Bare stage. A square neon sign on extreme right which reads: “This way to Heaven”.
Prolonged silence. Enter Snail, moving very slowly throughout the play.


Snail:
I’m a dead snail.
I’m going to Heaven.

I’ve lived for 15 years.
That’s a ripe old age.
I’ve been blessed.
Had a marvellous *** life, you know.
Well, if you know snails
we attract a mate with our slime.
Oh, slime turns me on, baby.

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)


Well, maybe I should focus on holy thoughts.
Purity...refined thoughts...you know...
Snail God does not like ***.
Copulation is not exactly what
Snail God meant when Snail God declared:
"Go forth and slime the world;
be ye together..."
Snail God demands purity
so let me be so...
after all, I’m going to Heaven...
a dead snail and moving on to Heaven...

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Had a precarious life,
you know,
all these 15 years...
A farmer saw me in the grass.
I heard him curse
and he raised his foot to crush me.
Well, unfortunately for him
he stepped on a snake
and the last I heard of the man
was an expletive
and the last I heard of the snake was a hiss.
Yes, I’ve had a long life
a risky life - but it’s all worth it
for an eternal life in Heaven
is my reward

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)



(Enter Frog, jumping. Snail looks at Frog in amazement. And Frog stops and looks at Snail in amazement.)

Frog: What are you doing?

Snail: That’s what I was about to ask of you.

Frog: I’m a dead Frog and I’m jumping on my way to Heaven.

Snail: I’m a dead Snail and I’m moving on to Heaven.

Frog: This is ridiculous.

Snail: Indeed. It is ridiculous.
           A Frog going to Heaven?
           No, for it is truly declared by Snail God:
            "None but Snails shall enter Heaven."

Frog: And in the words of the Frog God:
           *"I shall confound all other creatures.
              Only Frogs shall enter Heaven."
             And so it has come to pass
            Snails think they can go to Heaven.
           Unless the Frog God
           in Its Infinite Wisdom
          has arranged for a Dish of Snails
         when all Pure Frogs are at Its side in Paradise.
         Well, Snail...you’re toast when I see you in Heaven.

(Frog jumps on to near stage right, screaming: “Heaven - here I come!” and then disappears.)

(Long silence.)

Snail (facing audience): Well, what next? - The snake to Heaven?
                                          The Farmer to Heaven? His dog to Paradise?
                                           Donkeys to Heaven?


*(Snail moves on , in its slow way, to nothing but Heaven...)

Bare stage. A square neon sign on extreme right which reads: “This way to Heaven”.
Prolonged silence. Enter Snail, moving very slowly throughout the play.


Snail:
I’m a dead snail.
I’m going to Heaven.

I’ve lived for 15 years.
That’s a ripe old age.
I’ve been blessed.
Had a marvellous *** life, you know.
Well, if you know snails
we attract a mate with our slime.
Oh, slime turns me on, baby.

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)


Well, maybe I should focus on holy thoughts.
Purity...refined thoughts...you know...
Snail God does not like ***.
Copulation is not exactly what
Snail God meant when Snail God declared:
"Go forth and slime the world;
be ye together..."
Snail God demands purity
so let me be so...
after all, I’m going to Heaven...
a dead snail and moving on to Heaven...

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)

Had a precarious life,
you know,
all these 15 years...
A farmer saw me in the grass.
I heard him curse
and he raised his foot to crush me.
Well, unfortunately for him
he stepped on a snake
and the last I heard of the man
was an expletive
and the last I heard of the snake was a hiss.
Yes, I’ve had a long life
a risky life - but it’s all worth it
for an eternal life in Heaven
is my reward

(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)



(Enter Frog, jumping. Snail looks at Frog in amazement. And Frog stops and looks at Snail in amazement.)

Frog: What are you doing?

Snail: That’s what I was about to ask of you.

Frog: I’m a dead Frog and I’m jumping on my way to Heaven.

Snail: I’m a dead Snail and I’m moving on to Heaven.

Frog: This is ridiculous.

Snail: Indeed. It is ridiculous.
           A Frog going to Heaven?
           No, for it is truly declared by Snail God:
            "None but Snails shall enter Heaven."

Frog: And in the words of the Frog God:
           *"I shall confound all other creatures.
              Only Frogs shall enter Heaven."
             And so it has come to pass
            Snails think they can go to Heaven.
           Unless the Frog God
           in Its Infinite Wisdom
          has arranged for a Dish of Snails
         when all Pure Frogs are at Its side in Paradise.
         Well, Snail...you’re toast when I see you in Heaven.

