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READ ON, HORSEMEN AND WOMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE…
[PLASTER PRINCESS] was one poem I did in a series of poems where I had made pages upon pages of lists of words taken from Reference books. My task was then to incoporate these words in some meaningful way into poems. I did so by letting my eyes go over the page, seeing what words I began to connect and then I went with those connections. I would use words when I felt it necessary and as often as I wanted to, with no limit on how many went in each poem, and just let the words take me until I hit an end, and then did it over again. After a long revision process I cut about half of the material which hadn’t worked as well, and then took what was left and turned it all into probably 20 poems. So, this was one in a series.
Because of the large number of words drawn from a medical dictionary, this poem had a heavy focus on that, and so therefore ends up coming out to be a sort of hospital scene. And even though it did get me out of how I used to write, I was still writing a poem that was very much me. What ended up coming out of the connections was a sort of mistrust of the doctor, or doctors, and the narrative of a female that appeared in several of the other poems in this series.
Due to the nature of the language, the voice ended up being one of an omniscient group of doctors subjecting this rebellious female to strange, bizzare testing. Also, I ended up touching on issues of femininity with the obvious sexuality of the poem, as they are trying to change her face and they are caculating her weight loss. They also brand her, opposed to her rebellion of drug use (codeine) and lesbianism (cunnilingus). They see it as a hedonism, and that her only concern is gratification. Here, they are trying to remake her into what they want: a plastic, skinny, but silent woman, heterosexual, and conforming to society’s expectations.
The risk I took with this poem was by using the voice of the Authority figure, as if I actually agreed with it. I don’t, but that shouldn’t be a factor to it at all. My goal was to illuminate something I saw, whether or not it is an exaggeration, or even absurd at points. By using the unreality I hope to illuminate a truer reality of human nature exposed in extremes. For, no, these things aren’t right, but that is not my place to say. I was simply observing and reporting. Yes, I can’t avoid my biases, but I hope by taking an unusual approach I remove myself more and allow the reader to make their own connections. This is only one interpretation. I may be the poet, but that in no way makes me right as to what my poem means. There is what I intended, and then what is actually received. Perhaps this poem is upsetting.
Perhaps it is offensive. But by pushing comfort zones, I hope that we can get out of our complacency, and maybe take notice, and be moved enough to do something. Or maybe the poem isn’t upsetting enough. Maybe we are already so desensitized that it’ll take the extremest of extremes to move people to act, or to at least take notice.
-ian
eviscerate her fragile friction, not enough stitches
for the aperture in her atrium. plastic surge-
ry as a means of finding a better face to match her
coat. on the stomach draw the circle in a charcoal black
& fill her belly with aphrodisiacs. then calcu-
late recent weight loss on the abacus, & forge a sig-
nature in gasoline as conscientious objectors
to her hedonism of cunnilingus & codeine.
flood contagion, providing rescue breathing after.
charge dental if she bites, a tranquilizer to re-
solve the issue of reaching esophagus. tell her to
keep it down. the lady protests too much. she’s refusing
anatomical study, break her down into parts of
speech. seal her lips shut. prevent exposure of her midriff.
pious fallopian benedictions transcribed
in opium vespers, as the new abortion
devises brutality for festering cuntmother.
agendas translated into battlecries of
semen infiltration. bloody phallic chants
harmonizing with preternatural menstrual
hymen screams. building bastard bridges
across seas of syphilis. ovular distortions
exchanged for love & pregnancy. idolized
savagery cumming at the seams till nuclear
winter. rigid cunt furnace: wombic salvation
from ice age apocalypse. what’s left: post-
coital decrescendo of sex-stained sheets
whispering sweaty holocausts of lament.
I have fucked. I have been fucked. I will continue to fuck and be fucked. I will fuck until fucking becomes making love. I will make love until I believe I am falling in love. I will fuck until falling in love is being in love. I will continue to fuck even when I am no longer in love. I will fuck the people I love. I will be fucked by the people that love me. I will be fucked by those who say they love me. I will be fucked by people who do not love me; who do not know me. I will let myself be fucked. Because being fucked by someone else, is so much better than fucking yourself. And when there is no one around to fuck me, I will fuck myself.
