Barbarella, why don’t you tell us what a monologue is, aren’t we constantly speaking in monologues? Why do we think our thoughts are so important? Aren’t we simply all part of a giant ravenous fungus, each one of us a cell? The future will happily slap us in our soliloquizing faces, it has long since arrived! So – just let it all happen to you; beauty and horror. And don’t forget to chew. Or you’ll get nauseous, my dear! We are alone, oh so very alone!

Why do we speak with chickens and with the wind when no one else is around? With the dead, Goddess, with the past and the future? Who are we still speaking to, anyway? And what is speaking? Did we get a textbook that one day will be empty? Is the mouth half empty or half full? Is crying and laughing a monologue? Let us say blob blob and tralalala. Let us laugh and sing with a full mouth!