Philosopher's Walk:
A Rape of Thought
Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now?
To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?
That with estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night,
I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and
that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will
there be? (Estragon, having struggled with his boots in vain, is
dozing off again. Vladimir looks at him.) He'll know nothing.
He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot.
(Pause.) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole,
lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the foceps. We have time to grow old.
The air is full of our cries. (He listens.) But habit is a great deadener.
(He looks again at Estragon.) At me too someone is looking,
of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing,
let him sleep on. (Pause.) I can't go on! (Pause.) What have I said?

From Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett

Regards,

~Asylum Blue~


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