Fade In:
EXT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY GYM – MORNING
Three high school aged boys, JOSH, ANTHONY, and BRIAN, lounge behind the gym smoking cigarettes. They are dressed identically in school uniforms. Their backpacks are lying at their feet and it is clear they are waiting for the bell to ring.
Josh
Fuck her.
Anthony
I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.
Josh
You want a serious conversation? Here’s my input. Fuck. Her.
Anthony
She got shot! You don’t think she deserves the least bit of sympathy? She got shot!
Josh
Anthony, there’s a reason she got shot! Have you ever been shot? Have I? No. You know why? We don’t deserve to be shot. No one wants to shoot us; therefore we have not been shot. Besides, it’s not like she’s dead.
Brian
This is a fascinating study in comparative morality.
Josh
Shut the fuck up, Brian. You don’t even know what comparative morality means.
The video freezes on Josh.
Josh (v.o.)
That’s me: Joshua Devlin. I’m the cocky one in the middle with the answer to everything. I’ll be your narrator.
The video unfreezes.
Anthony
This is a school shooting. You don’t think the victim of said shooting deserves at least a small measure of compassion?
Josh
Only counts if there is a victim. In this case, I would say that the shooter was acting as a divine instrument of God’s will in carrying out his holy justice. The nuns said God works in mysterious ways. (BEAT) Or did I see that in a movie?
Anthony
You’re impossible to have a conversation with, you know that?
Brian
I know what comparative morality is.
Josh
No you don’t!
Anthony (simultaneous with Josh)
Shut up!
Brian
Fuck both of you. I mean that. I hate you both.
Josh
I’ll grant you that most shootings, in any form, are probably random and stupid and whatever. But in this case, this specific case, I think the shooting was justifiable. Especially since she used a .22. That’s a glorified fucking BB gun, for Christ’s sake.
Anthony
You realize that you’re actually advocating the shooting of another human being, right?
Josh
Oh my God! Really? Look, even if she had been shot in the heart, Gretchen still would’ve survived. You’d need silver bullets to put that bitch down for good.The video freezes on Josh again.
Josh (v.o.)
I’d imagine by this time, you’re probably wondering what the hell is going on. Let me try to clear some of this up for you. Let’s go back, shall we say, a week?
INT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY CAFETERIA – DAY
Students are frozen in many positions, some pushing themselves away from the tables, some running, but all showing fear. Josh walks in to the frame. He is clearly the only thing moving. He slowly walks up to the center of the scene. Here there are two girls, JAMIE who is holding a gun pointed at the prone form of GRETCHEN. Jamie is ordinary looking except for the look of utter surprise on her face while Gretchen is positively gorgeous. There is blood all over Gretchen’s right arm.
Josh (to camera)
I believe this is what you were confused about yes? Some introductions may be in order. Meet Jamie, as you can see she is a school shooter. Though not a killer. And this, of course, is Gretchen. She’s the “victim.” Let’s see how this plays out, huh? Hope nobody’s squeamish!The video begins rolling again and Josh has completely disappeared. The students, now in motion, are running for the doors or hiding. Jamie holds up the gun, smoke still trailing from the small barrel, and looks at it in shock.
Gretchen
You shot me! You fucking cunt, you fucking shot me! You will never go to prom, I swear to God!
Jamie
I didn’t mean to! It just went off! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.Gretchen gets up and begins slapping Jamie around with her good arm.
Gretchen
Fucking bitch! You shot me! I can’t believe you shot me! I’ll kill you! Oh, son of a whore! I got blood on my shirt!
Gretchen begins unbuttoning her shirt and whipping her around as if she’s in a Whitesnake video.
The video freezes once again and Josh is back in view.
Josh
Not really what you expected, huh? All true, too. Except for the whole shirt thing, you know, with the hair. I just thought that’d be funny so I threw it in there. All caught up? No? Well, luckily for me, I don’t give a fuck.
Josh puts his wrist up as if he is going to look at a watch but doesn’t even look at his wrist. He is not wearing a watch.
