In Mirrors

In mirrors, there's a shine,
but not in mine.
It's stale and bitter
and looks like me.
A glare, a dagger,
a meaningless mess,
a tie untied,
and a secret to confess:
avert your eyes
so you can ignore the rest.

I felt it in your glance
and saw it in your fingers.
I tasted it in your voice
before you went silent.
It was a brilliant mirage
I fell for in full,
framed into focus
and forced into view.
Now: a back turned
and a book closed

mid chapter,
dialogue choked.
We are a story unwritten
or never quite conceived
or shelved for a rainy day
in Paradise.
And whatever weak lines
are written for me
are probably better off
remaining in the silence.

********************************************

More to come.



"We saw a spark within your eyes. Your face reflected in the light. We are all angels in the sky. We are all mirrors in disguise." The New Frontiers Mirrors

You'll Have To Wait

Save your voice
from getting harsh
by biting your tongue
and sucking it up.
It's getting late
and for your wishes,
you'll have to wait.
You'll have to wait.
Those screaming sounds
from behind your ears
are telling you:
give into your fears.
Another fall,
another failure,
another mark,
a brilliant anchor.
I wear it well:
my seal of honor.
It's nothing,
but a constant reminder.
And even louder,
a clamor.
It shuts me in
and up
and down
and where I land
is in the dark:
the only place
where I can see
what's sitting there
in front of me.
A cloudy sky,
a rotting Earth,
and all the things
I should have thought of first
are tearing down my walls.
A riot.
Wait some more
and then you'll see,
all that's really left of me,
melted in your eyes
and evaporated to the sky.
Up here, there's a better view.
I wish you knew.

*************************************

^ Written in a Waffle House in Phoenix.



"I met a girl on the square who showed me how to kill my cares, but once that's done, man, there's nothing left to do. Time's running backwards from me to you." Elliott Smith Riot Coming

Cold

It's swollen and it hurts
and it's lesser than it's worth.
A badge, a mark, and name tag pinned
in vibrant red onto my skin.
A scowl sketched inside my skull
reminds me that my fists are full
of fire and a choking heat;
the blood spills SPLAT onto my feet.
You can't find it in the words I say,
but you read it in my eyes anyway.
And it twists and turns
and disappears before you learn,
cried out in a tear
and whipped away out of fear.
Without words, a plea:
you want more from me,
but the syllables make it real
and that breaks the deal,
breaks the latch and starts the flood;
hear me fall and make a thud
on a floor of glass that cracks
under the weight of useless facts
that leave me done and out of breath,
just out of reach of crooked death.
It's the story I've written in ink
of how I never stop to think,
about the hand that leaves mine cold;
my God, this story's getting old.

****************************

Still working on that one about the end of the world. It's sitting there staring at me, but it's too much to think about. Especially since I leave for tour tomorrow and I don't feel like thinking about the end of the world.

For now, here's some inner contemplation leaking out. For whatever good that does.



"This is the life you went and earned because you never fucking learned." Kevin Devine Carnival

Mercy Street

Almost gave up today,
threw another one away,
like the sky was falling down
and on God's face a frown.
A let-down, a disgrace
and on my hand is placed
the mark of sin;
an evil grin
peers at me across Mercy Street.
He swears - for me - he is sweet.
Or his ripe red apple is.
He cons me just like this.
Redemption is too lost to be found.
She's dug herself far under ground.
She fears false confessions of
faith, remorse, or love.
So, I take from the grinner
his apple for my dinner.
But before my tongue can taste,
my veins spill out their waste;
my hateful heart can no longer beat
upon the concrete of Mercy Street.

**************************************

I guess, in keeping with a theme, it's about wanting to feel forgiven. There's a story in there somewhere, but figure it out yourselves.



