The Otis Series
Poetry by
David Donald Schein II
figmentofimagination Productions
The Story: This anthology is a collection of prosetry and poetry
written from the summer of 1998 through the summer of 2000. I was in Baltimore,
Maryland, where my mom lives, and I went to a local diner in Towson with some
friends of mine after a meeting. While I was there, I started to think of one
of my former girlfriends that used to frequent the diner. I got “up in my head”
about what I would do if I saw her there that night- because the last time I
had seen her had been... at the diner. Roughly four hours and ten cups of
coffee later, as I sat in my bed longing for sleep- and suffering as it eluded
me- I continued thinking about "Roxy" and the events of that evening
and of the previous summer.
The insanity of my sleepless thoughts left me with only two options: go totally mad or write. As enticing as the former was, I chose the latter. I wrote 'Otis and Roxy', pts 1, 2, and 3 that night. And I didn't stop there. I have continued to write about the people, things, and events in my life and in my past from an omniscient perspective, that I might find some peace and serenity by exposing my thoughts and feelings to myself.
I am not sure why I chose the name "Otis" for the protagonist. It seemed like a good name. I am not going to try to hide behind Otis. I am not all of Otis, and Otis is not all of me, but he is my window into myself. He is like my alter ego. I can look at the events and thoughts of his life and see the similarities to my life. I then compare that to my own life and realize where I may have gone wrong and what I am doing right. I have given names to all of the involved parties; both to protect and respect them, and to further assist in my self-detachment, again to see myself from the outside.
The Reading: Prosetry is, as the name implies, a crossbreed of poetry and prose. To assist you in the reading, remember: you will know what is poetry and what is prosetry. The prosetry is along the lines of the 'beatnik' movement, that is, shifty rhythm and meter without any set rhyme scheme. This is also often called “open form” or “naked” poetry. Ignore the labels; the words are making love to the paper. Treat them as such.
On my website: http://www.geocities.com/granmadave,
I have posted copies of my work for free viewing. If you wish to purchase a
hard copy of The Otis Series and \ or Other Issues, they are available at cost.
I am in the process of generating audio compact discs with my work read aloud
by me.
The Thanks: I need to start by thanking the one who was with
me through pretty much everything that occurred since junior year of high
school. Every emotional situation I experienced, she was there for.
She helped me through so much of this stuff that I don't even know how to begin
to thank her, but here goes: "Missy, Thank you. (!!!!!)" I don't
think that really does it, but I'm sure she understands. "Missy, I love
you. Thank you so much for everything."
Second, I need to thank Lee. He
is a mysterious, beautiful spirit, and I love him as a brother for the support
he has given me over the several years we have known each other. He has helped me through many hard times and
rainy days. He was there for me on all of the frightening and frustrating
nights when I simply needed his presence on.
He was my crutch during the Karen months. He and I seem to speak to each other
better through music than words, and sometimes staying quiet is the best
advice. “Lee, thank you. Thank you for
Sarah when I needed her, and thank you for silence when I needed that,
too. I love you, my friend, and
remember: we’ll always have 610, a radio, and a Blazer.”
I did not write a few of the
enclosed poems, as the table of content has shown. "Myra and Otis"
was a message left on my machine by A. Myers, so I have given her credit in the
TOC. Melissa Elsner wrote “Veronica’s Thoughts”.
I have thrown together
a quick list of people (In no predetermined order) that I wish to thank: Missy
Elsner, Lee Cole, Katrina Hakkinen, Anne
Hammontree, B V & D, Raphael White,
Sharyn Blum, Emily “E!” Wiesman, Shawn
“The Gay Guy”: Good luck on “The Couch”,
Sean Abbott, Stephen “God-Waiter” of the
Silver Diner, the staff/regulars of The
Towson Diner, John Cates, Lifeway, Kevin and Andrew Soliz, Crystal Lee, The Recher Theatre, The Baltimore Opera Company, The Paper Moon Diner, Club 307, Oliver “OJ” Janney, Erin “Meg Ryan” Foard, Sarah, Wade, OCT, Goucher College, Ildiko Preszly, “Mama” Jen,
“Mommy” Jamie, “Ma” Phay, Charles “Chipunk”
O’Toole, Dennis “The Mick-Wop-Lock” Restauro, Mike
Weller, Mike Cave, Lora, Mary Ellen
Schroder, The Noser Family, The Jones
Family, Joe Schein, Bradley Schein, Gil Rice, Brigita Miller
et al., Alex Myers et al., Alex Green, Ali Koen, Rachel Waldman, John
and Nathan Dexter-Thornton, CJ Stephens: Hang tight, my friend, Cathy Clay and
The Producers of Waltrip High, Christopher Redding, Claire Yeoman, Jim and Jess Rogers, Greg Pipitone,
my Mom, Dad, and Ken, David and Amanda Gonzalez, 'Scruffy' Dave Richardson,
Scot Guillory, Noel Ligon, Jenna Lewis, Rachel Velez, Spencer et al., Aaron B.,
Matt H., Luke K., Bruce T., Abbey Moore, Marlo Delara, Mike S., Patty Elsner,
Bob Turner, Mitchell Cohen, Shannon Darrow, Tyler Davis, Wade and Shane Tyree et al., Oprah
Winfrey, Paul Hewson and Dave Evans, Thom
Yorke, and I know I forgot a few names in there, but I love you all, even those
I couldn't think of at this moment.
To every one else
even slightly mentioned in this anthology: "I love you all.
You have all helped me become a better man. Live long and die well." Thank
you all for looking into my life and reading my work and the work of my
friends. I love you all. I hope that my
work might help you in similar situations. In addition to all those listed and
not listed, I would like to thank Stephen Berg, Benjamin Zephaniah, Ani
DiFranco, and my sister, Anna, for being the unknowing models and mentors from
which much of my style is based. Most of all, I thank my higher power for
making this all possible: the experiences, the people, the poetic inspiration...
life in general... everything.
EKAM SAT VIPRAH BAHUDHA VADANTI: THERE IS BUT ONE TRUTH, ONLY MEN
DESCRIBE IT IN DIFFERENT WAYS
-TAKEN
FROM THE RIG
VEDA
-David Donald Schein II
8 August 2000
Baltimore, MD, USA
Dedication
The Otis Series
is dedicated to "Veronica" and "Marcus" for the love they
have shown me through the years. I have
never before or since met better friends than they are. I want to thank them for showing me so much
love and support, even when I was too blinded by my ignorance and arrogance to
see it. I will always love them and no
distance can ever truly separate us. I
will always hold them close to my heart.
-David Donald Schein II
Otis
and The Strangers (and Myra)
Otis
and Music, pt. 1 (To the tune of Beethoven's Ode to Joy)
Myra
and Otis (words by A. Myers)
Otis
and Roxy pt. 5, also Closure pt. 1
Otis
and the Last Night with Myra
Otis
and a Date (maybe) with Karen
Otis
and a Farewell to Myra, also Closure pt.
2
Otis
and Thoughts about A Possible Err with Karen
Otis
and a Card Game at Karen's Home with Her Family
Otis
and a Really Depressed Moment after a Misunderstanding with Karen
Otis
and Karen's Room, also Closure pt. 3A
Otis
and Karen No More, also Closure pt. 3B
Otis
and Eight Weeks, also Three Days After,
also Closure pt. 3C
Otis
and Thoughts about Karen During a Family Gathering
Otis,
Myra, Karen, and Bernice, Veronica, Andy, and Marcus
Otis
and Karen, pt. 6, also Cryptic Answers to Unasked Questions
Otis
and Karen, pt. 7, also Fear and Pain in
Houston
Veronica's
Thoughts (by M. Elsner)
Otis
and a New Year and more thoughts of Karen
Otis
and Karen, pt. 12, also Consistent Train
of Thought
Otis
and Karen, pt. 13, also Rearview Mirror
Otis
and Jezebel, pt 4, also Closure, pt 4
Otis
and Marcus, also Otis and More Thoughts of Myra
Otis
and Reilly, pt. 2 also, A Blue Dream
Otis
and Reilly, pt. 3, also Castle on a Cloud,
also Pas Miserables
Otis
and Veronica, pt. 2, also White Mice and 50 kV of Electricity
he walks through the diner
calmly, sedate, passive
on the way to the restroom, she sees him
nostalgic, amorous, memory
he returns and as he passes, she turns
they remember time spent loving
physical, emotion, orgasm
she kisses him, he is afraid
she releases him, he is relieved
he still loves her, but remembers
pain, dissolution, deserted
-----
Grass Breathing
Trees Sharing
Love Having
Bewilderment Taking
Pain Talking
Fun Leaving
Orgasm Going
Dew Coming
Skin Loving
Velvet Singing
Grip Running
Lost Hiding
Desire Touching
Silence Caring
The Thoughts Careen Through His Head
-----
He remembers parting the first
Time, by far not the worst.
Too young to explore
Emotions, yet yearning for
Experience and a caress,
A body that had not yet breasts.
Years later at the same
Place, they remembered things, no name.
They went to a movie to see a show.
They had each other, but had to go.
Her body: now perfect; his mind: defunct,
Chemicals collided. His thoughts: they were junk.
She left. He didn't say good-bye.
He missed her, but he couldn't cry.
Months later on the telephone,
Then they walked and went to his home.
Rekindled were their emotions.
Lusts are confusing potions.
They spent weeks together.
The physical fun only got better.
They went to movies and music shows,
They explored sexuality and got toes
Wet with the dew of midsummer's grass.
They frolicked and in lust collapsed.
With him inside her was much pleasure.
Yet come the next day, he couldn't get her
Back, she had left his world.
Torn inside, he sat and curled.
Into an emotional ball of pain,
But he has healed and does not now complain.
-----
The door was Open
M usic
I mzadi
C an't
H ad
E motions
L ove
L ust
E volve
She was Closed
O nce
T wice
I nside
S ymbiosis
The door was Closed
-----
Pipelines transport his thoughts at impossible speeds as she winks at him and though others have winked at him before, this was different SHE was different. He wants her so bad but couldn't have her, then he could, but he couldn't though he wanted now he can but he can't so he must wait and make plans for when he can. As he watches her adjust her position in her seat he can see her underwear, white with flowers, and he instantly wants her though he already wanted her but he remains silent about his lusts and affections for her, so as not to fuck up his and her sanity, though his is questionable to begin with, and he takes her home and wants her but waits for a time when he won't hurt her or himself, and though he wants her he must remember that time is time and they have plenty of it, and he can have her in the future and if he must wait, then he will wait, because he wants her and he knows that she wants him but they wait.
-----
He met her then, they talked.
He liked her then, they laughed.
He saw her then, they joked.
He accompanied her then, they watched.
He kissed her then, they embraced.
He loved her then, they caressed.
He left her then, they sighed.
He still does. They still do.