(Frog jumps on to near stage right, screaming: “Heaven - here I come!” and then disappears.)

(Long silence.)

Snail (facing audience): Well, what next? - The snake to Heaven?
                                          The Farmer to Heaven? His dog to Paradise?
                                           Donkeys to Heaven?


*(Snail moves on , in its slow way, to nothing but Heaven...)

At the age of 18
I entered into the unknown
As many had before me
To plant the seeds I'd sow
It was a big change.
Where I'm from
Chickens
Cows
Ducks
Goats
Sheep
In layman's terms; a farm.

And here there are animals too.
They're just made of metal,
Metal and flesh,
And the flesh ones are scarier.
But this story isn't about the flesh ones,
It's about the metal ones
And the mettle of one so little.
I've been here for a year now, give or take a summer break
And I sometimes find it hard
In a city so full of sound and light
To enjoy myself. The little things.
I haven't seen the stars, for example,
Since I moved here.
Coming from country air and clear skies
That's huge.

I miss it.
I miss the smell, too, because let's be real
Cow manure and roadkill
Still smell better than this town.
But most importantly
I miss the little things.
Squirrels
Birds
Dragonflies;
I remember each summer, at our old house
Because of this little body of water in our back yard
We'd get HUNDREDS of dragonflies.
Maybe even thousands.
And I never really appreciated that until now.
So believe me when I say,
A snail
Was the most exciting thing on my walk home yesterday.

Funny enough, a sweaty teenager carrying two suits
crouching to look at a snail for
what I think was up to 15 minutes
Wasn't even slightly out of place here.

Anyways.
It wasn't just the fact that I'd seen this snail
But the fact that this snail's little trail
Had come
From the street.
Before I continue, I'd hit a wall.

There's piece of street art outside where I live that says
"do something every day to remind this city why the hell you're here."
And for the life of me,
I couldn't.

I'd try to sing,
but lose the words
I'd try to write
and lose the verse
I'd try to act
and lose the truth
I'd try to dance
and couldn't move.

And here
in this concrete jungle
A snail.

A creature so small but so incredibly strong
Carries his world on his back all day long
Can't give up his burdens until he dies
And I watched this snail with tears in my eyes
Because he'd crossed the street
Believe it or not
Against all odds
He'd slowly fought
his way across the asphalt road
full of fleshy beasts in their metal thrones
but his mettle proved greater
and at a snail's pace
he found himself crossing
and lay at my face.

I made sure no salt rolled off me to him
Because that would be an unfortunate end.
And I thought about words
And verse
and truth
I thought about how I could barely move
And I envied him.

Never did I think I'd say
That I wish to move at a snail's pace.

And if he can do it,
Why can't I?
This is what brought the truth to my eyes
The verse to my song
The words to my lips
The movement in my feet
My legs
My hips
I sprang into life
And went home to write
Because if he can do it
So can I.

It's the little things in life.
And in this labyrinth of greed and strife
Polluted by gasses and animals alike
Just remember to stop and breathe, and then
A snail might make the air clean again.

there was a little snail he wasnt very well
he was very sad he had lost his shell
now the snail was homeless he didnt have a house
so  he called his friend a friendly mouse
poor snail was crying  he was very sad
snail had lost his home the only one he had
mouse he searched around  to find the snail his shell
all along the woods  that he knew so well
suddenly he saw underneath a bush
something that was stuck mouse he gave push
it was the  little shell he was looking for
snail he had his home back and wasnt homeless anymore
he thanked his little friend the friendly little mouse
and was happy once again now he found his house

there was a little snail he wasnt very well
he was very sad he had lost his shell
now the snail was homeless he didnt have a house
so  he called his friend a friendly little mouse.

poor snail was crying  he was very sad
snail had lost his home the only one he had
mouse he searched around  to find the snail his shell
all along the woods  that he knew so well.

suddenly he saw underneath a bush
something that was stuck mouse he gave push
it was the  little shell he was looking for
snail he had his home back and wasnt homeless anymore.

he thanked his little friend the friendly little mouse
and was happy once again now he found his house

As I walked down the closed trail
I came upon a frog and a snail.
They seemed to be arguing
About who was better at flying.