"With every breath you drink in the night, you won't give up your blues without a fight. And looking at the sky, there is no pain, and the stars keep falling down like burning rain. They were fired by the mightiest of guns..." AA Bondy The Mightiest Of Guns

A Crooked Crutch

From savior to son,
from holy spirit to the one,
to whom repentance is owed in full
and forgiveness is a sober tool:
when all is said and done
does it really matter who's lost or won?
Whatever you hold true
is yours to hold true
from the landscapes of Eden
to the edges of Hell or even
the space in which coming clean
leaves you buried and unseen.
War, Famine, Pestilence, Death,
a thunderous gallop you wish to forget:
don't look twice; we're well on our way
to a judgment which will wash us away.
That heavy gavial, that heavenly judge,
that holy jury: will they hold a grudge?
Will the gates open wide or slam in you face
the day the clouds fall and earth is displaced?
Oh, Sin, you say you know me well,
because my heart, from Heaven, fell.
You keep me far from home and love,
and from almighty God above.
And yet you don't appear in space
or occur in any single place.
You are nothing but an abstract fiend,
a crooked crutch upon which I leaned.
You are Fear without Faith
and I think I like your taste,
but I hate your big steel bars
and - most of all - I hate your scars.

********************************

It's about a fall from grace.

I'm not sure whose.

It didn't make an impact.






"I don't want to talk about Jesus. I just want to see His face." AA Bondy Rapture (Sweet Rapture)

Spin

When failure's not an option
you spin inside your head,
finding faults in every detail
like you're wasting more than breath.

Each frame of every film
and each smile laced with guilt
reveals a shining, desperate quirk,
a secret you died for, but kept.

Like you're racing more than time,
you clinch your fists and grit your teeth
as if such empty gestures could compete,
as if you don't just want to bleed.

It's the debt you earned and owe
for writing less than what you know
and letting that which saves you
break, shatter, scatter, and blow.

***************************************

I wanted this to be a lot more than it became. Then, I just got annoyed with it. I'm out of school and I just feel like I'm floating. I could be what I have been. I could be what I was. Or I could try to be something different if I had any idea how to do that. I feel like the magic 8 ball would say: "outlook not good."






"Keep looking, but get any inkling of 'failure' out of your head - you're doing the right thing by enjoying your free time and the weather..."

Begin

You tried to fix me,
but I broke
free and fell
like stars from Heaven.
There are footsteps beside mine
so I must be going mad,
but He whispers not to worry
and takes me by the hand.
"I don't know you,"
I say with a stutter.

And He doesn't reply,
only raises a mirror to my nose.
But I don't know
whose eyes look back anymore:
there's no reflection without light
and it's all the same with eyes shut anyhow.
So I won't see the world
and I won't taste the sun,
but I'll hear the songs
and I'll feel them through.

But can salvation be sung?
Can it be lost or won?
Is it written in ink?
Can it dissolve or shrink?
It's something like faith
that keeps me awake.
Hazy eyed and terrified,
I wonder if he knows I lied.
Forgive me, Father, I have sinned.
Don't even know where to begin.

******************************

Abnormal poem. Especially for me. Stanzas that aren't four lines long? Haha. I don't do that. It also only rhymes in the last stanza, which is something that would normally bug me. I like consistency. I decided to tell myself to shut the fuck up on that, though. This time.

It's sort of just about how you can't know "God" or you can't have faith or spirituality until you know who YOU are, until you know what you're all about and what you stand for / believe in. It doesn't have to be "God" in any religious sense. You can't have any idea about what you're life should stand for until you know who you are. If the light's off in the room and you can't see who you are, you can't even begin the process. If you can't be honest, you might as well live in the dark.

Don't worry. I'm not converting or dedicating my life to Jesus. Just because I've had a Bible on my desk opened up to Revelation for the last two days doesn't mean shit. I'm just studying. Thinking.





"I hope Jesus is the one, but what if we're wrong and he doesn't come? Who will give us love?" The New Frontiers Who Will Give Us Love?"


"I'll take something to believe, something with long sleeves 'cause it's unpredictable. Now Jesus said He'd fill my needs, but my heart still bleeds. He's just not physical." - Pedro The Lion Promise

The Joke's On You

Caves and Earth's crust
and crisp, clean air:
breathe better before
the Fall.
Preparing at night,
those false saints
for their judgment,
their last triumphant stand.
Divinity swings on her cloud
watching the cars pollute the sky,
the lit factory lights
shown through haze towards Heaven.
Gates closed:
no more admission today,
no more deserving souls,
just weary soldiers.
"And it's not enough,"
she sighs.
"Spare me your prayers,"
her lamentations trail.
A mocking laugh,
a mushroom cloud,
a menacing eye,
a machine gun blast,
and all the rumors
(lies we spread),
the paper thin promises
(ripped to shreds)
create a world of nothing true,
nothing real, and nothing new.
"This time, kids, the joke's on you,"
Divinity heckled, her rage grew.
Melt away, regenerate,
retell the lies you swear you hate.
She'll have you realize your own fate,
but only once it's much too late.
So, go on about your mission of might
and how - for freedom - we have to fight.
Remember well the words you write:
they haunt the rest of us at night.

