Under the Stars

Germaine Greer, Leonardo diCaprio and Milan Kundera are stretched out on the lawn. Their heads are together and their feet are apart. The sky is black and silent. There are stars. Germaine is dozing.

Leonardo props himself onto his elbow and says, “After all my meanderings, I have come to the conclusion that I do not understand the world. I have come to the conclusion that there is no rhyme or reason; the goodness has no correlation to the badness, you cannot control the future or the past. There is a beauty in this knowledge. It is all a glorious jumble, over which we have no power.”

Germaine says, “It is only when we truly grasp this that we can begin to live. Until that time, we think about that which is not really important. The important questions are yet to be answered; the answers themselves are not important.” She does not open her eyes.

Leonardo says, “There is freedom in that, but also great responsibility. We must share this with the world; but who is to say if the world is ready? I feel a heaviness in my heart, for I am the keeper of the keys to the truth.”

Milan snorts. “Oh, lighten up.”

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On The Balcony

Nick Cave: Hi, mate. Sorry to bother you. Got a light?

Skrillex: Sure, man. Hands over the light. Nice night.

Nick Cave: De ja vu.

Skrillex: Huh?

Nick Cave: Nothing. Hey, I haven’t seen David for a while.

Skrillex: Oh he’s on the decks.

Nick Cave: No kidding. Isn’t that more your area?

Skrillex: Sure, but it’s my night off.

At The Gates

The Rock: you can’t come in here.

Brendan Fevola: I’m sorry, don’t you know who I am?

The Rock: I don’t care who you are.

Brendan: Would it help if I changed my shoes?

The Rock: it’s not the shoes that’s the problem.

Brendan: Well fuck you. I thought back in October Iggy said David was an inclusive kinda guy.

The Rock: Ah, that was when Patti was on the door. Honestly, she’d let anybody in.

Brendan: you let that Harry Potter fuck in.

The Rock: Language, Mister. None of this is making me regret my decision.

Brendan: Fine. It looks like a shit party anyway.

Through the gates, they can see Jack White and Dolly Parton cannonballing into the pool. It looks like the greatest party of all time, because it probably is

Brendan: please, man.

The Rock: no way. I don’t want you infecting these happy people with your chauvinistic bogan nonsense.

Brendan: so you do know who I am?

Smoking Cigars

Hugh Jackman: Hey, dude. Congratulations on your award.

Wayne Swan: Yeah, thanks man.

Hugh Jackman: So, where’s Julia?

Wayne Swan: Oh, it’s not really her kind of party.

On The Dancefloor

Ryan Gosling: Hey lady, you’ve got the moves.

Helen Mirren: Yeah, I’m just throwing some shapes. THAT’s how you do it.

Ryan Gosling: Do you want to get married?

Helen Mirren: Can’t. I’ve got to go out later.

Noah Taylor: chuckles

Around the fire

Gabriel Garcia Marquez is warming his buttocks in front of the fire. He is orating wildly, hoping something will stick, a glass of port in his hand. No one is listening. The room is filled with conversation, but no one converses with Marquez. Others might feel sad at this, but he doesn’t notice. He continues to speak in a dreamlike state, eyes half-closed, leaning back against the mantle. The backs of his legs are becoming hot.

Bartleby says to Loki, “Why doesn’t anyone read anymore?’

Loki says, “Because reading is boring.”

“Reading is important,” Bartleby says. “It’s the foundation of human culture. Without the First Book, neither you nor I would even exist.”

Loki shakes his head. “Without Kevin Smith, we would not exist.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They watch Marquez as he continues to speak. He is telling the story of two statues, who want nothing more than to come to life so that they can embrace. It is a fable as poignant and relevant today as it was in its original form. But still, no one listens.

“People like to have books,” Loki says. “They like to line their shelves. We will always have books. But why would you read them? There is other, better entertainment now. Why would humans, with their limited lifespans, actually read the books on their shelves?”

Bartleby feels sad. He likes books, almost as much as he likes Hallmark moments. He doesn’t want them to die. “What about you, you read..?”

Loki says, “I start reading, and then I get bored. I want to get to the end. I want someone to tell me what happens. But I can’t actually be bothered finishing.”

“You have to keep reading,” says Bartleby.

Neil Gaiman walks into the room. He recognises Bartleby and Loki, but not Marquez.

“Neil, my man,” Bartleby says. “You probably have a perspective on this. Why doesn’t anyone read anymore?”

“What are you doing here?” Neil ignores his question and sits down. “You’re not even real.”

Bartleby laughs aloud.

On the Edge of the Bath

Salvador Dali holds his head back, trying to stem the bleeding. Iggy Pop tears off some toilet roll and hands it to him.

“Just pinch the top, man, that’s it,” says Iggy.

“Thank you,” Dali holds the tissue to his nose. “You’re very kind.”

Iggy shrugs. “Man, that coulda got nasty.”

Dali shakes his head. “Who was that guy? He was so angry.”

“Lou? He’s a friend of mine. He gets antsy when he’s had too much to drink. Don’t worry about it.” Iggy lights a cigarette and examines his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. “At least we got you outta there before he broke any bottles.” He lets out a laugh in memory. “Ha! I’ve seen Lou get pretty ugly.”

Dali says, “He’s pretty ugly already.” He investigates the contents of his tissue. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“It’s my motto.” Iggy leans back against the sink. “No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

Dali doesn’t entirely understand but he nods. He is too proud to let on when he doesn’t understand something.

Someone outside bangs on the door. Dali jumps. Iggy ignores it.

“Are you guys fucking in there?” someone shouts through the keyhole.

Iggy goes to the door and opens it a crack. The offensive kid is Daniel Radcliffe. Iggy hisses at him and he runs off with his tail between his legs.

“What is he even doing here?” Dali muses.

“Oh, David’s an inclusive kinda guy,” Iggy says. “You never know who will turn up at his parties. I’m never surprised anymore.” He rests his bare foot on the side of the bathtub and examines Dali’s face. “You’re gonna have quite a bruise, man.”

There’s a delicate knock at the door. Aretha Franklin sweeps in. She is all over Dali. “Oh, my gosh, are you alright? That man was terrifying, baby, I didn’t think he’d let you outta there alive…”

Dali looks stoic, but is enjoying the attention.

Iggy says, “I’m Jim.”

Aretha says, “I know who you are.” She shakes his hand. “You’re the shirtless dancing man.”

Iggy couldn’t be more proud.