-----
he sees her body
he wants inside her heart, soul
but she is taken
he experiments
she responds with smiles and laughs
he thinks she wants him
they see each other
often enough to be friends
affections unclear
as the sun sets now
over the field, trees, grass, leaves
his thoughts unspoken
-----
he thinks he likes her,
but he is uncertain.
he finds her attractive,
but there is fear.
for Myra still loves him,
or so he's sure.
he still likes her,
but she is not present.
nor will she be for a while.
he is uncertain.
-----
as he filters the thoughts of his-
life times
loves lovers
experiences likes
dislikes sensations
emotions and dreams
-through his tired heart and head,
he thinks to himself:
"Where is my life going?
What is in store for the man called Otis?
What plan does god have for me?
What will I do tonight?
What would happen if I died today?
Would I be okay with that?
Would I have remorse over things left undone?
Would I regret things left unsaid?"
And as he watches people pass by as unnamed souls and sees their-
hair eyes skin breasts
legs clothes shoes toes
pants shirts teeth blouses
skirts socks bags and jaded dissolution
-he wonders:
"Are they content with the way their lives have gone?
Do they wish they had loved their mothers?
Did they do what they wanted to do-
today, yesterday, this week, their lives?
Do they have unaccomplished goals as I do?
Do they notice the-
Trees grass leaves smells
Sounds people children jewelry
Light ENERGY as I do?
Do they like my music, or would I cause a commotion if I were to turn the amp up?
Do they judge me as I judge myself?
Have they attempted suicide?
Do they use drugs and other people to get what they want?
Do they have children, and if so, do they love them?
Does life come naturally for them or do they struggle to awaken each morning?
Do they have jobs?
Do they like coffee?
What color are their dreams?"
His are vibrant with-
blues reds greens women
men parents friends lovers
past lovers deceased relatives and friends and himself
Yes, He dreams in color.
-----
She: She is pretty. She looks creative.
He: He is tall. He looks mean.
They: They are talking about fish and the events under way.
Otis: Otis sees Them kiss as he makes his way to the coffee and notices His hand on Her thigh, making its way up Her skirt.
She: She is smiling as they continue their conversation.
He: He asks for the check.
Otis: Otis notices the tip is $1.69. Otis grins at this as he returns to his seat.
Myra: Myra smiles as Otis sits down and places his hand on the inside of her thigh while setting the coffee down.
Otis: Otis asks for the check.
-----
every day he watches
as the sun sets
behind the guise of dusk
and the cloak of the horizon
as the stars take up their positions
as sentinels against
the intruding thoughts
and inhibitions
of the waning day.
-----
|\ ES UL
|| --T--
F------------F--L-------------------S------T----------
|/
NO L R G CE Y
N O A
H I S
/| ---------I--E---RA--------A--U-D---E-R--M-------S----A-D-----
/ | TT
RO TH O
E N
| |
-------------------------------------------------------------
|/|-\
|\|
|------------------------------------------------------------
\ | |
\|/ NOTES FLITTER GRACEFULLY AROUND THE ROOM AS HE SITS AND-----
|
\/
ES
R S IT
---R---I---------------G-----N---------E---T-------------U--A----
TA N L T E
I I T RN R
N E G R
---------T--T-Y-A---H-----L-----H--C---------U--I-G--------------
EN T R E MM TH
-----------------------------------------------------------------
S-----------------------------------O----------------------------
STARES INTENTLY AT THE GIRL IN THE
CORNER STRUMMING THE GUITAR---
HO
------------C--R------------------K-----D----------------------||
IN UT D H T
C C W ||
T--P--G-O--------S----T-E---ES--U-----O------------------------||
AP TO AW R R ||
---------------------------------------------------------------||
||
---------------------------------------------------------------||
||
TAPPING OUT CHORDS TO THE AWESTRUCK
CROWD----------------------||
-----
Once again, a pretty face protecting a wonderful heart catches his eye.
She says "Hi." and smiles her alluring grin,
Saying so much more than her words.
But he doesn't speak that language.
He would ask her to translate,
But he doesn't want to come off as cocky,
So he remains silent.
-----
Calm
Emotional boy watches with passionate intentions.
With an erratic, swift bolt, he is paralyzed and engulfed with the rare intent to induce pain on another living thing. He is livid with this irresistible fury.
He is frightened as the adrenaline fades away.
Once again, he is
Calm
-----
There are many things in Otis' life that he enjoys.
On sad blue days, the only comfort is the darkness of ice cream.
When he contemplates his existence, he loves the company of a charming girl to assist him in whiling away the day.
-----
I can feel your breasts
in the palms of my hands.
I can smell your sweat
and pheromones.
I can taste you
and your warmth.
I can hear your loving voice
yearning.
I can see your eyes
closed in anticipation.
-----
As he sits and reads about people who lived through hell,
He thinks of his own life
Never has he felt the pain
These people have,
But he knows pain
The greatest pain
He has felt
Is the pain of losing all
Respect for
The man
He once revered
He knows the pain of betraying himself
The physical pain
That comes with the rain
Is greater than any other
That he has felt
But he knows not
The pain of losing his mother
He knows not the pain
Of infidelity of a lover
He knows not the pain
Of losing a child,
An entity of his own flesh
And blood
But he knows pain need
Not be fled from, but embraced...
...Then Recovery is Possible
-----
Nameless faces surround him as he
Sits stares sweats waits
For the warden
He waits for the whistle to signal
The procession of bodies into the
Cell as they await reeducation.
Conformist ideals shape the walls and
Words of their oppressors.
The light that floods the room is not born of the pale
Tubes recessed into the ceiling, but the minds of the servants.
With increased resistance comes heat.
With heat, light.
From where does the resistance stem?
From the jail-keepers,
As they attempt to restrain
the fleshy membranes
and emotions?
Or from the oppressed?
As they attempt self-reliance and resist -
- CONFORMITY
-----
meao.
are you there?
are you sleeping are you screening?
are you out drinking coffee?
probably the latter.
um...
I've just had...
a really...
Odd...
day...
...with the evening being the first part.
I just wanted to talk to you
mainly because you are like the best counselor I have in the world...
but I guess you're not there either.
either that or you're really, really sound asleep
oh, well
I guess I'll just sleep.
-----
at last the confusion has left his mind.
he knows now why she became mute with her
thoughts emotions time body
in a
casual
conversation, he
conferred with a
comfortable
confidant over a
quite
confidential
cause.
this man was the cause
this friend
(though not at the time)
destroyed the serenity of the relationship between Otis and Roxy.
but he does not resent Sam
Roxy should not have invited Sam in
Roxy should not have invited Sam to stay
Roxy should not have allowed Sam to rub her
neck back shoulders breasts
Roxy should not have invited Sam to kiss her
Roxy should not have let her guard down
Roxy should not have allowed the Sex
Roxy.
Roxy should not have invited Sam to
Do Her
Again, the
Next Day in
Her Home
Roxy should have told Otis
Silence is leaden.
-----
Hey Roxy, I'm just calling to say,
That I thought of you the other day.
And I thought to myself:
"Does she think of me or of someone else?"
And what was it about that night,
That caused you to take flight?
We caressed and frolicked in the grass,
Hands roaming over fronts and backs.
So thinking of you and that warm summer’s eve,
Brought back lusts so fast, I just couldn't believe.
But now I look at what must be in your bloodstream,
and in your thoughts and in your shoes.
And if you look into mine,
you'll see I have nothing to prove.
(Not to you at least)
But now I know the reason and don't even need to ask
The one thing that I want to know: why did you wear a mask?
Why couldn't you be honest?
Did not want me to know?
You wouldn't tell me what happened,
You just told me to go.
(But not in so many words)
So I found out through a friend of mine,
Why it was that you were lost.
Though a great deal of confusion,
Was the one and only cost.
I don't want to start shit again,
But I do feel I should say:
If you ever need my help, dear girl,
Give me a call someday.
I've known you for six hectic years,
And I consider you a friend.
But until you need my help, my dear,
This has to be the end.
My reason here is closure, Rox
In case you had to ask.
I know now who you really are,
So take off the fucking mask.
-----
I see you converse
She pushes him away
I can see down the front of her dress
The two of you playfully tease each other
He touches her thigh
He holds her hand
They don't see me
He goes to kiss her and she playfully rejects
Holding his arm, they cuddle
And I miss you.
I miss the way
That we would play.
I miss the kiss,
The bliss,
Associated with time spent with you.
I don't know what to say or do.
-----
In the velvet twilight
The moist air in my lungs
Remembering you on this cloudy night
Thinking of your skirt, black and shimmering
Your dark, curly hair covering your breasts
And hanging from your head,
Your necklace gently glimmering
-----
You're a very sweet girl.
I think I could like you a lot.
And I would never ask you
To be something you're not.
We've spent some time together.
And some good times have we had.
I would like to spend more time with you.
Would that be so bad?
We could play mini-golf.
Or drive little go-cart cars.
Or maybe go to an art show.
Then to a field to look at stars.
I know that you just moved here,
But how better to enjoy your stay,
Than to have someone take you all around,
And see the city that way?
And when you miss your old friends,
And need someone to hold,
I've a good heart and a soft shoulder,
I'll protect you from the cold.
-----
Pain grips my chest
I attempted to run from this
By running to someone else
I failed.
I am begging to weep, but the tears won't consent
I am so confused
SHE took that away
But now she is gone
She has thrown my confusion back at me
What a cruel joke
The jester must be ill
The doctor is not in
My heart is corrupt
Seeks a bribe from a new player in this twisted politics
And turning to an old accomplice
One who I all but ignored
With my new toy
Withdrawing from the sand lot
To the warmth of the velvet vise
I was in the hot box
And I got burned
And
Still
I
Wait
For
The
Tears
-----
Running
Driving Around
Getting Lost
And Finding Each Other
Over Pasta
In A Field
In Bellaire
Getting Devoured By Mosquitoes
And Other Insects
And Getting Shot At By Cherubs
Naked,
Winged
Boys
Should Never Be Given Projectile Weapons
Fortunately, He Missed
Got Pretty Damn Close To A Direct Hit
She Is So Beautiful
And Kind
And Pleasant
I Want To Spend Time
With Her
Over Ice Cream
And Prosetry
In A Coffee Shop
In Europe
sittin'chillin'talkin'lovin'breathin'tastin'sharin'smilin'dancin'rockin'cuddlin'
Getting Lost In Those Deep Eyes
Her Single Dimple
Her Small Yet Pleasant Breasts
Her Hair: Each Strand A Different Color
But All Shades Of The Same Emotion
Her Walk: With A Spring She Steps
is there a romantic
word for butt?
Hers Is Nice, Round, Pleasant, Present
Her Lips: Calm, Seductive, Inviting, Teasing
Her Language: Tripping, Alluring, Aesthetic, Drawing
Her Accent: Combined, Beautiful, Sexy, Calling
and yet, I don't know
I wish I did, but her words is foreign to me
-----
BOOM, VROOM, SCREECH, WOW!