**********************************

This could probably fit in somewhere with the 'Emperor' series, but I don't think it quite makes it there...but maybe. It's along those same lines, but dealing more with morality from an innocent omniscient point of view. It's about the end of the world, about doom, about someone 'up there' saying, "Fuck you guys; I'm tired of you and your useless bullshit." It's about all the ways we kill ourselves. It's all about the end because, really, nothing and no one is forever and when all our bullshit is said and done, does it really matter who's won? It's about: "Can we all just get along?" and "Can't you just kiss and make up?" It's about wishing that people would actually do what's right, what makes them happy (while not hurting anyone else), what makes them tick. It's about Divinity and she wants you to know that "life is what it makes of you." (Yeah...I've been into The New Frontiers for a week and a half and I've decided I'm awesome enough to quote them.)


"I've been writing a lot about God," I told him.
"I've noticed. You write about God a lot for someone who doesn't believe in her."
I snicker.





"It's not what we're owed, but it's what we've earned and it's closer than we realize and it's time now to burn." Kevin Devine Time To Burn

"Once there was a time to join the army and once there was a time to hear the news and once there was a time for easy silence, but now the jury waits for you." AA Bondy Witness Blues

Landing

A pretty paradox:
perfection and detox.
I lost the words I meant to write
to mist and shadows and a vacuumous light.
I tucked them away in a box
and weighed it down with rocks.
They were too weak to win a fight
against her eternal, omnisent right.

And in their deep sea dungeon,
that place so foreign:
no screams are audible,
no sylables recognizable.
While her heretical surmon
acts as more motivation:
this urge, insurmountable
and the mark, unmistakable.

Scribbled lines on tattered pages
left forgotten for ages and ages
are my only hope for understanding,
redemption, love, or landing
on my feet through these changes
of hearts and minds and places.
And through my staggered planning,
erase all evidence of my branding.

*****************************************

"...
When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale:

Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain..."

- P.B. Shelley, "The Mask Of Anarchy"

He Looks Away

But you never said it, did you?
And you never made a sound,
and the words that passed your lips
were always only partly true.
So, there's no one left to blame
except that sorry, misshapen sap
whose empty eyes gaze back
from behind your mirror's cracking pane.
I picked up the pieces that I found,
but they didn't fit anywhere anyway.
And falling, they landed and
looked more whole apart than as part.
Of a larger hole
where passions are misplaced,
perfectly prim paradoxes
play with forced-quiet tongues.
It rages in your skull until you burst
or tear the seams that suck you in.
One day, all the things you should have said
will poison you and take your breath.
Folly's in the silence reached
when fear controls you voice,
when Love bats his eyes, but you refrain
because you swear he looks away.

Your Pages

Thievery in themes
among words and worlds
of thought
and heart:
what's right,
what's not.
And each measured line
written in hasty rhyme
is written and rewritten
and plucked from piles
of your pages,
only with perforations.
Poesy and Piracy are cousins
rooted together in branching affection:
an understanding unspoken,
uttered alone in eyes.
There is not in the world
either malice or matter to alter it,
I think.
I hope.
With inspiration as elusive
as an aging angel,
I anguish as Antigonus
in restless agitation.
Art has never been
so very close;
now it teeters terribly
on the tip of my tongue.
Something so near,
but never mine
because I am only
what I say
and I say
so very little
of what is truly
mine to say.

****************************************


Sources:

CAMILLO: Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia.
They were trained together in their childhoods; and
there rooted betwixt them then such an affection,
which cannot choose but branch now. Since their
more mature dignities and royal necessities made
separation of their society, their encounters,
though not personal, have been royally attorneyed
with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS: I think there is not in the world either malice or
matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable
comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a
gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came
into my note.

