A Short Parody of Catherine Breillat’s 2001 Film “À ma sœur!” (“Fat Girl”)
CONTAINS HUGE SPOILERS!
Management would like to acknowledge & thank the participation of the involved, for their assistance in producing the above video.
Tag: loathing
stop at the flesh
A poem.
so then,
if i could do it all again
would i want to?
do i really want to know
what could have happened that bad?
negate all i have now for what i could have had?
well since you asked so politely,
i know the things i would change.
to a tee.
life is a lab when you have open multiple tabs –
back-and-forth in a deli sampling various exotic meats,
when it probably costs half your salary, easily
for a real-life meet-and-greet with no physical guarantees.
no more moves
A one-act play.
“A person on their deathbed spends their final living moments arguing with their inner-child.”
THE SCENE
A private room in Westernized hospice care. Present Day.
THE CAST
A corpse, at-least 70-years-old, in the last minutes of their life.
The Child in Their Mind’s Eye, 15-or-under, the Corpse’s adolescent-aged mirror-image.
Some loved ones, 2-3 in quantity, middle-aged, grieving bedside.
WRITER’S NOTE: The role of “Corpse” (and by extension the “Child”) has been transcribed below in the masculine pronoun, but can be cast as non-binary with reflected changes in the dialogue.
*
LIGHTS UP. A CORPSE – or at least, someone minutes away from “being” one – lays in a near-comatose state on a hospital bed in the center of the stage. On stage-right, sitting in chairs facing them are LOVED ONES, with their backs to the audience. They are inconsolable and spend the duration of the play grieving – silently, unless noted. We can hear their cries as the play starts. After some time, a CHILD enters stage-right, and the grieving quietens. The child walks casually up to the bed and starts lightly-shaking the corpse awake.
CHILD
Hey! Hey, wake up!
CORPSE
Hmm?
CHILD
Wake up! It’s time for school!
CORPSE
What is it? What’s going on? (puts their hand up to their mouth)
…Oh my God, I can speak! (puts their other hand up to their face)
I can move! Holy shit, it’s a miracle!
CHILD
(facetiously)
Yay!
CORPSE
(to their Loved Ones)
Look, everyone! Look!
CHILD
Oh, they’re looking!
broompole in the bumhole
A poem.
compassion is the new black.
i’m trying to get back. so i
try again. and
here we were:
food fried so nice and good,
sitting down, us both in the round –
this is nice! we haven’t been together in
what seems like forever
because we’re never in town!
catching up above-ground with Top-40 in the background –
about how far forward you can see,
and on and on about how great it would be,
and this was your second time starting a family
and me, me, me,
me?
please?
Continue readingif i were a caveman
A poem.
ahem:
if i were a cave man,
i wouldn’t be a strong man –
a warrior or a hunter
or hold a leadership position –
but i could at least be remembered
as a proud man.
i would sit by the lake
and smoke herb all-day from my wooden pipe
and think
and play with my dink
instead of fixing the crack in the basin
which is really just a naturally-occurring rock formation
at the base of a waterfall my wife & i
and our tribe call a kitchen sink.
i never said i would be the missing link –
only that i would think.
and touch my dink.
thank you.
//jf 11.2.2022
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theory of a daskeman 