SHIFT, MPH, SPEED NOW!
My car she is a tank
She eats a lot of gas
Both God and Dad I thank
Because my car kicks ass!
She fishtails when it's wet outside
But I can compensate
I get money when I give friends rides
My car, she is first rate
This pretty girl says my car's the best
And I believe I quite agree
Mennolly rises above the rest
My car's perfect for me.
-----
I hope I didn't scare you,
With the words I wrote.
I think it's safe to say you know,
Of whom it was I spoke.
I like you, sure, I admit it's true,
But I never meant to bring you Fear.
It is just something that I do,
Writing makes my thoughts more clear.
I will not make you rush to choose,
The extent of our affair.
Your trust I never will abuse,
You just need to know I care.
-----
Painful Beauty
Exhilaration Surpassing Fears
and she said to me...
Supreme Joy Almost Drawing Tears
The People Mill about
To Their Own Business They Attend
and i know without a doubt
there's no need to pretend
She Asked And I Said 'Yes'
In The Lot Of The City Bright
I Want To Frolic, Kiss, Caress
To Hold Her Through The Night
I Love To Watch Her In The Morning
As She Sits In Her Car
All Of A Sudden Without Warning
I Look And Here We Are
-----
One touch from your hand is as electricity through my bones,
Lancing me with ecstasy
I am
enticed with this
erotic
embrace.
Kiss me
Caress me
Hold me
Love me
Music hovers in the vibrations of the air
And I am there
And I am here.
-----
You are sultry sexy-sweet standing there, exciting
And the wind caresses your multi-hued locks,
randomly scattering them across your brow.
You stand seductively in your rosy gown,
Breathing in the heavy night air.
and I ride the waves
of affection onward
to the stars
and the coming day,
still hours away, when next I shall see you
-----
I want to spend time with you
no friends
no limits
no expectations
I wanted you to ask me to come back
to hold you
to caress you
to kiss you
to make you chamomile tea and feed you ice cream
to make you scream in pleasure
to make you laugh
to make you feel better
to hold you and look at stars in the pale moonlight of the crisp night air
to be there
to be with you
you asked not
nor did I, though all and more did I want
but hurt you I will not
I want to hold you
to kiss you
to love you
to shatter understanding
to charm you
to entice you
to excite you
to paint you with the colors of an overactive imagination upon the canvas of the stellar orchestra in the studio of the gods of love and lust and purity and emotion and nakedness and joy and fun and pleasure and ecstasy and overstanding and fruits and dairy products and silkworms and lightning bugs and music and color and fur and stained glass and Beethoven and Michelangelo and DeNiro and cartoons and pillows
and...
...
...you
-----
Kung-Fu Garfield comforts me
As I drive in the moonlight
without you
He and god speak to me
With the wind and the pale light
without you
My friends greet me
While the epileptic strobe light
Flickers without you
He invites me
Under the porch light
And I leave without you
But what if she calls me?!
Her voice full of light?
But I'm still without you
I fear you don't want me
That I don't spark your light
That I'll be forever without you
Kiss me, Lover, love me
Let me be your light
I don't want to be without you
Ma Copine,
serenade me
In the moonlight
Don't let me be without you
I think of you and me
Watching stars without moonlight
With You
-----
The stoic man sits at the head of the table, paternally sifting through the multi-lingual festivities.
Maman sits to his left, by the kitchen, ready to pounce with offerings of food or beverage. She sits, concerned about manners, then with the familiarity and family, she is able to relax and have fun, and she continues to enjoy the game.
Joyfully, the recovered military man playfully teases the other members of the cast.
The giddy school girl child, youngest of the family, gleefully sings, bounces her way about the evening and the cryptic words (completely unintelligible to the bystander) and she pauses on occasion to translate for her lover, who sits and watches with awe and amazement at the family gathering which he has been allowed to witness. And he is grateful.
He watches the man sit and play in his partially restrained manner. He is obviously a joyful man at heart (evident in his mannerisms). He wears the sinister smile and the solid face of a man who has seen everything, but loves this life.
The mother is the true keeper of the house, the final voice of reason, and the victor in all arguments. Concerned for the visitor, offering sustenance to the outsider. She has the face of Love. The love for her children, her home, her life and living... all of it... can be seen by her bearing. She sits, yet still rules all.
The crowned male, flustered hair and still in military jogging shoes, sits, t-shirt and sweatpants, poking fun at the family. He is the bearer of the family name. He is the next to pass it on, and though this is the farthest thing from his consciousness right now, it is his duty, his role in life. If not him, then whom? But his concern now is his own life, which is good.
And the playful girl sits to my left, barefooted. And as my pen dies, they in unison offer a replacement. With her smooth hands, she carefully chooses and places her cards upon the table. The papered walls reflect their Inner Light: combined... as one... collective.
And I, the artist, observe. Honored as I am welcomed into their family activities, their home, their lives. Though I am still slightly nervous, I enjoy time with them. They are a family of the Old Land. They are Whole. Dislocated, though they are, they are still at home. They are immersed in unfamiliar situations and surroundings, yet they show no remorse for leaving the land they knew and once called 'Home'. They have assimilated and adjusted their immediate surrounding to become all they wish it to be. And they become all they wish to be.
And they Love
And they Live
And I Observe
And We Love
-----
a symphony of silence
the cacophony of the deafening screams of nothingness
rejection?
is she afraid she'll get too close?
does she not want me?
is there someone else?
does she feel she has to be with me?
is that why she stays, but always goes?
does she not want me for a lover?
does she think I want too much?
more than she can give?
do I make her sick? do I keep her ill?
the blinding oblivion
the cloud shroud of the moon
I relish time with her
does she reciprocate my sentiment?
the celibate trees have it made.
no rejection no pain no remorse no insecurity no nicotine no doctors no addictions no fear no infatuation no lust no pain no worries no capitalism no wars no moonlit nights to worry about lovers no disease- pestilence without fear of death no morning no mourning no lovers no consciousness to bother them no movies to watch and be sad after no sadness whatsoever no visiting rights no playgrounds to go to and remember youth no age or aging no headaches, stomachaches, backaches, or stubbed toes or egos no foes or enemies no schools no prisons no institutions of higher learning no racism no pride or prejudice no crime or punishment no law or order
is it, in essence really life, though?
maybe I should enjoy those things.
maybe I should respect the patience associated with her.
waiting for her.
having her, yet not really being with her
I see her, yet she is so far away
I hear her, but she's just in my head.
and so am I
-----
I've had my muse
She is Jezebel
I sense her lust
her desire
It seeps from her pores
I have my Olympia. I show my affections, My wants and she seems not to reciprocate.
I had my Antonia. We loved, but she had to leave me, but memories never die.
Roxy was my Giulietta. We shared ourselves. But lust overpowered trust. She shared with another.
When I meet Stella, Will I know her?
Is she Karen
Myra
Roxy
?
Is she all yet none? Will my muse ever achieve satisfaction? Will she ever know me?
Will Copelius, whomever that may be, destroy Olympia?
Will I die for my Loves?
-----
the books rest on the floor, splayed out upon the tableau of the carpet, pretending to be useful
the pictures stalk about, voyeurs themselves, spying on us as we speak
"I want you"
"You can't have me."
-----
He wondered for weeks
She delayed
He wanted to talk about talking
She needed to talk about walking
He went to her
They delayed
He wanted to kiss her
God does he miss her
He wanted
She couldn't
He was
comfortable
She was un-
He wasn't going to try
to change her mind
that would cheapen the whole
real
deal
this is sick. I am too young for this shit.
-----
I watch the ceaseless procession of cars and people shifting and moving like blood cells in an artery as she walks away.
It is too soon. I can't see her yet.
When I'm around her,
I just want to hold her
to kiss her
to mold to her
but instead I miss her.
Everything reminds me of her.
Every song, Every light
Every word, Every night
I don't understand, don't want to accept
I was her man, and she chose to reject
It's hard to get grips
It's hard to hold on
When the one you watch for
Is suddenly gone.
I just want to hold her
to kiss her
to mold to her
but instead I miss her.
-----
Random woman, hair blonde of hue, tall and thin, stands behind the counter
She answers phones, speaks to clients, and carries on her Friday Fun
The chemical smell chokes the air and the light reflects off her black shirt
Her silver necklace, barely visible below her shiny locks, sparkles in the ambiance and the recessed lighting of the store.
Her head shifts from side to side as she checks out another patron
She bends to deliver money to its resting-place.
Her watch, possibly too big (too many links, maybe) accentuates her thinness as she counts the bills and returns them to the sheer, sheared sheep.
Then she disappears.
-----
She was crying that night
I entered the room and she stood there, just out of arm's reach, weeping, eyes red, tissue crumpled in her hand, wet with her salt-water tears.
She said that she was sorry.
I didn't know what to say.
She had been scared, she had not wanted to hurt me.
Then she turned away, raindrops still streaming down her cheeks.
I walked up to her, placing my arms on her shoulders and she placed her hand on my hand.
And I knew without words what she was trying to say.
We spoke for a while flittering between us and philosophy
Douglas Adams is a hero to me.
"Don't Panic"
We spoke about speaking
And we kissed.
I missed those lips.
Though only three days, they each felt like an eternity, seeing her, but not being able to reach her.
Being with her without being With her
She has returned to me.
She will set the pace.
I just want to hold her.
I love talking with her
I love seeing her smile
I love seeing her twitch and squirm when Veronica pokes and tickles her tummy
I enjoy being with her
She makes me unable to think.
-----
Silent Calm Still Night Air
And You Are Not There
But You Are Everywhere
I Wish To Embrace A Kiss That Is Hot
But Here You Are Not
Nor Are You Forgot
The Cold Steps Greet
The Soles Of My Feet
As Family I meet
And Repeat
My Tired Words Of Affection To Them
-----
and so castles made of sand…
fall in the sea…
eventually.
she cried, then she was better
he beckoned her soul
so did she call out to his
they took what they wanted to take:
each other
and it was good
she had more to tell Andy
Andy was her former, now shattered, lover
They loved when Otis loved Myra
Myra bailed, Andy and Veronica failed
but only because she began to love another
Marcus, the dark friend, introduced to Karen and Veronica by Otis
As time progressed, so did the relationship of Marcus and Veronica
she could no longer love Andy
Miles away, Andy cried, perhaps died, inside
Veronica has Marcus
Veronica freed Andy
now Marcus is also free of the chains that pulled at him when he loved Veronica
They had each other
The door was open
Otis is with Karen, but still waits for her
his animal instincts constantly pushing him for her, yet she says 'slow'
Otis is a patient man
patience that has come over the course of nine-and-one-half weeks
patience that is hard to keep
serenity breaking down
he wants her, yet must wait
he still hurts from Bernice
she was his first, and so far his only
and he felt dirty
he fears the same result if he gets too close or too far with Karen
But that is a chance he is ready and willing to take, if only Karen will tell him her feelings
she is so close, yet so closed
this scares him
but he is stronger from the fear
it leads him, pushes him onward into the depths of her love
this foreigner, barely awake to the 'new world' entices him
she calls him forth from the aftermath of Myra and the ashes of Bernice
he wants
he waits
-----
WITH OR WITHOUT YOU
I can't seem to be WITH you
But I can't live without you.