- The Winter's Tale - William Shakespeare

AND

The Ecstasy Of Influence

Mauled And Masked

There's a word
for people like you.
I'm sure of it,
only I don't know it.
I can't pronounce it
and I can't spell it.
It gets caught in my throat
and stuck between my teeth.
Mauled and
masked.
I'm a terrible poet
and worse at 3am,
but your miles
are in my eyes.
Wide open,
wide awake,
and that wide smile of yours
wades through the width.
Whispers and whines
and wayward eyes
and the musty shine
of lucid lines
make clear intentions,
no false accusations.
It's true;
all of it is.
But fancy words
can't create bridges.
If time and space
were nothing but terms,
this bed would be less empty
and my body less cold.

**********************************************

Couldn't sleep.

Fuch yeah, dude.

I'm still cold.




"'You sink your voice, but I can distiguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others.'" Captain Wentworth / Jane Austen Persuasion

Voice Betrayed

Itching to etch for days:
the fog, the rain, the haze
and inspired fortunes phase
you in and out of stirring craze.
Words turn meanings - switch in phrase -
and syntax taxing tampered praise
create a patchwork puzzle of blacks and greys
and meaning is lost: alphabet decays.
Language thrown into the blaze
of reds and yellows; your ending frays
and falls apart in neat cliches,
but it's only your voice you did betray.
Your feather or pen, your ink well lays
as welted proof of no todays
as past swallows you whole and weighs
upon your shoulders: kicks and plays.
Wake up: it's just a phase
'cause you're not done with all the ways
you write and wait through his delays;
I wonder if this one stays.

*******************************************

Title comes from an earlier draft.

Listening to a lot of Elliott Smith, though I'm not sure that explains anything. Upon first reading, this won't make any sense, but it is really quite literal: sort of about writing out your life and then revising when someone tells you it's wrong until it makes no sense and then you quit complaining about what has already happened to start focusing on what is happening or could potentially happen next...though that may not be any better. Something like that.





"So, wake up 'cause you're not done. You could pick yourself up, kid, and you could learn how to love..." Kevin Devine Ballgame [Live]

Advance

Putting broken words together:
you are form, formal, formidable.
Our split speech spits
and spews in sync
with lavish decor
around the door
way to a place where
language is love.
Your eyes and mouth
defy the possible
and your sentences
lack sense;
they conflict
and contradict
with action,
with what I know.
But I feel your glance
on the back of my neck
and I see the tips of your lips
advance.
Adverse am I
to my own defeat,
to an end unknown,
and a truth never shown.

***************************************


Among other things, I adore your words.




"I'm falling back in love with the letter you wrote." Kevin Devine The Longer That I'm Out Here

The Riders Ride

I watched the Sunrise shake
and sip down lemonade
in springtime's blowing breath;
he wrapped himself in flames.
The devil's humid heat
sticks to your melting flesh
and as the Riders ride,
their gallops' genocide,
the Almighty hides his head
and weeps into his palms.
Too sunk to swallow up
redemption, pride, or love,
you choke down molten rock
and drown within hell's wicked walls.
It's fate and it's yours to own,
no pearly gates to welcome you.
It's not your fault; it wasn't you:
just your nation, your leader, your vote.
His Grace disgraced in gunfire and guts,
and with no mercy left Him to offer,
your wrinkled words of worship
can’t do a thing to save us now.


*************************************************

^ Mostly written during Later Romantic Lit.


It's spring and beautiful out and all I can think about is the Apocalypse. Does that make me weird?




"I prayed for providence. God said, 'Don't pray no more.'" - Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased

Story

It's that song you fell asleep to
that now keeps you awake
and it stares into your soul
through eyelids never closed.
And that nightmare left you drenched
in someone else's sweat
with the smell on salt and sand
saturating through your sheet.
You want the language all to stop:
those words you can't hear
whose demands you already know
and they bite and tease and tear.
Away. What kept you sane
you ask in anguish in volumes
of abridged anthologies: fragment
sentences and incomplete thoughts
and love letters never sent and
air you merely pretended to breathe
that's locked in the binding
and lost is the smudges.
The past turns with each page,
torn and twisted,
tinged from timidity
and everything you didn't say.
Somewhere in between each line
you taint with clever vocabulary,
there's a man with a look
about him you don't understand.
He's holding a book
and it's bigger than yours
and it tells every story,
every myth ever written or told.
You already told him you love him
and he already knows how to wreck you.
And all that remains is
that you write your story now.


