!
They feign an apology, before attributing their superiority to their building material; old, oak wood.
…?!? …!
…??? …!!
They retort. A chair is not superior by the sole virtue of its material. They add, in a mocking tone, that wood is a material of the past, ill-adapted to the needs of the present times. This is particularly offensive and is considered a cruel insult among chairs. They are left furious.
…! …!! …!!!
…?! …! …! …! …!!! …!!!!
The dialogue turns sour and becomes heated. They hurl hateful insults at each other. Nearby chairs are shocked by the vehemence portrayed here.
…! …
They attempt to deescalate the verbal fight.
…
…
…
They accept and both apologize, exhausted by such an intense confrontation. That same exhaustion makes it impossible to remain in this elevated form of existence; they must return to the Kingdom of Man.
Oh that is unfortunate.
It is unfortunate.
Must we return to the physical human shape too? It is rather inconvenient and excruciating.
They must. It is painful, truly a hideous sight to behold. Bones mend back, while the organs return to their intended function and the skins return to their original soft feel. Everyone is disappointed. They sit back on their chairs, whom are ashamed.
Perhaps we are not yet worthy of this higher experience.
We are yet to witness it.
What?
(Muffled) The Chair.
You know I can hear you perfectly, right? You just said "muffled" out loud.
Why did you say "what", then?
Why?
No, "what".
What?
Yes, that.
I just asked you a question, don't be so nervous.
I'm not.
They sweat profusely.
You are nervous. Look at you, you're trembling. What are you nervous for, little nervous thing? What causes this agitation? Have you doubted? Do you doubt It?
What?
The Chair.
Me? No, I would never dare to doubt the Chair.
Oh but yes, you would! I can see it, in your eyes… Everyone! This individual is doubting the chair!
Everyone gasps. A spotlight casts a blinding beam of light on them.
This is entirely untrue. Allow me to prove to you my dedication, but before I do this, can the spotlight be turned off? My eyes are hurting.
The spotlight is turned off. Everyone awaits an explanation.
My entire life has been devoted to the Chair. I've sold chairs, I have sold so many chairs, I am a chair sales expert. My wife is a chair, and she is my life, and so are my three chair children. Look at this lovely, chairful family. Look deep into the shining plastic of my top rail and tell me
this is not faithfulness.
They show a framed picture of their family, which consists of them surrounded by a normal-sized chair and three miniature chairs. Everyone tears up. A lovely, handcrafted family like this rarely exists.
Not only that but my father was a chair, my grandfather was a chair, my great-grandfather was also a chair, and so is my sister, my mother, my mailman and my mailman's chairman. For you to doubt that I am a true disciple of the Chair is insulting. I've made sure that everyone in this place is well-sat, I made sure that their buttocks were comfortable, that none of the butts in this universe would suffer from a bad seating experience. And you dare bring this accusation to my face?! I am terribly disappointed.
Everyone erupts with applause, convinced by the impassioned speech.
I was just testing you.
Have I passed the test?
Of course you did.
What have I gained?
Nothing.
Oh. Where were we?
We were at a point where explaining what was happening appeared to not be the point. But if we are not waiting for an explanation, what are waiting for?
To see it.
Hey, don't sit on me! Sit on your chair.
Sorry. You seemed comfy.
See what?
Have you forgotten? The Chair.
I really could use some sleep. When will help come? It has been so long without news. I do not even know who I am anymore, and that carcass formerly called a body is entirely dedicated to a cause I cannot fully understand. I used to have friends, a family, independent thoughts, but, no more, no more, no more. Only glimpses at times, but surely this too shall be taken away for a greater promise. A greater object. Or, perhaps, a greater purpose. We have been promised relief, but no-one has come to us. We are to witness a great truth that one day shall be revealed.
Beat.
Look away.
Ah, silly! No need for all of this. All we need is for the page to load.
Error 500.
Oh, well. Reload the page.
How long have we been there?
I… I don't know. I think we've been waiting for an image. That is my only memory. That is not m
They press the F5 button. The page is reloading.
You are telling me this is all about a chair?