I recall the still smoldering ashes of my past, my issues never truly dealt with and I can't decide whether to continue looking at the all-too-clear memories with my fogged glasses of time and experience or to douse them with tears and the wet stench of desire
CLOSING TIME
For my memories?
Maybe I SHOULD put them to rest.
Obliterate my issues in you
Move past them into you
No other makes me feel as you do
As I lie here, thinking of you, allowing my eyes to lose focus, the lines become thick blue blurs
The pen becomes two thin, pointed daggers seeing between my past and my present
My present becomes a movie.
I'M NOT AWARE OF TOO MANY THINGS. I KNOW WHAT I KNOW, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
I don't seem to know you, though.
WHAT I AM IS WHAT I AM. ARE YOU WHAT YOU ARE, OR WHAT?
I try to coax you into letting me into your beautifully complex head, but you seem to pull away and become silent, just when I am starting to almost know you.
At the moment, the instant that I step to what seems to me to be an open door, I realize the threshold is a thousand feet high and the sign on the door says "Sorry, we're closed right now. Please leave a message, if you're so inclined, and try again later because we sure-as-hell-is-cold won't return your message, but enjoy the purple bunnies that will accompany your thoughts as you walk home, confused as always and ever."
GOT YOU WHERE I WANT YOU. I THINK YOU'RE SMART, YOU SWEET THING. TELL ME YOUR NAME, I'M DYIN'. GOT YOU WHERE I WANT YOU.
BREAKING THE GIRL
Am I?
Do I pull you apart at the threads and stitches that hold your cherished psyche together?
Does your past pull you away from me?
You are like an intersection at night with a green light, but as I accelerate to cross the barrier of the cross- street, I see the officer holding his hand out, bidding me to halt before plowing into the cars and people exiting the garage and shooting across my path.
CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF YOU, BABY. WHENEVER WE KISS, I GET TO FEELIN' LIKE THIS. I GET TO WISHIN' THAT THERE WERE TWO OF YOU.
One to confuse and beguile me, and the other to hold me and make everything all better, and feed me milk and cookies, and tuck me in at night.
ANOTHER HEAD HANGS LOWLY CHILD IS SLOWLY TAKEN. AND THE VIOLENCE CAUSES SILENCE, WHO ARE WE MISTAKEN?
My head bobs as I floor the accelerator after shifting into a higher gear and I am slowly taken by you and your love.
And the violence of our pasts causes us to remain quiet about what is really going on and how badly I want you.
And how I continually mistake first with reverse as you pull away from my kiss.
EVERYTHING'S GONNA' BE ALL RIGHT. ROCK-A-BYE. ROCK-A-BYE-BYE, BABY.
I've seen my share of devils, too, you know.
And I am, one-by-one hunting them down and shooting them through the heart with my acceptance of my past.
You ask if I think about my past.
And I do constantly.
I make love to my experience, as it is my basic existence.
It is my passionate foundation upon which I have built the temple of my heart and soul.
And I too have a sign.
It says "Welcome, Come In..."
And daily I send you a flyer, a personal invitation to come in and relax, but it appears that you have mistaken it for junk mail and passed it into the 'circular file' with the coupon ads and yesterday's paper shreds, 1/4 inch wide strips of paper filling the room of your past.
But though you have thrown my invitation out with the scraps of your insanities, you return to your cave to make new ones, and build another pile of shreds out of the chronicle of your life, saving it for tomorrow, when once again you will hurl it into the landfill with my invitation and my request for your presence at the feast.
A spiritual celebration of life, table for two, and, as always, as it has been for the past ten weeks, the chair across from me, past the candle and the coffee cup that has been filled and purged countless times, remains vacant, gathering dust as I patiently wait for you to join me.
Did I make a mistake?
Was I supposed to meet You somewhere?
Perhaps at a restaurant on the other side of town?
Are you there, waiting for me to come along to pay the bill and carry you off into the night?
I check my machine regularly.
Leave me a message to tell me where you are.
TELL ME WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? YOU KNOW I JUST CLOSE MY EYES, AND THE WORLD DISAPPEARS.
But I can still see you.
TAKE ME TO THAT PLACE INSIDE THAT IS SO HARD TO REACH.
You do all that and more.
You take me to the place where I can be quiet and calm and tell you how I feel about you.
But then you rip me from that solace and withdraw to your personal mental cavern, while I stand in the rain looking at my toes, wondering if their bulbous presence can make it all better, make it all go away and let me be WITH you, but I guess I COULD NEVER BE YOUR WOMAN.
Cryptic answers to unasked questions are all I have for you.
WHEN I GOT THE MUSIC, I GOT A PLACE TO GO.
But you never seem to be there.
You never leave me a message to tell me where I can find you, how I will find you when I get there, or if I’ll have to go as soon as I get there.
I want to join you.
I want to share with you.
And I don’t want to go home as soon as I get there.
The past is dead. Let the dead bury the dead.
I wave good-bye to my past as I see it drive off into the dawn without any brakes.
I have clipped the lines on that car.
As it speeds off into the sunrise, I see it career off of a cliff and I am left with memories of memories.
Double negatives that have no effect on the present.
Time heals all wounds, and I have had a lot of time.
Communication solves all problems, but we don’t talk that much.
Nothing is mandatory. Nothing is required.
I just want to be with you. Tell me what you desire.
I don’t need to walk
around in circles,
walk around in circles,
walk
around in circles,
walk around in...
----
I asked you for a reply
One get not did I
Eleven weeks is a long time
To not know what is on your mind.
my inspiration is gone; the words don't come
has Rosaline broken the bracelet?
I have needs that aren't being met
if you can't meet them, then I need to
someone needs to take care of me
if I'm trying to care for someone else, then I can't do it
this is a really shitty time to be thinking about stuff like this.
the people hustle bustle wrestle their way to get gifts for people and I don't even know if we'll work for that long
I need to know now
was I wrong? how did you work with the others? how has your life been?
and I am scared that this isn't working
that three months have filtered down into this, have been twisted into this lack-thereof, this awkward, sleepless thing that can't be defined by any language
and still you remain silent
I am scared, I am hurt, I am angry that nothing I have done has worked
I know that I haven't done all I could, but I was afraid to do more... to press
you've done nothing, but I need something
the only emotions I recall you sharing with me were when you asked me back
you said you were scared
you said you didn't want to hurt me
you can't
what hurts is not knowing how you feel when we're together
not knowing how you feel when we're apart.
when we're together, you act like there's nothing wrong or like everything is wrong, but when I ask you what is wrong, you don't say anything and imply for me not to ask
not to hold you, and that hurts me
I can't do this anymore
changes need to be made
we either need to open the hell up, or get the hell out
maybe we can find what we need in other people
it's not what I want, but if it's what I need, by god I'll do it
Fear, Pain, Rejection
life's too short to be this blind to what's going on
help me see, show me how you feel
if you are angry, hit me
if you are sad, hold me
whatever it is, do SOMETHING
Bye...whatever, please talk to me. I NEED to know
-----
Our shadows mingled and caressed as our bodies split apart.
Even as we seemed to pull away, our shadows became one.
-----
The colors flitter from red to green and return to their natural hues.
The young voices pitch and heave in time and grace to this woman's finely trained and training hand.
Upon her magic flute, she pulls at my heart, and while my head bobbed to their younger predecessors, or would they be followers? My ears perk at the growling pipe, pulling pleasant, pretty, painting pictures upon the mind's eye and canvas.
The piano joins.
They frolic in their sonic embrace.
Her tapered fingers dance upon the keys of the silver conduit while her lover assists on the bar-coded man-o'-war
Before long enough, their serenade is brought to an end.
It is beautiful.
In this sleepless daze within which I wander, she is salvation.
-----
There she lies, preening herself
She wets her arm with her sandpaper tongue
And cleans behind her ears
Now she watches me intently while I lounge in the blue easy chair, writing furiously as my mind and heart panic, searching for words to describe the essence of my experience
Now her arm, armpit, chest
She points to the far wall whilst contorting herself to reach the places a tongue should never reach
Her response to my pounding of the previous period was an attacking attention
Now the feet, between the toes, and the wrist
My own toes, wiggling, seeking warmth on this bitter cold pre-dawn, call and receive her attention
And s-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-e-t-c-h-h
And lick the tail
The Calico Queen, a mere infant when I rescued her from a life of many foodless nights in the apple, now an empress
If it can be eaten, It belongs to her table.
If it can be moved, It is part of her collection.
If it can be rested upon, It is her bed.
She prefers the blue chair and the couch by the bay window in the front of my home
She loves to stalk the unsuspecting victims around the neighborhood
Black, her mystery
Orange, her eccentricity
White, her purity
-----
A birthday present at a time when more than anything in the world, I needed a friend.
Henry was more than willing to oblige.
He is an artist, like me.
He loves all things.
He hears the music, sees the transparent colors that filter the actions of the world.
His mysterious eyes, his smoky muzzle, his muscular body...
He is an art form unto himself.
His sister agrees with me, shares my sweet sentiment.
She admires him, learns from him, loves him, teases him, chases him, reveres him.
He reciprocates her emotions.
While once, when they were introduced, he tried to absorb her, to end her life for his own pleasure, he now teaches her how to love.
He, the artsy pacifist. She, the analytic aristocat.
He sleeps now on the floor, but within minutes will rest next to me upon my bed.
We will kiss goodnight and sleep.
Our dreams will mingle, take a walk, get lost, stop and ask for directions, and come home way past curfew.
His silver necklace embraces his thick neck while he embraces the nothingness of slumber.
So, soon, shall he, she, and I share the solitude and security of seductive, sexy, and sanctimonious sweet, sound sleep.
Salut.
-----
With every heart I see unfold itself,
I want you...
With every kiss I notice,
I want you...
With every pair of breasts I observe,
I want you...
With everyone I meet,
I want you...
With the pale, dimly lit walls that surround me,
I want you...
With every picture I take,
I want you...
With every word I write,
I want you...
With every step I take,
I want you...
With every warning shot from 'King Henry' to 'Queen Elizabeth',
I want you...
With every sip of my coffee,
I want you...
With every night I spend away from you,
I want you...
With every thought,
I want you...
With every day without you,
I want you...
With every meal,
I want you...
With every breath,
I want you...
With every movie,
I want you...
With every blink,
I want you...