************************************************

^ I haven't been sleeping well. ^

All the words in my head are really cheap knock offs of muffled KD demos and Shakespearean imagery. And there's more.



"This kind of wordplay gets you ostracized, but if you operate inside these perfect lines you'll be fine." Kevin Devine Write Your Story Now

Inside To Out To In

You take a deep breath
and a big step back
and you keep your eyes closed.
You think you can find clarity
in eye lids' locked darkness;
in your armored cocoon.
Only life breaks through;
it's edge rough and rusted
and rogue hate bleeds in.
Thick skin forms where your
ignorance couldn't protect you,
where what you know spits you open.
Desensitized and vulnerable,
careless and stubborn,
you put yourself out.
Like Coriolanus and his 27
marks of honor and valiance,
painted like medals on flesh
and you cover and hide
what you lived through, but not over
and it rots you from inside to out to in.
And then you can't live
in a world where others breathe
and you despise every smile,
each one a reminder of your failure
and by your own design;
it's such a drag.


******************************************


I stole this entire poem.


Sources:


MENENIUS: True! I'll be sworn they are true.
Where is he wounded?

[To the Tribunes]

God save your good worships! Marcius is coming
home: he has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?

VOLUMNIA: I' the shoulder and i' the left arm there will be
large cicatrices to show the people, when he shall
stand for his place. He received in the repulse of
Tarquin seven hurts i' the body.

MENENIUS: One i' the neck, and two i' the thigh,--there's
nine that I know.

VOLUMNIA: He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five
wounds upon him.

MENENIUS: Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.

[A shout and flourish]

Hark! the trumpets.

VOLUMNIA: These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he
carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:
Death, that dark spirit, in 's nervy arm doth lie;
Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die.

[A sennet. Trumpets sound. Enter COMINIUS the general, and TITUS LARTIUS; between them, CORIOLANUS, crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains and Soldiers, and a Herald]

HERALD: Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these
In honour follows Coriolanus.
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

[Flourish]

ALL: Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

CORIOLANUS: No more of this; it does offend my heart:
Pray now, no more.


"Coriolanus" by William Shakespeare.


-- AND --


"Time heals all wounds they say, but the self inflicted won't just fade away and in these shifting tides of blame why are you suprised to see your name? It's such a drag. Time got the best of you. Things you gave you say were taken, explaination piled over excuse. And so the story goes, but by your own design and if you look to me to find you then my eyes will pass right though..."


"By Design" by Rites Of Spring

Nerve

Another disappointment
which I've brought about.
Your disapproving eyes,
your discontented voice:
it's all that rings in the space
between my two ears.
It rattles,
like snakes do.
It growls
like the rabid
with contemptuous foam
and poisonous breath.
No proud maternal smiles,
just cold distance as I wait
for my head to be bitten off
like the runts of litters.
You are anxiety
and tension.
You smite deeds done
in the best of spirits.
You are an anchor,
locking me down.
You are the will
which raises the knife.
It's your hand
on the handle
and your strength
that breaks my nerve.
So innocent you
assume yourself to be,
yet so murderous
the result of your actions.
Thoughtless words
spoken in haste,
a happy symbol
turned to dark:
another mistake
added to your list.
I'm sure the tally's
monumental and meticulous.
Jab once or twice:
I feel nothing at all.
'Nothing?'
'Nothing.'
The breaking of skin
is numbed by experience.
The only pain I feel now
is courtesy of you.

***************************************


LEAR: To thee and thine hereditary ever
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom;
No less in space, validity, and pleasure,
Than that conferr'd on Goneril. Now, our joy,
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interess'd; what can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.

CORDELIA: Nothing, my lord.

LEAR: Nothing?

CORDELIA: Nothing.

LEAR: Nothing will come of nothing: speak again.

CORDELIA: Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth: I love your majesty
According to my bond; nor more nor less.

Missed It

An addiction only addicts can romanticize,
poems written on hips and thighs.
You smile, warmly, with your eyes;
you don't know I'm keeping lies.
Secrets - like hot air - rise
up my throat, to my lips: chastise.

Bile burns my mouth and lips,
as cold skin begins to rip
from the metal I've learned to worship.
Bubbles, oozes, and drips.
Why not just one more trip?
At risk is just a friendship.