Josh (cont’d)
Whoa! Look at the time!
EXT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY GYM – MORNING
Back on the boys again just as the school BELL sounds a jarring note. They all crush out their cigarette butts in the concrete.
Josh
Lovely.
Anthony
C’mon, man, a great new day of education begins. We are like dough in their hands. Or putty. Something really soft. Malleable like.
Josh
Bite me.
Brian
What do you mean by silver bullets?
The boys pick up their backpacks and begin walking towards the school.
Josh
What?
Brian
You said that the bullet would’ve had to be silver to kill her. I don’t get it.
Josh
Silver bullets. Like werewolves. You know, Transylvania and all that shit.
Anthony
Transylvania was vampires, not werewolves.
Josh
Screw you, it was both.
Anthony
No, it wasn’t.
Josh
It was most definitely both. I think.
Anthony
Yeah, you sound real sure of yourself there, chief.
Josh
Fuck you, I’m going to homeroom.
Anthony
Whatever. Oh, hey, can I get a ride home today?
Josh
Probably not. I have to meet with Principal Jameson after sixth period. I think he’s going to give me detention.
Brian
Again?
INT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE – DAY
PRINCIPAL RONALD JAMESON sits behind his massive desk, obviously reading a student essay. The essay is several pages long, and the silence is oppressive for Josh who sits in the chair across from the principal. Finally, the principal puts the paper down on his desk and takes off his reading glasses.
Jameson
You think this is funny, young man?
Josh
No.
Jameson is obviously unsatisfied with that answer.
Josh (cont’d)
Sir?
Jameson (reading the title of the essay)
“On the Masochistic Urges of Jesus Christ: Why the Cross Was No Punishment,” by Joshua Devlin. I’m not laughing.
Josh
I can see that.
Jameson
You have been here for almost four years now, Mr. Devlin. In that time, I have personally put you in detention thirteen times. I’ve suspended you six times. I’ve lost track of the number of in-school suspensions. Are you trying to get expelled?
Josh
No.
Jameson
Then explain this. . . this. . . tripe!
Josh
It has a solid basis in historical fact. I can point to several relevant passages of the Bible, if you like.
Jameson
Oh, I’m sure you can, but that’s not why you wrote it, is it? No, you wrote it so the teacher would turn red with rage and then you could laugh and gloat about how you were smarter than us. That’s why you wrote it.
Josh
Please, Mr. Jameson, you impugn my scholarly integrity. You cut me to the quick, sir, to the quick.
Jameson
I’m sure I do. Frankly, Mr. Devlin, it’s clear to me now that the usual punishments are not working for you, probably never will work for you. I’ve spoken with your parents. . .
Josh
I’m sure they were pleased.
Jameson (cont’d)
And we’ve decided that you need to see a counselor for your rage issues. You’re parents agreed to pay for counseling and picked out a therapist.
Josh
Of course they did. Why try to solve a problem when you can throw money at it.
Jameson
Good-bye, Mr. Devlin.
As Josh gets up to leave, Jameson casually throws his essay in the trashcan by his desk.
Josh
So much for free speech, huh? Well, it’s only in the Bill of Rights, not like it’s in anything important. . . like the Bible.
Jameson
I understand that you’re first appointment is this Thursday. I expect you to be there.
EXT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY PARKING LOT – AFTERNOONJosh, Anthony, and Brian are walking towards Josh’s car, a new BMW.
Anthony
Counseling? That’s not bad. Tell them you have bad dreams. Shrinks love to hear about dreams.
Josh
Your advice is neither solicited nor desired.
Anthony
Who put sand up your vagina?
Josh
You did. You put sand up my vagina.
Brian
You have a vagina?
Josh
If we could possibly move beyond the fourth grade for one moment? Please? Let’s focus on what this is really about. Ever since this goddamn Gretchen incident, the school is so paralyzed with fear, anyone who’s considered a risk is being sent to counseling. I write a paper, I get sent to counseling. It’s bullshit.
Anthony
Yeah, you write a paper. And burn an effigy of Jesus. And proposition Sister Theresa for sex. And. . .
Josh
I get the point.
