Thoughts, baby. A million little lights in the dark. You're one fine instrument, brother…

Thoughts, baby. A million little lights in the dark. You're one fine instrument, brother -- all those faces and all those names, all that laughter and screaming and scheming around... Every corner and every street...

Recorded in you. Forever. On ferrotape.

Spinning on empty.

On and on it goes, for untold hours. At the disco where you first asked her to dance. Rising -- rising! -- above the dark curvature. The great wingspan of sleep, studded with stars.

Behold, there are millions of them down there. The first time. The last time. The smoke in her mouth, the potted flowers, the faces: turning, changing.

What is it?

It's the world, Harry-boy. And you're made of it. Every day you're out there you make more of yourself from it. I'm afraid you can't be unmade now.

You can never forget this shit.

The colours. The voices.

All stuck on loop... Whirling, spitting out words and images.

You're the son of the World again. Harrister -- a ceaseless agent picking up litter and old newspapers, collecting your little bubble gum wrappers and idiotic picture post cards. Meaningless, meaningless keepsakes.

Reading your awful letters and recalling things, aren't you? The endless names of the world... An address book, you are. The map of a city.

But what if I want to be the agent of nothing?

It's too late. You're not made of nothing anymore, you're something now, Harry. I tried to drown you in the black water but you re-emerged. Kicking and screaming. Running. And for what?

For the working class.

For the money, baby.

For the greater good.

For Revachol. Always and only Revachol.

Solving your little crossword puzzles? Doing your tasks, crossing names off your lists? Trying to become some sort of world-detector... It won't make it okay. It won't put smoke back in her mouth...

Forget politics. I'll never sleep if I keep on like this.

Are you sure? You could be closing the door on a brilliant and special future for yourself.

You're right. It's time to get political.

I knew you couldn't resist. So now you're gonna change the world, but how?

Yes, I'm sure. I am very boring and apolitical and sleepy. [Ignore thought.]

Did you hear that? He's renouncing politics. He's strictly business now.

Just another thoughtless vessel ploughing the grey seas of the everyday.

Beep-beep-beep! The alarm is ringing, Harry. The disco circus goes on and on! You barely slept three hours last night.

You can do it. It's nothing. Do it for the city. Go.

Do it for the wind.

Do it for the picture puzzle. Put it all together. Solve the world. One conversation at a time.

[Open your eyes.]

I can't give up. I have to keep going, for Revachol... [Pursue thought.]

There he goes again. He's a real political animal, our Harry. He still doesn't see that it's the world that's changing him...

He's got no idea what he's in for.

Why?

Coz only love can break your heart...

Feel the pillow under your cheek.

We're making progress. Measured, steady progress... [Pursue thought.]

I'm just looking out for my economic self-interest... [Pursue thought.]

I'm building communism for all. This time we won't fail... [Pursue thought.]

That's right. I am an agent of the world.

You'll go insane if you keep going like this. One more day and you'll be in the loonie bin. I just know you will. And for what, brother-man?

The rain, the snow... I don't want to. It's beautiful.

Beautiful? It's stuck on loop... whirling, spitting out words and images.

The endless visions. Erase them.

It's not possible anymore. It's stuck on loop... Whirling, spitting out words and images.

Spinning in eternity.

Spinning, spinning... tell me, am I dreaming?

No. You're spinning tapes at the discotheque. The great, unceasing disco of the mind. The flash! The bang! The endless learning experience.