It's getting old; it's getting tired.
Don't have the will that is required
and every attempt is bruised and mired.
Words reused or long expired,
leave so much to be desired.
So, I'll just lay here uninspired.

And read this verse as my confession:
the truth in words I couldn't fashion,
a warning of the deepest caution.
Love and hate, a bubbling caldron:
ridged and rough and smooth and silken
with all the mysteries that lie within.

I loved him in ways that are listed
on limbs that are whithered and wilted.
I'd say the words if they existed,
if their spellings weren't rank and twisted.
The tale's too mangled and maliable and misted
and though I told you, I knew you missed it.

*****************************************

What this is really about is something I'm eternally unable to articulate which is why it winds up making no sense. It's like: something happened and you should know, but I can't wrap my head around it; therefore, I can't explain it.

But, really, you don't want to know anyway, so it's probably for the best that the words are gone (or were never there to begin with). And for the sake of not losing more people I love, my teeth are locked tightly atop my tongue.




"I'll just lay here uninspired, feeling bad that I threw you away..." Kevin Devine Confessional At 6am

A Luncheon With God And Satan

This is the short play I wrote last semester for Creative Writing. I've been meaning to post it and I just kept forgetting. Blogspot really doesn't format scripts very well. :/



Cast:
GOD – El
SATAN – Beelze
BOYFRIEND – Unnamed pagan deity

Synopsis:
GOD and SATAN meet to discuss what to do with the madness down on Earth, whether to begin the apocalypse. “Beelze” is short for Beelzebub and is GOD’s nickname for SATAN. “El” is a Semitic term meaning “GOD” and is SATAN’s nickname for GOD. The setting is GOD’s kitchen which includes, at least: a refrigerator (with bottles of water and orange juice inside), dishwasher, coffee maker, mugs / glasses, and a newspaper. There are finger sandwiches in the center on the table which go untouched.

****
(God sits at a table in the kitchen of her home talking with her BOYFRIEND who is preparing coffee. BOYFRIEND is wearing a flannel work shirt and jeans while GOD is dressed in a white sundress.)

GOD
(To BOYFRIEND) Why is she always late?

(BOYFRIEND sets a mug of coffee down on the table for GOD. He holds his own mug and takes a seat at the table.)

BOYFRIEND
Character flaw?

(Doorbell rings. BOYFRIEND answers and walks back into the kitchen, now accompanied by SATAN. SATAN is dressed in a red sundress, similar to GOD’s, and has tiny horns protruding from her forehead.)

GOD
Beelze!

SATAN
El!

(The two women – Beelzebub and El - embrace. BOYFRIEND fixes SATAN a mug of coffee.)

GOD
How are things in Hell these days?

SATAN
It’s summer all year ‘round. I can’t complain too much. And Heaven?

GOD
Pretty good. It’s been abnormally warm, actually. Humans are only now starting to admit that global warming exists. They’ll never believe it affects Heaven too!

(GOD and SATAN take seats at the table.)

SATAN
Well, humans have always been pretty narrow-minded creatures.

GOD
Speaking of which, I’m so sorry to call our annual meeting early, Beelze, but I’m really worried about what I’m seeing down on Earth. There’s so much destruction! I almost mistook the bombings in Iraq for hellfire…thought you were trying to stir things up.

SATAN
Oh no! Are you kidding? I’d be just as happy to wash my hands clean of that place. Those evil buggers are coming up with ideas I couldn’t even conjure up! The whole planet, all those people: I’m done with them all. You should see the types I’m getting in Hell these days. Real bastards. We’re not talking your average run-of-the-mill bastards; I’m talking real assholes.

(GOD and SATAN are sitting across from one another and BOYFRIEND takes the seat in between at the head of the table. BOYFRIEND sets mug down on table in front of SATAN.)

BOYFRIEND
(To SATAN) Be careful; it’s hot!

SATAN
(To BOYFRIEND) Oh, thank you, doll.

(SATAN carefully sips her coffee and continues.)

SATAN
And, yanno, I thought Hitler would be the end of it. When he came through my fiery gates I almost wanted to turn him away. “Hell’s closed,” I said to myself, but…what are ya gonna do?