With every smile,
I want you...
...more
-----
I still remember your words, your appearance as you walked away from me.
You prompted me, and though I wished to proceed, I ran to another.
Without hesitation, Roxy and I embraced and rekindled forgotten emotions and lusts that had lain dormant for years
We absorbed each other.
Then she vanished.
She left me, confused and disoriented, in my own little world where everyone is honest and open to the needs and wants of all others involved in the story.
This cast of characters had a little 'falling out'.
-----
Wow, and Bam, there she was.
I went to see Erix, and she was there with him sittin' and talkin'.
It was amazing!
We joked and reminisced about
Our former acquaintance and the
Former prospect
Of that which never was,
And it was good.
Wearing her new shirt,
Adorning it with a stain
From her beverage,
She laughed, still as
Awestrikingly gorgeous as she was when we met.
It scares me.
-----
and, dammit, I see her again. naked, but for the collared shirt, barely holding back her bare breasts and my lusts, screaming to take her into my arms and my heart and my bed and my life, to envelop her and join with her in some amazing contortion of time and space, to disprove the theory that two bodies cannot occupy the same point of orientation upon the physical plane, to disprove the theory that two souls cannot become one, but it is wrong! I still can't! Not now, maybe not ever. Opportunity is a misconception and in this case, I hope to god it isn't the thought that counts. Again fear creeps into my consciousness and invades my thoughts, corrupts my serenity, and divides my will. What should I do?
-----
alone, though in a crowded room
solitude is the man
deep is his pain
he has resentments against the world whose causes I know not
mysterious is he
dark and deceptive
eluding
hidden
-----
Veronica knows very little
about what is going on.
She doesn't want to know.
She only knows what her id tells her:
Andy left her for too long alone,
Marcus is now where she feels at home.
In his arms, she forgets her pain.
In his arms, she is wanted.
held
feels safe
purrs.
Veronica is a kitten.
playful
jealous
who longs only
for the pleasure of the moment
To be warm
To be cuddled
To be held
caressed and loved
To feel the wind in her hair
To fall asleep
beside the one who cares for her
The one she longs to please
Veronica knows very little other than this.
-----
Orange rays cut across the crimson patch of the sky, sliced by the titanium arm of the bird within which I ride, soaring well above the clouds and the people settling down to supper.
Far off in the distance, cutting off the top of the burning ball of bright gasses in a dagger of cloud leaving only the barest sliver of the sun.
You must stay.
Please don't go.
Don't leave me!
In the darkness, one sees what they want to see, and/or what they fear to be.
Looking down, I can see the snow-covered lawns of the natives.
Geometric patterns in black carve the white that is the icy dust.
The sun is gone.
He has left me.
Apollo has deserted me.
When will Artemis usurp his throne, to guard me while I continue my journey?
There is the blood, covering the horizon.
Above that is the pale distortion of rays.
Then blue, joyous and regal, stretching upward as far as the minute portal will allow me to see, and farther.
Below, the clouds look so firm, as if I could walk off the end of this wing over which I watch and step down onto that firm, fluffy plane.
A prairie of water vapor.
Marshmallows as far as the eye can see!
All I need is chocolate and graham crackers, and I can use the sun as my camp fire...
but no, the sun has disappeared, leaving me in its waning reflection and more snowy hills.
We circle around and he, the sun, retreats out of my range of sight, the windows forbidding me from watching the last of his light as he abandons me and leaves me for adoption on this cold and wet night, and so he glides down over Mulholland and other places.
The Bastard Traitor!
Sold Out to the Damn Westerners for their praise!
My only comfort is the knowledge that he will leave them, too.
And, tomorrow, he will return to me, to watch over me as I prepare for a new day and a New Year soon enough.
The house lights below reflect upon and off the snow, hiding, discreetly, the grass, bidding minute warmth and sustenance to the green daggers, leaves, plants, trees.
The clouds, thinner now, no longer able to support even my meager weight.
We pass through their foggy depths and, for a second, time and motion cease to exist.
It is even darker below their protective ceiling.
The roaring of my griffin's wings can be heard as she attempts to slow herself for descent into this frozen land.
As I look out over the world, I can see my hand, pad, pen, leg reflected thrice in her pupil.
My eyes peer through one of hers to the real world, the tangible plane, and not the self-created universe that I reside in.
The patched sky welcomes me unto this spotted land, which welcomes me into this lighted weir, where I will be but for a moment before departing yet again.
I am a restless soul.
Wanderlust corrodes my serenity.
-----
a new day
the sky a ruddy ochre
purple crimson and the rest of the best
spirit
explorer
voyager
sunbird
bronco
storm
pathfinder
I will quit this awful shit before the next new year
and I will never write another depressed
or depressing
poem about Karen
my affection wanes as I wax poetic
mirage
the center of my attention has drifted far to the left
across the lonely field I gaze
over the deserted cars and unpaid bills
of so long life left unkempt and uncared for
the power lines buzz
the ceramic insulators performing their duties
electricity that she once lit me with
the birds chirp incessantly
it is the lark
I hear Aretha in the distance telling me to think
-----
A screenplay minor
Conceived 02-01-1999
Notation:
EWS - Extreme Wide Shot. 30- infinity ft. from target. Full body and good view of scenery is visible.
WS - Wide Shot. 20- 30 ft. away from target. Full body is visible, but not much else
MS - Medium Shot. 10- 20 ft. Waist and up is visible, but not much else
CU - Close Up. Chest and up is visible, but not much else.
ECU - Extreme Close Up. Only face is visible
CS - Car Scene. Outdoor scene of exterior of a vehicle, either in motion or standing
SS - Slide Show-type Series. Succession of 1-second-long clips or stills. See Kubrick's "Private Idaho"
-----
Casting Suggestions:
Otis: Medium height and build, muscular, but not bulky, blonde shoulder length hair, slightly wavy, "Cute", 'Lawrence Fishburn' glasses (see Cadence)
Karen: Asian, what most men would term 'Drop-dead, astoundingly, painfully beautiful', with an aire of intelligence and whimsy. Artsy hair and dress style
Myra: Pretty. Very short hair dyed many colors, but still looking intelligent. Tall and excessively thin, but with nice breasts.
Lawyer: Old, balding, huge mustache, Arrogant and authoritative.
can be done as written, or in chronological order (as indicated at end of text)
-----
To the Reader:
If you produce film, or know someone who does, and would like to use this screenplay to make a short, feel free to do so. All I ask is that you contact me, through snail-mail, and tell me of your intentions. If you wish to make any changes, feel free to do so. Again, all I ask is direct, hard-copy notification. In this manner, I can receive feedback on my work, and can see different interpretations of my work. This version of the script is the way I see it play out. If you would like a copy of the screenplay in a minimalistic format, please do not hesitate to write for it, and I will send it to you.
Dedicated to "Karen". Mea Culpa.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene i
Music: Ani DiFranco: Living in Clip: Out of Habit: from the part where she starts singing the actual song
WS1: Dusk. Suburban apartment. living \ dining area. pretty, but very messy. Camera is at front door of the apt. a short hallway leading to the bedroom is visible, but the bedroom door is closed, and has a pile of junk in front of the door, making it inaccessible. slow zoom with slight pan on Man and Woman sitting at a huge oak table. Table has a map of the world on it. They are dressed in sweaters and full length pants. There is a box of assorted chocolates on the table. They each have a cup of coffee in front of them. The woman has the cream and sugar in front of her. they each have a book in front of them. He is reading a T.S. Eliot anthology. She has a copy of Camus' The Stranger in front of her.
Woman: picks a chocolate out of the box, examines it, and offers it to the Man.
Cherry cordial... Want It?
in a not so polite voice. She is obviously distracted and disturbed about something.
Man: looking up from his book, smiles and accepts, with an aire of obliviousness
Oh, thanks.
excited. Cherry cordials are his favorites.
MS1: they kiss lightly
MS2: Camera behind man, slightly above. Woman's face is visible.
Woman: sets down her coffee. angry and nervous
So... who the fuck is Myra?
with a spiteful bite to her voice
MS3: camera behind Woman, slightly above. Man's face is visible.
Man: Pauses, swallows his sip of coffee
WS2: camera at bedroom door, about the height of a small child looking up at the scene.
What do you mean 'who is Myra?'
Woman: very aggressive
Whadda ya mean ' whadda ya mean'?!! I mean who the fuck is she?!!
leaning across table, voice raised, fists pounding table on the last few words
Man: backing away, has gotten up, out of his chair, and in doing so, has spilled his coffee. He is using his shirt to clean it up, but it isn't helping very much
She's my ex. So what?
confused
Woman: Still at her side of the table
So What? So What?!! You said her name in your sleep last week
Man: turns away
You said her name while we made love last weekend
Man: takes a step away
And last night, you fucking called me Myra!!!
she is furious, gripping the table, her hands and knuckles are white
Man: Turns back around to face her
Oh, bull shit!! Bullshit! I did not call you Myra!
Woman: stops, unsure of what to say. she is so angry that her thoughts won't convene. she folds her arms in a defensive position. long pause, eyes welling with tears of pain and anger
who was she to you?
slowly, softly
SS: series of shots of Man and Myra spending time together, showing and making love, ending with clip from scene vii.
WS1: Man is standing with face to camera, he closes his mouth, as if he has been talking. Woman is sitting on table
scene ends with silence
-----
scene ii
CS1: Night. Chevy blazer hauling' ass down highway. Chevy stickers and hippie \ recovery stickers visible on side. CB antenna is adorned with a jack-in-the-box antenna-ball with a cowboy hat
Music: Ani DiFranco: Dilate \ Living In Clip: Napoleon: "...and the next time..."
-----
scene iii
ECU: Night. room very dark, pale light filters over a man close to tears, curled in a ball, camera
pulls back slowly to reveal a bare attic. the man is naked and curled up in an antique bathtub that is in the center of the attic. Antique toys, the metal ones, strewn about, some broken, all rusted. the light comes from an indefinite source. Camera pulls back and exits to a totally black hallway.
Music: Ani DiFranco: Living In Clip: Both Hands: intro
-----
scene iv
EWS1: Field on a cloudless day. Man and Woman are visible in the distance, playing and running next to the trees that line the field. They are wearing clothes that fit the season.
Music: Dire Straits: Money for Nothing: Romeo and Juliet: intro
MS4 Man and woman kiss while camera slow-zooms in.
Man: pulls away with a smile
Karen, will you marry me?
with hope in his voice and in his eyes he drops to his knees
MS5: Camera is in the tree, looking down on them
Otie, I don't know...
Man: is disappointed, but holds back his disappointment from showing too much, he nods in understanding
I love you, I do... I don't know. I just... I need to think.