The frog said:
"Of course I can fly higher! Watch me jump and soar."
                               p
                         m        e
The frog     j u                  d  and sneered at the snail.

The snail said:
"You did not soar like a bird Mr. Frog. You should try again."
                                            P
           ­                           
                               M                      E
The frog     J   U                                        D  again and came back down.

The snail said:
"I believe I could do better than that. I will give you one more try Mr. Frog."
                                                          ­        .     .                                  
                                                  P  .    .  

                                      M
                        ­   U
The frog    J                                                        ­    

I looked at the snail and asked:
"Why did you do that to your friend? I know you saw the bird in the tree."

The snail said:
"He annoyed me too much."

I got so angry and without thinking I stomped and he went SPLAT!!!

The flower cared.
Too much, some would say,
Too naive, too loving and innocent.
Easily taken advantage of.
They were right.
Yet the flower didn't believe them.
She wanted to care too much.

The flower knew the snail,
A brown snail with its home on its back and a hard shell.
A shell that spiraled up to a point.
The slow sad snail that sallied its way across the garden every day.
The snail said it would be salted one day,
Or slowly baked in the sun,
Someday soon,
If it couldn’t have a bite of the flower’s pedals.

The timid, naive, caring flower
Believed that brown snail
And stood still as the snail slunk it’s way up the stem
To the precious pedals.
At first the snail was kind,
But when the days wore on and the flower grew weaker,
He hemmed and hawed and hurt the flower with his words
Complaining at the scars and hurt.
The ones that were only there because of him.
He became obsessed, demanding more,
Demanding everything.
She gave him as much as he wanted,
Begging and pleading for him to stop,
And trying not to give any more.
The flower grew weak and nearly died.
If flowers had knees she’d be weeping and trembling on them.

A gentle hand reached down and gingerly touched the crumbling flower.
The hand was worn and weathered, streaked with dirt,
A gardener's hand.
The gardener got his shovel and
Put the flower in a ***.
He watched after the flower daily,
Watering, nourishing, healing.
He did not blame the flower for attracting the snail,
His only thought was to heal and help.
He saw the potential in the flower and knew how to renew it.

She began to heal.