GOD
How is Adolph doing, anyway? He’s the one that made me rethink my whole “humans should have free will” philosophy.

SATAN
Well, therapy seems to be doing him some good. He’s working through his mommy issues. I got someone to show him how to shave properly.

GOD
Wonderful! He was also the one who made me rethink facial hair as a prominent male feature. (Looks at BOYFRIEND) But I just love his five o’clock shadow.

(GOD pinches BOYFRIEND’s cheek. BOYFRIEND grins happily and makes a kissy faces.)

GOD
(To SATAN, distressed) Oh, Beelze, I just don’t know what to do anymore. I am a merciful being. I don’t punish harshly. Hell! If I denied salvation to everyone who had sex before marriage, I’d be joining your ranks. –

SATAN
Oh, you’re welcome any time! –

GOD
I’ve loosened the rules for them and all I really ask for is that they not kill my creations: themselves…and the planet they inhabit. Is that asking too much?

SATAN
Heavens no! And I sympathize, hun, I do. Look, as far as I’m concerned you should just give them their Goddamn apocalypse already…no offence.

GOD
If only it were that easy. Yanno, Jesus is so preoccupied with his band these days that if I even mention the idea of a second coming he gets all annoyed with me.

(SATAN pops up and grabs a newspaper from atop the kitchen counter. As she speaks, she holds the paper in one hand and points at it with her free hand. Then, she slams it on the table with the word: “Incorrectly.”)

SATAN
Well, has he been keeping up with the news lately? I mean: the Jews are back in the Promised Land. Granted, he didn’t put them there, but…the humans don’t seem to actually care what their God wants anymore. They just go on assuming and interpreting. Incorrectly.

(SATAN takes her seat at the table back.)

GOD
I know! Who knew Moses’ stutter would cause such misunderstandings. Not one of my best moves, I must admit.

(BOYFRIEND picks up newspaper and begins shuffling through the sections. He picks one a reads to himself as GOD and SATAN continue their conversation.)

BOYFRIEND
(Peering over newspaper at GOD) Ahh, you can’t blame yourself for this. Or Moses. There is no way – through any upside down human translation – that you ever requested the killing of people.

GOD
Did you hear that America is sending more troops? More of my young kids are gonna die!

SATAN
I’m telling you: they want the end of the world? Go give it to ‘em! Start with a clean slate. What are you really destroying anyway? (SATAN waits momentarily for an answer) Nothing you can’t easily replace! Destroy it all: their gas guzzling SUVs, their bombs, their tanks. But don’t do any of this flood shit – .

GOD
Oh, I already promised no more floods. But, whom would I save? I don’t want to save any of these wretched people. None of them get it. None of them love me just because it feels good and is right. (GOD glances at BOYFRIEND) Well, except for you. (GOD grazes BOYFRIEND’s face with a gentle hand) All they care about is salvation, salvation, salvation.

BOYFRIEND
(Lowering newspaper, still clutching the edges) Oh, hun, I’m sure they love you. I sure do! And if they don’t, they just don’t know what they’re missing. They are all very misguided, busy people.

GOD
And that’s another thing! (GOD begins to get riled up) Why are they all so busy all the time, rushing around? Don’t they know I’ve created some of the most beautiful sceneries in the entire universe just for them? Don’t they know books and music were created for their enjoyment?

(GOD jumps out of her seat, disgustedly. Having finished her coffee, she places the mug in the dishwasher and slams the dishwasher’s door shut.)

SATAN
(Watching GOD fidget with the dishwasher) Obviously not. It’s a damn shame too. Yanno, I recently revisited Mount Everest for the first time in centuries. It’s really a magnificent sight.

GOD
(Leaning against the kitchen counter located behind the table, GOD looks at SATAN and begins to tear up a little) Ohhh, Beelze. Thank you. (Walks over to the sitting SATAN, another embrace) I put a lot of work into that, but people these days are too fat and busy to take time to climb some silly old mountain anymore.

(GOD, still anxious and upset, walks to the refrigerator and searches it for a bottle of water. GOD pulls out a plastic bottle and fiddles with the cap which refuses to twist off and adds to her frustration.)

SATAN
That’s why I’m saying: destroy them all. Those ungrateful little bastards can’t appreciate the world they live in. They’re all so worried about the end? Well, give ‘em something to worry about.