Man: nods in understanding
Woman (Karen): pulling Man (Otis) to his feet
Tell you what... How about I give you an answer over dinner tonight?
obviously still unsure of what her answer will be, but wanting to give some hope to the situation
-----
scene v
CS2: Night along some northern highway. Same Chevy, on highway, engine dies, he pulls over to shoulder. Otis gets out and goes around to the back to Get his gas can. Camera is following him. Karen, not really visible from the rear, where Otis and the camera are, gets out of the passenger side of the car after popping the hood. she goes around front and opens the hood, and takes off the air filter to expose the carburetor.
Music: Reel Big Fish: Turn the Radio Off: Sellout: "...everything's gonna be...all...right"
or: Fugees: The Score: No Woman No Cry: "...everything is gonna be all right..."
-----
scene vi
WS1: Night. Otis and Karen, Otis on the couch, facing camera, Karen sitting where she was at
the beginning of scene I, playing solitaire. Couch is dirty and ragged, but obviously well loved.
Music: Ani: Living In Clip: Overlap: "...Cause I know there is Strength..."
-----
scene vii
Music: Duran Duran: Duran Duran: Come Undone: intro
WS3: Interior of office building, early morning. People are obviously tired, coffees all around. every one looks as if it has been weeks since they have slept.. Otis, in a black suit, walks through lobby, into office, into room where Lawyer sits on far side of a desk. Myra is on the near side of the desk. She is well dressed in a vibrant outfit. They sign the papers that are sitting on the table, shake hands, Otis and Myra kiss on the lips, they hug, Otis shakes everyone's hand again. While they all stand up.
And a good day to you, sir.
Otis: to Myra
Good bye
nervous and sad
Myra: to Otis
Good-bye
no strong emotions visible
WS4: from behind and slightly above Lawyer, Karen, in dress-suit enters as Myra exits, this is done simultaneously. Karen assumes the exact same place and position that Myra held.
Music: U2: Rattle and Hum: All I Want Is You: "...You say..."
-----
Scene viii
EWS: Night on a rainy street. Otis crosses in front of the car and walks down the street,
screaming "What the Fuck am I doing". Camera is in the car, Car is brand new Chevy Suburban. Camera is in front passenger seat, pans to follow otis as he walks in front of car. Karen is in driver's seat. car is perpendicular to the street, One Way signs are visible, but are in opposite direction from the way that Otis is walking.
Karen: calls after Otis, but he keeps walking. She cries and / or yells in anger, frustration, and pain.
Music: Ani: Living in Clip: Adam and Eve:"...snakes..."
-----
scene ix
CU: Otis leaping up a stair well. In his hands are a dozen long stemmed red roses and a box of chocolates.
Music: I don't know the name of the band, but the song is called "Stuff"
EWS: Time uncertain, no windows are visible. Camera at far end of hallway of a chic hotel. Camera runs, without 'steady-cam' toward far end of hallway. When the camera is close to the stairwell, Otis comes flying out. He is breathing heavy from the running, but is terribly excited. He goes to a room, collects himself, and knocks. Karen answers.
MS6: Over Otis' shoulder. Karen is visible, as her incredibly expensive and clean room.
Otis: hands her the stuff, she smiles, elated, he pulls her to him and kisses her
Karen: after two seconds, pushes him away and slams door.
Music: stops at the slamming of the door.
Otis: still on the ground, confused, looks at the door as the scene ends.
-----
Scene x
CS: Night. Car on shoulder of the highway. Otis at side, changing tire. Karen gets out and goes to help Otis, then returns to the passenger seat Otis stands and walks away through the woods that border the highway.
Music: Filter: Short Bus: Hey, man, Nice Shot: bass intro
-----
Scene xi
MS1: Night. Otis still on couch, smoking Camel Unfiltereds
Karen: still at table, building house-of-cards out of three decks. a six-pack of Heineken sits on the table, next to her. Three empty bottles rest on the floor next to her feet, on open one sits in her left hand, the other two are still in the cardboard carrier.
Otis: lights another cigarette, sips from his coffee, then stands and matter-of-factly states
Fuck you.
He then walks out
Karen: hurls the remaining cards at him (about two-and-one-half decks). They scatter, showering the camera lens. freeze frame while cards are clouding the lens.
Music: Ani Di Franco: Little Plastic Castle: Independence Day: Intro
+++++++
=F=I=N=
+++++++
Real Time Scene Sequence:
Vii – ii - ix – v – iii – iv - i + SS – vi – viii – x - xi
-------------------------------------------------
Her spring is gone
She shuffles now.
I can smile again,
But I am still sad.
She APPEARS happy.
Good acting?
She left the stage.
The lights dimmed,
Bathing me in the darkness
Another has taken the stage.
The lights rise slowly
Jezebel stands in the wing.
Is she waiting for her cue?
Or her ride home?
The true curtain call for Otis and Karen.
The act has ended, let us go in peace to love and serve ourselves
The play is over.
Strike the set and pay the cast and crew.
Let's all go to Birraporetti's for coffee now;
We can go home and be 'normal'
-----
ceaseless motion
flooding
lines
contortion
children, not here of their own accord, laugh
the tan-haired girl in the blue sweater talks with the blond-haired girl in the black sweater while we wait
time, never ending
life, never continuing
on this day of reckoning
frustration
resentment
sanity holding on by thin tendrils of consciousness
she is pretty
thin eye-brows, firm yet soft chin, smooth lines, supple curves
life is similar
with her trials, hardships, joys, and rewards
she comforts me
teaches me
I remember
those i've had
those i've lost
those i've loved
those i've hurt
waiting is frustrating
I want to leave this home
I resent the ominous cloud of authority looming over my life
my responsibilities are many
childhood calls for me
I do not answer
I'm walking in the rain away from her
pain lasts a long time
but does leave if you distract it
life comforts me at times
other times, shuns me
an over-emotional woman she is
a worn pair of sneakers that
still repels water
still is coherent
still is functional
still is used
once again, I play the voyeur
I sit and watch the people, listen to their words, smell their perfumes, taste my gum, and feel the support of the ground beneath my feet as I wait to wait some more
the animalistic urges call to me
to take one in my arms and enrapture them
I miss the caress of that type of love
the future terrifies me
I know not what will occur
the undiscovered country lies in anticipation like the virgin maiden on her wedding night, preparing for the consummation
the second hand sweeps by, a dagger on the white face
the blood trail is the minute hand, like lightening fists, bare to the world
slowly behind it follows the hour hand, a passive-aggressive tyrant upon the world
time is forever moving onward
I, a traveler trapped in its wake, am sucked along
I wish to stop time
to deny it its power
to move without motion
to think without thought
to feel without sensation
to love without care
the girls walked away to do what must be done
I resent the wait. waiting hurts
causes unwanted, unwarranted emotions to surge and dissipate with uncomfortable rapidity
so much did I wish to do
that yet can still be done
so much did I wish to do
that can never be accomplished
time neither stops nor returns for anyone
to that rule I am no exception, though I wish to be
I wish to be special, to have all I want and do all I wish
His will is not the same for me
He wills me to learn in painful ways the things I must know
I don't want to grow
I don't want to go
just as the puppeteer directs the marionette, I wish to control others
to be myself without control
autonomous
sovereign
but that cannot be
She wills it not
He wills it not
my will, my life, my grave, my bones are not my own
I must usurp control of my destination
take back self-will and motivation
power-hungry am I, but lack of ambition is the weight at my heels
sucking me into the sea of self-pity and remorse, resentment and regret
the vitriolic fluidity of life, that caustic woman, corrodes my serenity
He constantly holds me, carries me to another day without my self-prescribed medication
my former lover
and my former lovers will not disappear from my memory
will not free me from the guilt incurred by those lost relationships
and the meaning of it all gets lost in the translation
-----
A consistent train of thought is impossible
I seek the foreign sensation of serenity
I miss the compassion
I need to be held
For too long have I missed that
Consistency is the key
Sporadic bursts of love hinder the spirit
She was like a home with a glass door
There was the security of a roof over head,
But we both maintained the illusion of an open door
Or vice versa
I moved out
No longer a snail, just a slug
Or a hermit crab searching for a new shell
I broke and broke out of my former place of residence
Tears enough to spring forth a river fell that night and in the days following
Every song I hear is for you, me us, everyone
I still suffer from the guilt of assumption, expectation, anxiety, idiocy
A fool in the rain was I
And still, I am ranting in the raindrops
I choose to let it continue to rain
Every night it plays back like a Hitchcock rerun
The dark veil of self-pity descends to cloud my vision of the present
I try to move on, but I find myself paralyzed
I fear this may never end
I fear that I may truly love you
The mating of a fish and a hawk
You are all in one: Judge, Jury, Victim, and Executioner.
I want to be acquitted, but I have been found in contempt and placed under gag order.
I can't tell you how I feel. I fear the consequences.
I thought I was okay.
I still think about you.
I still wonder what you're doing, if I should/ could call you
I still long to hear your voice
I still long to hold you
I still want to make love with you
I still love you
I am scared.
I fear my emotions.
-----
It frustrates me and angers me to think that she might have fun on her birthday without me, that she might sleep in someone else's arms, that she might allow someone else - invite someone else - into her. I can't stand the thought of truly losing her, though I have already lost her. When I think of her kissing someone else it tears me to pieces inside. It doesn't make any sense, but as Nick Bottom (a weaver) says, "Reason and love keep little company together nowadays..."
But even Shakespeare can offer no consolation to me now.
-----
I see you do your dance, my tiny butterfly,
Flitter to and fro before the public eye
You smile and laugh and play all day and there you stay
You don't know who you are, but I guess you like it that way
You strut your stuff for them; you really walk the walk
Yet you don't seem to listen to anything when we talk
I tell you how I feel and still you walk away
From your rejection, I bid you please leave today
No, that is not really what I want from you, my dear
And if you ever need to talk, know that you'll have my ear
I still hold strong affections for you, you should know,
And please remember that I don't want you to go
-----
coffee desired
latté
he didn't see her car
watching through the paned glass
hoping not to see her extensive brown locks
he saw them not, and was relieved
FEAR
APPREHENSION
HIDE
run? leave?
GETTHEFUCKOUTOFDODGE
no.
proceed.
(she was there)
((at the counter))
(((serving drinks)))
'may I help you?'
HELP
'latee, please'
little more
no mention of the past
just talk of the future
motives questionable
FEAR
APPREHENSION
exit stage left
-----
exotic queen
knowledge, spirit, beauty
entrancing
within a maze I wandered
weaving, avoiding the wildebeests
'Queen Nephertiti, I presume?'