Anthony (cont’d)
You constantly show up late for class. And. . .
Josh
Shut up.
Brian
Maybe it’ll be a hot counselor. And she’ll have sex with you. I saw that in a porno once.
Josh
Do you ever have anything worthwhile to say?
Brian (beat)
No. Not really.
The three boys arrive at Josh’s car and they get in.
INT. JOSH’S CAR – AFTERNOON
Josh lights up a cigarette and rolls down his window.Josh turns on the car and pulls out of the parking space.
EXT. THE DEVLIN FAMILY HOME – NIGHT
A large and luxurious home in an obviously affluent neighborhood.
INT. THE DEVLIN FAMILY HOME – NIGHT
Josh is sitting at the table with MICHAEL and LAURA DEVLIN, his parents. They are eating dinner in a sterile looking kitchen. There is no sound except the SCRATCHING of the silverware on the plates for several moments.
Laura
Joshua, the principal called today.
Josh
Yeah, he mentioned that
Laura
Did he mention the counselor to you?
Josh
Yup.
Laura
And what do you think of that?
Josh
If you want to waste your money, be my guest.
Laura
I don’t think it’s a waste of money. . .
Josh
Then you go.
Michael
You’re going. End of discussion.
Josh
End of what discussion? For there to be an end to a discussion a discussion needs to have taken place.
Michael
You’re going.
Josh
We’ve established that.
Michael
Don’t talk back to me.
Josh
How was I talking back?
Michael
You know how.
Laura
Now, Michael. Dr. Mitchell says we should be open to Josh’s feelings.
Michael
I don’t care what Dr. Mitchell says. The man’s a gay.
Laura
The proper term is ho-mo-sexual.
Michael
He’s a gay.
Laura
I made an appointment for Josh with Dr. Mitchell.
Michael
I thought we were going to send him to a good counselor. One that isn’t a sexual deviant.
Josh
You guys know I’m still here, right?
Michael
He needs counseling to get better. . . not to become a gay.
Laura
Dr. Mitchell won’t turn him gay.
Michael
You say that now and in five years he’s wearing a pink boa and singing “It’s Raining Men.”
Josh (singing to himself)
It’s raining men, hallelujah, it’s raining men. Hey, hey!
Laura
That is just silly. It’s preposterous. He’s going to Dr. Mitchell. The man is the most expensive therapist in town. He must be good.
Michael
Harrumph.
Josh
Did you just say “harrumph?” I didn’t know people actually said that. I thought it was a Dickens sound effect.
Michael
If he ends up gay, I’m blaming you.
Laura
You know, you should really be more open. (Brightening) You should come to yoga with me.
INT. DR. MITCHELL’S OFFICE – LATE AFTERNOON
There are several PICTURES of two middle aged men that are clearly more than platonic. DR. MITCHELL sits behind the large desk and is recognizable as one of the men from the pictures. Josh sits in a chair facing Dr. Mitchell across the desk. The office is sleekly modern and sterile.
Mitchell
Why do you think your parents sent you here today, Josh?
Josh
Because I wrote a paper on how Jesus was a masochist and propositioned a nun for sex.
Mitchell
Yes, but what are the underlying motivations for these actions.
Josh
I was horny?Mitchell scribbles something down on his notepad.
Mitchell
That’s a specious answer, Josh. I think you know that.
Josh
I don’t know what “specious” means.
Mitchell
Yes, you do.
Josh (beat)
Yes, I do.
Mitchell
Do you enjoy playing games with people?
Josh
Do you enjoy having sex with men?
Mitchell
Yes. Very much so. And you? Do you enjoy sex, Josh?
Josh (flustered)
Sure, it’s good.Mitchell scribbles something down in his notepad.
Josh (cont’d)
What are you writing on that fucking notepad?!
Mitchell
Hmm? Oh, I’m drawing a cat. See?Mitchell holds up the notepad to reveal a simplistic drawing of a cat’s face.
Mitchell (cont’d)
Don’t you think it’s cute?
Josh
You’re insane.
Mitchell
No, but I don’t feel the need to listen or take notes when all you’re doing is feeding me a line of shit. Perhaps you should come back again when you feel like talking without pretenses.
