Vendredi Dernier, à Mars

It is no kind of joke, unifinished, mis-shapen, but in the moments before the show begins there is at least the attempt:

“Simone Weil, Bertolt Brecht, and Joseph Beuys walk into a bar. The bartender asks, ‘what do you want?’ Simone Weil says, ‘nothing!’ Brecht, chomping a cigar, barks, ‘everything!’ Beuys, already curled into a corner booth, replies in a gentle murmur, ‘only a rabbit pelt … and … if it is possible … a rectangle of fat …’
The bartender’s reply, and each person’s counter-answer – that is to say, that space wherein the humor blooms – has yet to appear …

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