Tuesday, September 25, 2007


Samuel Beckett – Krapp’s Last Tape

Ah! Box . . . three . . . spool . . . five. Spool! Spooool! Box . . . three . . . three . . . four . . . two . . . nine! good God! . . . seven . . . ah! the little rascal! Box three. Spool . . . . . . five . . . . . . five . . . five . . . ah! the little scoundrel! Spool five. Box three, spool five. Spooool! Ah! Mother at rest at last . . . Hm . . . The black ball . . . Black ball! . . . The dark nurse . . . Slight improvement in bowel conditions . . . Hm . . . Memorable . . . what? Equinox, memorable equinox. Memorable exquinox? . . . Farewell to— —love.

Thirty-nine today, sound as a— Thirty-nine today, sound as a bell, apart from my old weakness, and intellectually I have now every reason to suspect at the . . . . . . crest of the wave—or thereabouts. Celebrated the awful occasion, as in recent years, quietly at the Winehouse. Not a soul. Sat before the fire with closed eyes, separating the grain from the husks. Jotted down a few notes, on the back of an envelope. Good to be back in my den, in my old rags. Have just eaten I regret to say three bananas and only with difficulty refrained from a fourth. Fatal things for a man with my condition. Cut ‘em out! The new light above my table is a great improvement. With all this darkness round me I feel less alone. In a way. I love to get up and move about in it, then back here to . . . . . . . me. Krapp.

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