Josh
Did I just get kicked out of therapy?
Mitchell is drawing his cat and isn’t paying attention to Josh.
Mitchell
What? Oh, yes, get out. I’ll see you next Thursday.
Josh gets out of chair slowly, confused and walks into the waiting room. He stops in front of a woman reading a copy of “Reader’s Digest.”
Josh
What the fuck just happened?
The woman looks shocked.
Josh (cont’d)
What?
EXT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY GYM – MORNING
Nearly identical to the first scene, we see the three boys smoking cigarettes and waiting for school to begin.
Josh
And then he told me to get out.
Anthony
Wow. Even gay therapists can’t stand you.
Brian
You’ve hit a new low.
Josh
You’re both just too funny.
Anthony
How long do you have to go see this jackass?
Josh
I don’t know. Until I’m cured, I guess.
Brian
Cured of what?
Josh
Cured of the devil. What else?
Anthony
They probably should have sent you to an exorcist. The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!
Josh
Yeah, well, your mother sucks cocks in New Jersey.
Anthony
I believe you mean Hell.
Josh
What’s the difference?
Anthony
You have to pay a dollar to get into Jersey.
Brian
I’m from New Jersey.
Josh
I’m sorry.
The bell RINGS. The boys look towards the school automatically, even though they are out of sight behind the gym. They crush out their cigarettes and begin walking towards the entrance.
Anthony
Hey, Josh, did you get your humanities parter yet?
Josh
My what?
Anthony
The last couple of days, they’ve been calling us all down to give us partners for that graduation humanities project thing. Obviously you haven’t gotten yours yet.
Josh
Obviously not. What’s your project?
Anthony
I’m “volunteering” at a soup kitchen. . . with Kelly.
Brian (sexually)
I’d give her my soup kitchen.Beat.
Brian (cont’d)
That didn’t make any sense, did it?
Anthony
No, not really.
Brian
Why don’t we just move on?
Josh
This is what happens when you hang out with people from New Jersey.
INT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY AUDITORIUM – DAY
A group of forty students is sitting in an auditorium. Jameson is on the stage with a microphone. There are two large cardboard boxes with pieces of paper in them sitting at the base of the stage. Josh is among those in the crowd. So is Gretchen. She is wearing a sling on her right arm but is otherwise immaculately made up and gorgeous.
Jameson
OK everyone, as I’m sure you know, you all have to complete a humanities project in your senior year in order to graduate. Those here are the last to be paired off. I’ll read half of your names and those I read will pick a name out of this box and a project out of this box. Whoever’s name is on the slip is your partner. There is no changing partners or projects. After were done, find your partner and discuss completing your project. Ok, the first name is. . .
Jameson begins reading names off in alphabetical order. Students file out of their seats to receive their partners and projects. It is not long before Josh is up. He gets out of his chair and walks to the boxes. He reaches into the project box and pulls out a paper then he pulls one out of the partner box. He opens one of the slips and it clearly reads Gretchen Sykes. The video freezes.
Josh (v.o.)
I believe the proper term is, “oh fuck.”The video unfreezes.
Josh
Oh fuck.
INT. ST. FRANCIS PREPATORY ACADEMY AUDITORIUM – DAY
The same auditorium on the same day but it’s obvious that time has elapsed. The students are sitting scattered throughout the auditorium in pairs including Josh and Gretchen. They are clearly uncomfortable.
Josh
So. . .
Gretchen
Yeah.
Josh
How’s the arm? Gangrenous?
Gretchen
No. What’s our project?
Josh pulls out the slip of paper he took from the project box.
Josh (reading note)
“Come up with a plan to teach one of the following Bible stories to a third grade class. You will be expected to give a ten minute presentation to a third grade class.” And then there’s some stories and the name of our advisor. Wonderful.
Gretchen
What stories?
Josh
Abraham and Isaac, David and Goliath, Noah and the Flood, The Story of Job. . . Wonderful! We’ll be teaching third graders to obey God or die. Or, in some cases, to obey God and die anyway. I love Catholic school.
Gretchen
Whatever. Let’s just do it and get it over with.