And we fled.
nerves, themselves, having seizures
synapses quivering with desire
Nectar and Ambrosia were served for us
Then to the pillars of Artemis and Apollo
with Neptune's oceans at our feet
serpents intimidating, leaping into the night sky
then revealing their true forms of mischievous fairies
before coming back down
to bathe and rest
music, ho! Music; such as charmeth sleep
then to the public eye
upon the pedestal, blinding lights
we performed for a crowd of countless insects
then stalked a larger fan who fled from our friendship
sensual and promising
she let me hold her hand
to support her
in a time of vulnerability and weakness and disadvantage
and yet at the same time, so much power did she have over me
Me, a mere worker, a nothing holding the hand of the queen
Haiku
The triune land
three pieces of the whole, yet the whole surrounded by the greater truth
once around
and again trust invested in me by her
trust that her elegant talons
would be unharmed
trust that if she were to slip
I would support her and help her rise again
Trust that it can be the
other way around
even with the bliss
a war erupted between us
check
mate?
upon her defeat, she bid me return her to her chariot and her homeland
again the seduction of music
as the queen grows tired, I make my leave
She demands of me to be at her will on the morrow
and so I shall
-----
It never begins with I'm Sorry
It is always this or that
Some explanation of what I have Said
Done
Thought
Felt
No Comprehension
Taking a black marker and crossing out every other line in the novel, but still expecting to understand its
intention
Trying to catch the plot
Characters not fully developed, climax never reached
'Sorry' always comes too late
by then it's not acceptable
pride
ego
self-righteousness
dominance
I don't understand why one would apologize for the wrong crime, a misunderstanding
Searching for words, I feel guilty for not being sorry
But sometimes it needs to be said
Rarely one for obligation, it doesn't strike me to do that:
To start with "I'm Sorry" when I don't mean it
Maybe the gardener should apologize to the flower for pouring on
Weed-killer instead of
Miracle grow
Though the flower withers, he explains "Oh, I fucked up", but feels no remorse
"I'm only human"
Then the flower dies
I'm sorry
-----
Finally understanding how you feel leaves a vile taste in my mouth that not even my emphysema lollipops can take away.
That sense of... whatever, that indescribable longing for that one true thing. The willingness to go anywhere for her
She fears loss, but I don't want to leave her
I want to be the puppy she lets follow her home and sleep on the foot of her bed to protect her from the things that make bad bumps in the night, but I don't want to impose that upon her. I want her to want it, and to want me, to want all of it, and to take it willingly.
I want to be the only one she reaches for when it's cold outside and she can't sleep
I want to be the one she calls at night when she's late and doesn't want anyone to worry
I want to share my pillow and my life with her, wherever she may call home
I want to shovel the driveway with her and make snowmen in PG-13 positions with her
FEAR: I don't know what she wants, which makes me not know-
What I want
Where I want
When I want
Who I want
Why I want
That I want
Her
-----
Out of nowhere
Random
Magnetic attraction,
force gravitating me toward
her- was I too forward?
Broke the silence
Poetry
She the victor, victorious
Speaking, sharing, discussing
Nous avons parler
Au revoir, ma
cher
And she left
She took her gold and returned to her palace by the sea
-----
Hunting, he wandered through the maze of flesh and words
Spying targets, some of which he took aim at, some of which he ignored
Being hunted himself; he sometimes hid behind society and obligation, running from his feral, would-be captors
Raptors
Rapture
Ahab again has an opportunity
He commands his entourage forward
Demands they obey his will
Some ignore their orders and slow the hunter
He reaches for his harpoon,
dodges harpies,
hurls his spear of literature and experience,
penetrating the flesh of his familiar prey,
so far away,
but for the moment within reach
grasp and hold on
he grapples with the beauty, both succumbing to the other's will, wills being homogenous
the game turns to espionage, exchange of vital information to be used in the coming conflict
check
mate?
-----
Deliriously fast, spinning words, poetry, and a web to grip upon the flower with no victim but a heart as the intended catch
Painful delays
Debates and conversations on liquid paper
Whiting out his consciousness and his memory
Obliterating his fears of the one with his fears and hopes of the other
The black letters scramble across the white field as his fingers strain to keep pace with his mind
His mind the leader in the dance with his heart as a partner
Questions and answers
Finally a verbal connection
I just called to say... I'm confused... and I mean it from the bottom of my mind
Dark depths of the murky dungeon, the dungeoneer peruses the corners of the domicile of his mind, heart, consciousness, soul
Dark waiting room with pink velvet accents, the walls lined with paintings, soft music searing the air from invisible trumpets
Lost in the grip
Desire to reach for the soft purse
A satin touch
He fears the illusion
It is all a mistake
None of it is real
Figmentofimagination
Perfume fills the air
The sweet smell of pheromones and intelligence
A long road
Decisions
Worth it once
Again?
Another dilemma
Another delay
Wonder
Will the queen call her artist again?
Or does she resent the size of the castle as well?
Hard to see, even on a clear day, the full extent of her empire
-----
I find myself doing the little things she does that entice me so much. The way she moves when she talks and when she walks that is so curiously alluring. It is like an addiction. The more I get of her, the more of her I want. The faster the pulsating rhythm drones in my ear, the harder it is to stop the tribal beat.
-----
I had a dream that I had fallen in love. My dream was filled with blues and black. The sky was black, though well lit. Heavy clouds hung in the sky, preventing the light from penetrating the opaque finish. The air was blue. Everything was, really, as if the whole universe was being viewed through a lighting gel or the glass of a fish tank. It was all blue except for her. She wasn't. Her flesh was pure, her clothes were real, she was tangible. I could smell her shampoo and body lotion. I could hear the soft rustle of her garments as she moved. I could taste her toothpaste when we kissed. I could feel the soft, smooth surface of her skin as i caressed her flesh in our embrace. I was there in the momento, and I watched as everything stopped moving for just that instant, just long enough for me to look, see, and smile. But then I was pulled out of that little cardboard box, and the world entire stayed behind. I was ripped away from my love, and now Mother Life holds me while I cry.
-----
She has a smell that no one and nothing else has.
Her smell contains her intellect, her pride, her aspirations, her ego, her determination, her history.
That word doesn't seem to apply to her.
Mirriam, my colleague, append this:
Herstory: the experiences that fill the past of the most intriguing woman in existence.
The one woman who, with a simple blink of her eyes, can both assure you that everything is as it should be, and leave you speechless and naked, standing in the street bewildered, wondering how to respond.
Words cease to hold meaning.
Things like "Thank you" and "Beloved" do not exist.
Time itself becomes fictitious, a figment of a small child's imagination
The world swirls around like a seething cauldron, brewing another tribulation, calling you back from your haven.
You build majestic castles with high walls and townships
Massive, sprawling hills and fields stretch below in an eternal yawn.
Your empire is grand, this fantastic kingdom in your mind.
But it sits on a cloud.
Delicately balanced, it is perched upon pink fronds of the tangible, but nothing substantial.
At random intervals, your cobblestone streets are falling through, and with them, some of your cherished dreams.
Your princess holds your hand as you make your way back to your castle on the cloud, and she inspires new dreams that replace the old dreams, while the tangible world runs for cover because the 'gods' have resorted to throwing bricks at Chicken Little and the other peons who labor daily to earn their living while you sit and dream about a rainy day with your castle in the stars.
-----
The tears shed by this clown
Bleeding down
Dyed black
Falling across her cheeks and back
This painted harlequin I created
This plaster doll I loved and hated
We talked today. She sat on the hood of the sixth rental car that had been imposed upon her. I sat on the trunk of her landlady's car. For the first time, I listened to her. I was teachable and I sat like a reprimanded schoolboy. She spoke in spurts with long pauses between paragraphs.
She spoke of mice and fifty thousand volts of electricity, Shepard and rainstorms, past lovers and our different strategies for dealing with parental obstinacy. For all this time, I was completely oblivious to the fact that I was day by day walking farther away with nothing to say, but "I'm Sorry." In the insanity of our friendship dance, I left them to pursue romance. Without taking a second glance, I walked away to take a chance at love.
Beethoven drove by offering eye scream and popsicles, but we refused and returned to the blood-soaked parking lot of our memories. I was given a small, red-cushioned, three-legged stool to sit on, which placed my eyes level with her lavender painted toe nails and her white skin, speckled with many small pinkish-brown scars from the bullet wounds I've inflicted over the years. Is this how we are to remember each other? Little people, full of hate and ignorance, sitting on borrowed cars, stools, property, and time, each waiting for the other to die into the past?
She expects that when I leave, I will be dead to them and they will die to me. They will only have memories of mice and fifty thousand volts of electricity. They will remember train tracks and bayous and many late nights spent driving around, mumbling meaningless bullshit that was really paramount. They will remember rescues at midnight while one friend, soaked by the rain, walked away from her and them, and the other friend, soaked by the tears, drove away from him and them, through the thunder on a bloody new year's day. They will remember being taken for granted.
He knew they would always come back, so why ask them to stay? Life was so easy when they carried him up the stairs through his hangover slumber parties to the attic to rust with his toys, but when he cleaned up and washed his face of the salt and dirt, he would not even hold their hands. Not even when they crossed the streets inherent with life, would he seek them.
He pushed them away to pursue his goals of grandeur and of love, ignoring their warnings along the way. Independent, he left them standing at the altar with their white mice and their fifty thousand volts of electricity. He betrayed the boundless love they had shown him to follow his own intentions. He ignored and/or fell through on far too many occasions.
The pain draws black lines on her white face
And white lines on his red knuckles.
-----
Warm and wet
Salty sweat
Rustled sheets
Ice cream and sweets
Tousled hair
Conditioned air
Night of rest
Naked breast
Eyes closed
Bodies unclothed
Teeth and lips
Quivering hips
The sword wielded
The invasion shielded
Experimenting with the motions
Savoring in love's potions
-----
We entered the room feeling childishly mature, like children playing 'dress-up' in Mommy's closet
There was intense excitement and lust in the air, and we kissed with unparalleled fervor and ferocity
She removed her leather and steel costume and combed her hair while I watched from the bed with acute interest and affection, her every move drawing me further into her.
She lay next to me and we slumbered, each waking at random moments to scan the room and caress our sleeping counterpart
When we woke, we gave into desire, held each other, kissed, pulled, pushed
Teeth hair breasts skin legs clothes toes fingers ears necks ribs thighs warm with rushing currents and pulsating movements and heartbeats
Fear
Insecurity
Assurance
A handshake and a kiss: succulent embrace
Slowly moving toward a common desire - small motions - implying that which we wanted
Checking
Fearing former fears
Fearing former results
Venturing forward
The velvet
Moist Firm Hot Sour
All connected
Hips breath heart mind
Cyclic
Rhythmic
The pulse
desire
The pulse
love
The pulse
Consummation
The fear of an unwanted visitor warranted a fruitful search for protection against such situations
And the pulse
Continues
Throbbing in the ears the heartbeat the gasps and moans and sighs and emotions and pleasure
Surging mix of adrenaline and connection Building-Building-Wanting-Thrusting-Pushing-Friction
Release Pause
Collapse Touch
Gap
Hold Sustain
Kiss Caress
Still
Finally, words broke the heavy air and then the water washed our bodies clean of the sweat and excitement
Wandering about in our carnal suits, we experienced a new behavior and emotional context
The zenith of relations
No fear, remorse, pain, or disgust
A sense of things being as they should be
Things were right and good.
