Thesis continued


"How was your day, dear?"
"Fine.  Why do you ask?"
"I thought I should."  
"Everything was fine." 
"We're dying aren't we."
"I know.  I just want to finish doing whatever it is that someone told me I should do."
"Yet you stay here.  God you are dumb.  I could cut your throat in your sleep."
"I know.  Love is never unconditional."


Oh wait, this is serious.  Am I dead?


No, you aren't dead.  You just can't feel anything.
Why not?
(You are being overly-dramatic)
Who was that?
Who?
That voice--in the parenthesis?
(Meta-fiction is a place)
There it went again!
There's something alive in here.


Keep them locked up tight.  You don't want to bleed.  Not ever.  If they get out there is no telling what they will do.  They are crazy for the smell of blood.  In no good sense of the word they are out there pouting and want to come inside where it is warm and dry.


--They only do it for the attention. 
--No, they do it because they have to.


--Wait, this is not real.  I recoil into myself as an escape from myself.

HOLD IT STILL.
 (BUT I CAN'T GET A GRIP!) 
JUST HOLD IT STILL.
(BUT I CAN'T SEE IT!)
JUST HOLD IT STILL.
(BUT IT'S SO STRONG!) 
JUST HOLD IT STILL.
(THEY MAKE ME FEEL SO SORRY!)
JUST HOLD IT STILL. 
( THIS POOR BEAT-DOWN DOG!) 
JUST HOLD IT STILL. 
(OH GOD THIS ISN'T HAPPENING.)   
JUST HOLD IT STILL.  
(I CAN'T kill IT) 
GODDAMN IT THEN, I'LL DO IT 
(YOU HURT IT!  YOU KILLED IT!  OH GOD, I WATCHED IT DIE.  I DIDN'T STOP YOU.)  


        "I remember when I was ten years old at my parents' house in Woodville, Illinois.  I was raining outside--even though my mother wanted me to come in--I knew there was something out there in the rain."
        "And was there, Richard Thomas?"
        "No.  Just the smell of rain.  And rain.  Sometimes it is like that."
        "But what else?"
        "There was a puddle where I was collecting myself at the corner of the house."
        "And?"
        "I wanted it to be exciting--like I was sliding into home plate or dodging a bullet, so I ran and jumped into the puddle."
        "And?"
        "When I landed--well--I--uh--I heard this popping sound, but more like a burp or something.  I dug through the water and I found this warm lump--excuse me, are you masturbating?        
        "Oh, does that bother you?"
        "Yes."
        "I'm sorry.  It is just that since I have been working two jobs my schedule has become very tight and I rarely ever get the chance to pleasure myself manually anymore."
        "Couldn't you do it at your other job?"
        "No, I am afraid I would fall off the horse."


"Hello dear.  How was the home surgery course from Time Life Books?"
        "I don't want to talk about it."
"Did you kill her?"
        "No, but he did."
"Him again?"
        "Him.  I am terrified.  This is going nowhere."
"It will be fine, dear.  I promise to kill you in your sleep tonight."
        "But I don't want to die."
"Please sit down and relax.  Let me shave your face with this straight razor."
        "Okay.  I am a lamb, and my head is in your lap."
"GODDAMNIT THE PHONE WON'T STOP RINGING!"
        "You cut me when you jerk like that.  Your sudden movements are killing me."

                                Is this all there is?
                                Where?
                                Don't you see it?
                                See what?
                                Don't you see that?
                                The waterfall?
                                What waterfall?
                                Are we starting this again?
                                Did we stop?
                                Did they beat you again?
                                Are there bruises?
                                Are they still beating you? 

(See Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead for a full explanation of the Questions game.)


--I don't want this to be apocalyptic. 
--Do you want it to make sense?
--Nevermind.
--You don't write poetry.  You have the uncanny ability of writing down on a page precisely what people don't want to read.
--Is this all it is, then?
--Oh, Goddamnit, not that again.