Josh
It doesn’t bother you? We are indoctrinating the youth of our nation into believing nonsensical stories that have little or no relation to actual faith or spiritual belief so that they will grow up and pass those beliefs on without ever questioning them or pausing to think that they might be wrong! There’s a word for that! It’s called fanaticism.
Gretchen
Just because I’m looking at you when you talk doesn’t mean I’m really listening to what you say, ok? I just do it because it’s easier than explaining that I don’t care. You should get used to that if we’re going to be working together.
Josh
It’s so hard to believe that someone wanted to shoot you.
Gretchen
I know! I’m so lovable.
Josh
And sarcasm is dead.
Gretchen
When do we have to teach this class?
Josh (looking at the paper)
Just over two weeks from today.
Gretchen
Fine. Pick a story and we’ll look over a Bible, scribble some notecards and then you and I don’t ever have to see each other again. Which would be great because you’re not good enough to hang out with me.
Josh
Well, I appreciate your honesty.
Gretchen (not paying attention)
Uh-huh.
Josh
You are either the stupidest or the smartest person I have ever met.
Gretchen
Are we done yet?
Josh
Why don’t we pick a story? Then we can meet up again next week. I say Job. Let’s fuck up the little bastards as much as we can.
Gretchen
Fine. I’m leaving now.
Josh
Woe unto me in my despair.
EXT. THE DEVLIN FAMILY HOME BACKYARD – NIGHT
Josh, Anthony, and Brian are sitting in the backyard by the pool. There are three six packs of Yuengling on the table as well as several stuffed ashtrays. All of the six packs are empty. There are several more empty six packs on the ground. The pool lights are on but the backyard is otherwise dark. There is a large decorative fence around the yard. The boys are all drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. They are all drunk.
Anthony
Gretchen? One hundred and fifty seniors you could’ve been paired off in and you get Gretchen? I need to rethink my life.
Brian
What does his shit luck have to do with you rethinking your life?
Anthony
Because apparently there is a God. And he’s pissed at Josh.
Josh
She’s not that bad. Just as long as you don’t pay attention when she speaks.
Anthony
Well, shit, I could say the same thing about Brian.
Brian
How many beers you think I could chug in a row?
Anthony (indicating Brian)
Tell me you don’t want a mute button for that?
Josh
What we’re we talking about?
Anthony
Gretchen.
Josh
Look at this way, I was with her for, what? Five minutes? It takes her years to really wear you down. I knew Jamie freshman year, did I tell you that. Totally normal. Then she gets five classes a year with Gretchen. And bam! I mean that literally. Bam!
Anthony
It was a .22. So it would be more like Pop!
Brian
Gretchen is a fine looking woman. She’s a fine looking woman.
Josh
She is a good looking woman.
Brian
Fine looking woman!
Anthony
Pop! Pop!
Brian
Where did your parents go again?
Josh
They went away for the weekend. Dad had a conference in
Santa Fe. So they’re gone.
Josh grabs a beer bottle and holds it up in a toast.
Josh (cont’d)
To
Santa Fe! The City of
Cathedrals!
Anthony
Santa Fe’s not the city of cathedrals.
Josh
The hell it isn’t! I’ll fight any man who says it isn’t!
Santa Fe is the city of fucking cathedrals! There are cathedrals all over the place. They’re like locusts.
Anthony
Budapest is the city of cathedrals, man.
Josh
You, my friend, are drunk. And insensible. And drunk.
Brian
I’m drunk!
Anthony
And you know what comparative morality is.
Brian
That’s right.
Josh
I have to teach third graders the story of Job.
Anthony
I have to feed soup to the homeless.
Josh
What purpose do the homeless serve? You know, if we put them all in a big oven and just burned them all that would be great. (Beat) Wait, this sounds familiar.
Anthony
That would be the Holocaust.
Josh
Oh, right. Hitler was misunderstood.
Anthony
I don’t think that he was.
Josh
Hear me out. (Beat) Yes, he was.
Brian
I know what comparative morality is.