rarely do you spend a night stumbling
around a town
       drunk, figuring out a fortune of
a face, a luck of a smile,
          decisievely:
                          never much cared
for language other than for thinking with
it, lucky some, who actually use
it like they might use a hammer...
      what then, came first?
                               the hammer, or the nail?
god, i had to escape the chicken-shack...
and... looks like i almost did.
            if ever: the exhausted language,
and then there's the hidden
linguist, somewhere, probably in
          Posen... lumbering away at
a second language, that is apparently a tier
just shy of: making competent
users.
        - and i did forgot drinking
with a mirror...
                        instead took photographs,
of a snail... a snail...
         point being:
    i don't even remember how i brought
it home...
                                         bribe?
unlike hallucinogenics...
           drinking... yeah...
                                   yesterday is vague...
i drank less, walked more,
and brought home a snail...
   a ******* snail...
         once i brought back a hedgehog...
once i brought back a frog...
      next day?
          that has to be some sort of
hallucinogenic drug teasing me to remember...
i don't know who that person
is in the photograph,
   he claimed that breathing alcohol
filled breath on a snail
                   was appealing to the snail...
he even claimed that the snail
had dermatological properties of
healing: slight, discomforts...
             hardly a wart, just a skin hardening,
so this guy placed the snail on
the skin hardening and started to
feel the cosmis ****** of feeling
        the snail eat up the "concern" with
its under-belly...
            my first girlfriend told me
of the time, as a kid, when she used to pour
salt on snails...
   i remember seeing two boys
play with frogs...
            ******* used to smear lipstick
on the poor prince charming
                         and then set it alight...
YOU, CAN'T, THINK THIS **** UP...
i too wish for such a depraved imagination...
come to think of it,
   on a completely different topic...
public intellectualism is only a western
concept...
               a bit like religion...
good in private,
                        but out in the public, open?
the public intellectual who has given up
his private intellect:
      god... the scrutiny that comes with it...
there is such a thing as a privacy
of intellect?
                     just asking:
      because even poetry isn't an open
and closed scenario of a seagull
regurgitating in order to feed the chicks...
and yes, chickens are natural
cannibals... if you've ever seen a chicken
on a stump of wood right and just after
the axe-chop...
                  you'd see the remaining
nervous system after death...
                 and how other chickens will
jump on the stump... and drink the blood
of the Antoinette...
   with Antoinette's head still, partially moving...
unless of course you're thinking
about Hollywood and...
   christine chubbuck:
                 and that one shot to the head
that Hollywood couldn't make: instantaneous...
   like Kafka, i'd go for the stab at
              the dark, namely the heart...
because why would you even
think it was a mild execution...
             with andrei chikatilo:
          back of the head, left in a prison cell...
god, i can't stop to imagine the marvels
of this cockroach urban myth of surviving
               in a limbo of succumbing to a diet...
say all you want,
  but i'm pretty sure there's enough
reason to contemplate the inverted niqab
of hollywood...
             groove the shades, though...
can't **** for a hundred metres though...
              the Veil of Thespian...
oh hell, it's real...
              not as ****** obvious as
a ninja trying to look slim in a desert
wearing a velvet bin-bag...
         but i'm pretty sure there is a Veil
of Thespian...
             Louis XIV even said it:
                            the seemingly holds
the sway of power, before the jury,
           to appear...
                     rather than be...
        qua (as being) in antonym form
must give birth to: quiff (as if)...
        frivolity and cotton candy smiles...
people are beginning to make
   the assumption that poetry will save
         them from the tyranny of acting...
besides the point,
  given the example...
          if only there was an instantaneous
death like depicted with:
heavy editing, and no thespian involvement...
i can't help but see a movie
and not see a piece of paper
                    and a pair of scissors...
odd... because i wouldn't make
the same connection
               with a pear and a magnet...
               moth and macaroons?
appears i wasn't even "forced"
       to wear this veil...
                    acting should have really
been left to neglect in
   a theatre...
                      on behalf of
    democracy... why not speak of
                           the thespian tyranny?  
all the other forms of art are
starving...
                 why even bother wondering
why moden "art" (painting)
                is a bit off, trying to escape
                             plagiarising geometry?    
it's not healthy...
                       modern painting is
starved for the benefit of one medium...
that can't even fathom itself
           as member of the same family...    
yeah...
                    well, i guess i could
throw in the minstrels...
        but then i passed a busker on
                                  the street last night...  
poetry in public?
                  unless you're competing
                   with a mad christian preacher...    
but acting is both mainstream and
subversive...
                               (it) doesn't necessarily
require a stage: to find an actor...
           but if i'm not living
under a thespian tyranny...
             then i'm no more a poet than
one: requiring to write in orthodox rhyme.

Down in the forest,
past the bluebells sits a glade
Hidden from the outside world
Protected, dark in shade
A magic place where fairies live
Behind a silver veil
With a gate made out of spider silk
And guarded by a snail

It's hidden from the normal path
Behind large ferns and leaves
It is only seen by fairie fok
And those who do believe
The snail sits watching up the path
For hikers and their ilk
Prepared to send the warning out
by breaking through the silk

The bluebells let the fairie folk
Know it is time to hide
Behind the silver slippers
Secret signals they abide
A place where water runs as clear
As blue as summer sky
Where magic lights the world for them
Where fairies float and fly

It is a glade not seen by us
If we do not know to look
To us it's just a darkened glade
Fed by a smallish brook
But, there inside the curtain
Is a world of childhood dreams
Where wishes are all granted
And tears help fill the streams

Magic is the hallmark
It keeps the land of fairie well
If you found it, who'd believe you
really, just who could you tell?
Protected by an old brown snail
With his silver trail behind
with a spider web to block the way
It's a place so few will find

Believe and you will see it
Past the trees and in the shade
It will open up to serve you
In that small and magic glade
If you see the folk of fairie
And their wings of gossamer glass
Then you've met up with the old brown snail
And he chose to let you pass.

I'm a little snail with no
home or tail. All I carry is
this shell over my shoulders
and back.

Wondering slow and lost
into God's woods.

Living with the constant fear
of getting squished like cookie
dough by someones shoe.

Afraid of loosing my cool and
hiding for an eternity inside
my shell.

I'm a snail who goes wherever
my minds tells me to go. To
places that are high and
low.

Under leaves and branches
of trees.

I'm a snail who doesn't want
to live the rest of it's life alone
and blue.

A snail who wants love , a wife
and a cozy home.

I'm a snail who wants to have
children and a wedding on pretty
river stones , where
the water floats by and
the fish pause to awe
and sigh* ~