::04:11:09::

::: XO :::

These are the times, you want to peel back your face to scream, so finally, an audience will turn in their seats and acknowledge your existence… heed your words. Maybe this is why theatre is so goddamn pretentious…so it is heard. It has to overstate…to draw a line between reality and fiction. It has to ritual-ize the participant; to bathe him of his sin that is everyday life, so he can be moved. I don't know…I know nothing.

I am a silent word, and once again these words will fall short and silent; just like this bottle of brandy shattering my self-respect…without sound. Sure there is the typing of the keys…the ambient sound of heated air trapped in the boiler, which needs to be bled, so the ticks and pangs can truly become:

I am drinking brandy –
I bought a bottle today,
never had it - straight
Six years old; XO

I wanted to gigolo;
you know:

"No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,

Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish."***

I wanted to converse with her,
make her my love,
lay her down and penetrate her.
Force her to save me,
to beat me…like she wanted.

I wanted to commune with the dead.
Ritual-ize her with noise.

I would tell her of balloons…
of baths and fish hooks.
I would tell her I hated Brandy; demanding
a refund of $16.99 and
payment of equal value
for drinking it-

she would smile, hand extended,
gesture identical.

*** Quote from Gigolo by Sylvia Plath

Written by: ~ Jeremiah D. Reeves