Ted isolated Down syndrome. He isolated and crystallized it. He chopped up the crystals. He rolled up a ten dollar bill and snorted it. His eyes bulged and his face tightened. His mouth got numb and he felt the brain in his skull shrink like a sponge, then the cool release as it eased back against his skull.
At his desk, his pens and his pencils stayed the same. He gripped the side of his desk, had the urge to eat a Twinkie. He felt kaleidoscope, a bird flutter, felt his tits sag into fleshy sacs on his chest. He wanted to wear tie-dye inside him and on him and have cartoon characters as friends. He wanted McDonalds, he wanted a job there, he wanted it now, all over him, he wanted the plastic toys in the kid’s meal, he wanted to feel the cheap plastic in his pudgy hands.
Ted snorted more Down syndrome when he was coming down. When he felt his eyes go back to normal and his brain start asking questions, he used the loosely-rolled bill to snort and snort. The Rockette came to his apartment to check on him. Ted had not been in to work for days. People were not worried about him but they needed him to do his work. She wanted to help him so he wouldn’t get fired and go broke and be homeless on the street. He might scratch himself in public, or defecate in front of people. The Rockette cringed at the thought, and swung his front door open. It was unlocked.
The Rockette found Ted on the floor bug-eyed and coloring in a coloring book with marker. He had gotten it all over the rug. He was eating Twinkies. The Rockette realized Ted had been doing nothing but eating Twinkies and snorting Down syndrome for a week. She knew that Twinkies for a whole week were not good for Ted’s bowel movements.
The Rockette bought Ted a cooked chicken but Ted was stubborn because he isolated more Down syndrome and snorted it all, an even bigger and more potent dosage to maintain his high harder and longer. The Down syndrome made him stubborn and only want to draw big pink cats with googly eyes and green whiskers. The Rockette was frustrated but she also found it very sexy. They went to his room and Ted laughed like she tickled him.
Ted made mental notes to his other self when he was his regular self, even though this was happening in less and less frequent intervals. In fact, some of his notes went unfinished and The Rockette could read the fragments on his walls and desk and carpet, only to wonder at his language. Ted prepared more Down syndrome because whenever he was high he stopped remembering how to do simple but important things like make more. So Ted started doing a lot at once so that there was no confusion. He locked his door and The Rockette didn’t come in for days because he didn’t open the door when it was knocked on.
The Rockette was fed up with Ted and his behavior, especially after she tried to help him by making him laugh. She barged in on Sunday morning, the Holy day of rest, and found Ted doing just that all stiff and bulgy-eyed on the cream-colored carpet in his living room. He had marker all over his skin and he was laying in a pile of crayons and half-eaten Twinkies as though he had forgotten he was eating them and opened a new one several times. It smelled like bad and stale desert cakes. The Rockette pulled the chicken out of the fridge and took a seat next to Ted. Cradled between her shoulder and her cheek was a phone. She dialed Ted’s mother and told her that her son was gone.
So we aren’t stopping rest stops they just keep on glowing neon ears accelerating past white lines It’s a beautiful saying, all is fair in what you provoke me by I am clenching the metal souvenirs with my fingernails and I imagine you painting me in bitter toned oils all over my hands and elbows stroking my eyelashes with your lips
I’m bending to that door arbitrarily asking you to ask me for whatever it is that holds me back from that conversation I ran through the scenarios in my head before comfortable sleep me begging you and you begging me to stop and I muffled my only voice through the ease of shelter in the form of a dormitory cot.
I found that the only wealth I had gained in your absence was solitude; it’s not enough They told you that your value is, was, had been denoted by your class, your standing, your size, your walk – you walk like a prick, begging for harmony and seething with apprehension
And you assumed the only way to end this world’s contention against you was between the statuesque burnished poise of the bottle, floating from all rationale and me and you seized it like you would a pretty girl dressed fashionably in a face that expresses no thought I imagined your life, luggage, packed in a shoe box and guitar case and still I crumple like paper, disfigured as your notion that this place would swallow your energy, recycle you into white currents of prescriptions and diagnoses and meds and pills and I stood there shuffling my returns in your drunken disarray wanting you to be just okay
When you told me you wanted to die
I made a grocery list.
