Dreams That Money Can Buy

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Party of the first part,

hereinafter referred to as "Joe",

to party of the second part,

hereinafter referred to as "Me",

witness the third party of the third part.

Therefore exclusively exploiting the first part,

in consideration of which party of the second

part entails consideration of the third part.

With all the mutual covenants and conditions

herein contained.

And so on. Get it notarised.

Well, it's a room anyway, Joe.

Better than a tent.

But there's the minor complication of the rent.

Take inventory, son.

Assets :
None.

Liabilities :
None. Prospects : None.

Well, that's the list.

Wait ! There's one asset you missed.

The paternal watch that ticks away your life

minute by minute.

Look ! There's a liability in it.

The dream girl. She resigned from the dream.

Why not ? She wasn't so dumb.

You are a self-appointed bum.

Hey, look here !

Are you shedding an old-fashioned tear ?

You don't cry nowadays.

You live or die nowadays.

Things could be tougher.

And after all, an artist has to suffer.

I guess it must be a grain of Italian dust

left over from your last campaign.

Or put it down to eyestrain.

Look at yourself. A real mess.

You're all mixed up.

Snap out of it ! Get yourself fixed up.

Even if poets misbehave,

they always remember to shave.

Say, what's the matter, Joe ? Something

gone wrong ? Is your head on wrong ?

No ! It's terrific !

Here's something on which

you can really pride yourself.

You've discovered

that you can look inside yourself.

You know what that means ?

You're promoted. You're no longer a bum.

You're an artist !

Remember a poem you once read.

"The eye is a camera," it said.

Suppose, like a film, it could retain the images

that glide so secretly through your brain.

Have you ever tried to see the shadow world

inside, photographed by the retina,

and held suspended in its memories ?

This is one of the more unusual talents.

And it's yours, it seems, Joe.

Maybe this will revive your bank balance.

Remember, everybody dreams, Joe.

If you can look inside yourself,

you can look inside anyone.

Customers ?

There are so many, one can't count them.

What's the population of the world ?

Almost two billion.

A potential of two billion customers,

all with a dream to untangle.

You've figured out a new angle. Get it !

Dreams on the instalment plan !

You'll be in the money, man !

It's a miracle !

Just as you were a complete bust, you readjust.

Wait till you're in the chips, then watch

the dream girl warm up those chilly lips.

Get on the phone. Make a small financial loan.

Convert this tomb into a consultation room

and go into business on your own.

You're all set up for business now, Joe.

Place refurnished in the latest style.

All you need to start you off are the customers.

Opportunity knocks.

Already ?

There they are.

The first instalment on the two billion clients.

Method of treatment ? Don't worry.

In uncertain times like these,

a man must improvise.

Employ the materials at hand.

Let's have case number one.

Don't get nervous.

Ah-ha. Case number one.

Mr and Mrs A. He is a bank clerk,

middle-income bracket.

Character :
Methodical, exact.

Wife complains he has mind

like a double-entry column.

No virtues, no vices.

She desires a dream for him.

One with practical values to widen his horizons.

Heighten ambitions, maybe a raise in salary.

Historical precedents for this hope

range from Jacob's pillow to Freud's couch.

Mrs A will please step outside during interview.

Sorry, ma'am. Only one dream to a customer.

Feel free to talk now.

Any special interests besides wife and job ?

None ? One ?

What's your idea of private fun ?

Cutting pictures out of magazines ? Excellent.

Let's find out what that means.

What do you look for in art ?

Design ?

Subject matter ?

Colour ?

Line ? I understand.

Beneath the correct grey ledger cover

you hide the wild images of the art-lover.

Let memory of mortgages,

loans and property sales

dissolve into the cries of nightingales.

A shady street.

And in the middle of it

there was a crowd of nightingales.

They were large nightingales,

and their breasts were rough and hairy.

Some of them had calves' hooves.

And some had paws like panthers and wolves.

Then they dragged me into a dark cavern

in the middle of the street.

What happened ?

They talked about love

and pleasure.

Yes, it does. Here it is. What is it ?

Who's that ? I can't find it.

I see it. I don't know, do you like it ?

Where is it ? It's not here.

When was that ? Long ago. I don't see it.

- Take it. Put it away. I don't like it.

- Yes, I have.

He can't see you.

He can't see you.

Do you know why ?

Yes, it does.

Love and pleasure.

Love and pleasure.

Love and pleasure.

The ones with panthers' feet said,

"What is love

but nature's innermost principle in action ?"

"What is innocence

but a pair of gloves to warm the hands ?"

Admirable.

Yes, how true. How true.

And the ones

with the calves' hooves were saying,

"What is nature

but love's innermost principle in action ?"

Absolutely wrong ! Never ! Don't say that.

And then ?

Yes.

They killed me.

The nightingales shot me in the back.

They killed me.

What a pity ! Terrible !

Open the window.

Close the window.

No matter.

This I shall never forget.

It is beautiful.

Who loves to come with me

under my warm, white gown ?

Come, harpies and magpies,

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