-----
I am not Happy
Sad?
Upset?
Angry?
Uncertain.
Violent wash of emotion
Pain
Fear
Not sure how to handle the situation or the emotions associated
Karma.
The world turns back around and back around.
Twists and turns and curls back in on itself
Wait and wait for the phone to spring to life,
but never
How long should I wait?
When is too much?
WHY DOESN'T SHE CALL?
this isn't how it should be
The waiting should be anxious, not angry.
Filled with anticipation of soft skin and lips.
And strong eyes and heart.
I am restless.
-----
And so I sit now in a bookstore coffeehouse thinking of her, and how I wish I could have loved her more, maybe held her closer, embraced her tighter, kissed her more passionately.
The coffee cools on the counter, reminding me of our first date, and consequently every date we went on. Dates where she would meet someone she knew and they would share an embrace of familiarity. Dates where we participated in trespassing and other fun and slightly illegal things. Dates where we would walk away wetter than anticipated.
Dates where we wound up spending days together, sharing pillows, bodies, love, and ourselves.
I dreamed a dream of her family last night while I slept alone and lonely in a teacup with the twin to the bear my sister gave her.
I drove her to the port yesterday morning. We sat and waited for her flight, and we talked while our stomachs digested cold, untoasted bagels mixed with coffee beverages
We held each other and I begged God to let time cease, that I could be there with her forever, and I wouldn't have to walk away from her as she flew away from me.
But, time bolted onward, and the woman's voice over the p.a. was a dagger through my heart and hopes. My lover stood and I stood, and we held each other as we stood together in the waiting area of the terminal.
We kissed a kiss of loss, a kiss of mourning, a kiss of sadness, a kiss of desire.
We kissed a kiss of love.
We declared our love and she did that thing where she shies down, tilts her head so her shiny hair falls into her face then she looks back up and pierces my soul with her abyssal eyes. Every time she does that, I get thoughts of frolicking in fountains on Main St. and on University. Thoughts of falling asleep with her in my arms, of breaking into the park by my Dad's office, of that first kiss at five something in the morning while we sat in my borrowed van, and the sky wept an ocean, lamenting our short time together and warning of the impending separation.
I remember bringing her flowers and being enveloped by her caress in her ecstatic joy
I remember going to work to find a bouquet, hand-crafted by her.
I remember a card of glue, glitter, and construction paper that solidified my love for her.
I remember coming home to roses and a kiss and beautiful explosions viewed through the lens of a camera.
She is my Rosaline, my Viola, my Ophelia, my Juliet, my Katherine, my Cleopatra.
I want to hold her hand as we explore the undiscover'd country together.
I long for her touch, her voice, her breasts, the warmth of her body contrasted with the chill of the air.
I fantasize about our reunion, the circumstances, the location, the texture of the air, and the adrenaline.
There is, of course fear and insecurity, but all that will ebb and floe like everything else upon the sea of time, with its violent waves, storms, surges, and depths.
-----
And so now I sit alone and lonely in the diner's back corner, writing out my sick thoughts because the booth across from me is empty
I don't want to leave because I just got here, but I am growing very tired very quickly.
I think about how I was going to bring her here, but I was so tired and she said we could go inside and sleep.
We talked in the darkness in each other's arms until we fell asleep. When we woke, it was time to go to the port.
We talked more while waiting for the plane, and I can still feel the fabric of her shirt and I still think I can feel her weight on my legs from when we held each other in the lobby.
-----
And even as I slept in her arms, I thought of you.
When I shifted my weight and my hand brushed against her breast, I thought of your breasts and the way you would exhale a breath of love whenever I tasted your body.
When she placed her head on my chest, I thought of your comforting presence against my heart on many nights that I wanted to last forever, but that ended all too soon.
When I pressed my lips against hers, I was kissing your spirit.
When she touched my neck, your fingers touched my heart.
I miss your eyes, heart, mind, love.
Will you always hold my hand when I wander into the land of dreams?
Will you always paint my eyelids?
-----
Fear:
Almond eyes
Smooth chin
Soft brow
Sleek hair, shiny gloss, pulled back low and tight
Slender neck leading from thin shoulders
Fidgety, she scans the room, in search of something
Strong arms rippling under firm flesh
Toned feet contained within clasped, leather-bound, cork-soled sandals
The back of her shirt is flawless. I don't think she is wearing a bra.
My sick mind then wonders if she is wearing panties, and if so, what they would look like. And if not, what that would look like.
My mind wanders, wonders who she is now, what her values
are, if her name has changed... what is she about?
-----
The air was cold outside when she called. We spoke with questions and answers rolling back and forth like ripples in a pond. Statements dropping like hail, apprehension lingering in the air like a hawk, and a conversation like the western mountains. The cold concrete floor of my basement like the truths I tried to read in the spaces between the letters of her words. The whole time wondering why I had said what I had said the way I had said it. Trying to detect what she was reaching for, thinking if it was but an answer or if it was a conclusion to a kiss. She said she had to go, but that she would call back later, when we both had time to talk in more detail.
Then she hung up the phone.
In the silence of the frost, biting my
mind-body-heart-nose, I stood waiting for something more. I waited for a scream to erupt from the
cavern of my heart. I waited for the blood-soaked tears to
spring forth from the mirrors of my
eyes. The dogs began to cry out a bellowing, pensive
wail. I stood there with my cigarette,
still holding the phone, still holding her.
I realized in that moment that I would do anything for
her. If she had said, “Walk away”, I would have, if it were what
she needed. If she had said, “Come home”, I would have, if it would make her
happy. I realized I now know what
Marcus feels every time Veronica walks away from him.
-----
She stands there
Welcoming-greeting-inviting
Beautiful and alluring
But quiet, closed
Somehow forbidding
Challenging
Desire to shatter that façade
Is it, indeed, an act?
Is she playing the part of the mouse?
Or is she a temptress in disguise?
Remove the
eyepieces…
Let down the hair…
Open the eyes…
Undo the top three buttons…
Is she then a cat?
Mysterious woman of the night…
Waiting to be discovered?
Like an ancient treasure,
Buried deep in a cave
Entombed by society and conditioning
Patiently but painfully preparing
To be explored
Unearthed
Researched
Penetrated
Revealed to all the world
As the beautiful masterpiece
Been painted over by
Mother culture
Like so many other treasures
Longing to be exposed
In a gallery
Or a rich home
Or a coffee-house
While the sweet music of
Undiscovered musicians
Swirls around her beauty
-----
It was then
At the moment she hung up the phone
That he knew
The salt-water blood flowed forth
As he let the receiver fall to the linoleum
The questions take off like angry bees from the
Hive of his heart
And so he, too
Falls to the tiles
Throws in the towel
Twisted and torn
Like the bed
sheets long since stained
He weeps tears of love
Had she said “go”, he would have
And it kills him now to know that
And to know that he can never tell her.
-----
If only I could describe the loneliness to you
Describe how it is reminiscent of a black
Grey
December
Where the snow covers the landscape like a heavy blanket
And yet it is not the pretty
White
Snow
It is the black snow in the street
The snow that has been driven over by so many cars
It is becoming infused with salt and slag and dirt and mud and trash and cigarette butts
If only I could describe the loneliness to you
If only I could
Let you see what I see
If only I could show you the visions
And the emptiness without you
If only I could describe the sleeplessness
If only I could explain to you
The terror of staring at my ceiling
The terror of looking around my room until the sun comes up
When I went to bed before the sun did
The horror of driving around looking for people
And finding none
Looking for you
And finding only a faded memory
If only I could describe the longing
The desire
The want
A teeming beast fed on by such wonderful
Memories of joy and happiness you brought me
The memories of nights spent in your arms
And if I could, so what?
Would it illicit a response?
Would you finally break the silence you have held towards me?
Would it bring us closer
Or would it push you away?
Push me
Further from your grip
Further from your heart
Further from your eyes
Last time the pain was my fault because I said too much
This time the pain is your fault because you didn’t say anything.
-----
As romantic as it is to think with your heart
Ignoring logic and reason
Sometimes you do need to think with your head
It’s funny how things change when you do that.
I was thoroughly convinced that I was in love
But when we sat down and had a logical conversation about it
It was
It really wasn’t all that big of a deal.
Yes, it was a big deal
But it wasn’t all that I had made it out to be
I know that I love her
I know that I love her
A lot
A whole lot
And I know that I do want to be with her
I do love being able to call her my girlfriend
And I do love the thought of having a girlfriend
And I do love the thought of being in love
But she said it best:
Maybe what I am in love with is not
Who I am in love with
But maybe I am in love with being in love.
-----
I walked behind two
balding businessmen
and it made me think
“wow this is very poetic”
and I decided that I should write a poem about it
and in deciding to write a poem about it, I thought of you
and in thinking of you, I thought of how you once
described how flattering it was to be my muse
as you labeled yourself
and the thought of how I am in love with being in love
and how even though I may never even see you again,
nonetheless hold you in my arms
kiss your soft lips
touch your smooth skin
I still love you
and this made me think of the voyeur next door
who is not really a voyeur
but rather
a watcher
he is an artist
he films things of beauty
things of intense beauty
the most beautiful thing simply a dancing plastic bag
today was beautiful
I looked out the window
and I saw ants
with two legs, not six
and I saw an entire city sprawled beneath me
offering itself to me
the world unfolded into my arms
But I am, as yet, unsure whether to embrace it.
-----
I passed by a waterfall on my way
And I thought immediately of you
I thought immediately of that night that we spent
In the waterfall
In the fountain
Your dress clinging to your skin
You clinging to me
My heart clinging to yours, my lips clinging, our hands clinging
Clinging
If only I had a camera, I could capture this moment for you
The way that moment is captured in my mind forever
If only I had a video camera, I could sit and watch this for hours
Thinking of your arms, thinking of your heart, thinking of your touch
And I could show it to you so that you could think the same thing, or think what you will
It is beautiful, like you: flowing, smooth
Chaotic, yet uniform
And I love it the way I loved you
fP
19
October 2000 – 40th Printing
Printed
at Printergy, Inc. and the Goucher College Thormann International Center
Baltimore, MD, USA
-----
The Otis Series will soon be available on audio CD, and
.mp3 as read by
DAVID
DONALD SCHEIN II
Questions
or Comments regarding the work or the author:
granmadave@geocities.com
The
Otis Series is also
available for preview and purchase at:
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contact figmentofimagination Productions, please email
figmentofimagination@hotmail.com
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FIN
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“Myra and Otis” is Copyright 1998-2000, A. Myers, All Rights Reserved
“Veronica’s
Thoughts” is Copyright
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1998-2000, David Donald Schein II, All Rights Reserved
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