BOYFRIEND
(To GOD) Let me get that.

(BOYFRIEND lowers the newspaper, grabs the bottle, and twists the cap off. He then hands it back to the flustered deity and continues reading his article.)

GOD
(Back at her post, leaning against the counter; to SATAN) I don’t know. I like being thought of as forgiving.

SATAN
I know, El, but sometimes even good kids need a spanking.

(SATAN stands and walks over to GOD. SATAN rubs GOD’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort her.)

GOD
Ugh…and all the paper work.

SATAN
Well, yeah, there will be a lot of paperwork.

GOD
And all their screaming, their begging for forgiveness. All their desperate last minute attempts to try to convince me they really do love me, that they really are moral people, interested in doing good things for their fellow men. All their lies…as if I’m not the all knowing!

SATAN
Human screaming is the worst. I get the worst headaches ever from human screaming.

GOD
Oh, I know. Isn’t it the worst?

SATAN
The worst!

GOD
Heaven is dealing with overcrowding, too: centuries of use without any upgrades. I let anyone in who attempted to do good deeds in his life, even if he didn’t always believe in me in his heart. (GOD whispers) To tell you a secret, I’ve even been letting atheists in. Some of those guys have done some pretty impressive stuff. (Back in her normal tone) But, I suppose since I am God, I can always put in a work order to expand Heaven. Again.

SATAN
Hell is dealing with overcrowding too…mainly your people. Haha. Who would have thought? You’re merciful to atheists and I’m damning believers!

GOD
I know: some crazy irony! I’d rather deal with your people than mine.

SATAN
So would I. (SATAN looks down, ponderously) So, I suppose if you brought about the apocalypse…I’d be…uh…seeing a few more of those types?

GOD
You’d be seeing more than a few. You’d probably wind up with most of the Earthy population of believers. It’s a repulsive amount of people who claim to love me and go directly against what I said.

(GOD sits back down at the table and SATAN follows suit, but they have switch chairs.)

SATAN
Well, maybe you could send someone down there…you know…to straighten them out? Send Mohammed or something. Then maybe the Muslims will cool it with their “Sharia is the only proper law” thing and maybe the Christians will back off. Tell Mohammed to tell them all to chill out.

GOD
Remember what happened the last time I sent a prophet to straighten them all out? Remember how I used to only have to worry about the Jews and then they all split into a hundred new sects, impossible to keep track of!? Remember how they…yanno…nailed Jesus to a tree!?

SATAN
(Disappointed) Oh, yeah.

BOYFRIEND
Ouch, yeah, sucks to be that dude.

GOD
No, yanno, maybe you’re right, Beelze. Maybe those little rats do deserve the second coming, but boy are the going to regret it.

(GOD stands up and begins to pace with excitement in the space between the kitchen counter and the table.)

SATAN
Oh, El, don’t be so hasty. I mean: you did create that planet and all its inhabitants. It’d kind of be like killing your own child for wetting the bed.

GOD
You cannot equate war and murder with wetting the bed! (To BOYFRIEND who has been half listening to the conversation; GOD pokes BOYFRIEND in the back with her finger to indicate he should take his nose out of the newspaper) What do you think?

(BOYFRIEND folds up the newspaper, stands, and leans against the counter.)

BOYFRIEND
I don’t know, Fluffypoo; when you told them I wasn’t a deity and that I didn’t exist, I sorta stopped paying attention to those humans down there.

GOD
(To SATAN) See? Damn misinterpretations! (To BOYFRIEND, upset; she stops pacing and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with BOYFRIEND) I never meant to convince them you didn’t exist! I still thought some of them would believe in you! I only said: “you shall have no other gods before me.” I never said you didn’t exist or that you were a bad guy!

(BOYFRIEND rests his arm around GOD.)

BOYFRIEND
Oh, honey bear, I’m not upset with you! I’m grateful, really. I wouldn’t want to have to deal with any of those pricks down there now!

(GOD huffs back over to the table and sits back down across from SATAN in the seat in which SATAN had originally sat.)

GOD
How is it possible that I created a planet full of fools?

SATAN
You were young, El. You didn’t understand what a massive responsibility Creation would be. But you know you can’t just give up on it all now.

GOD
But why not? The purpose of human existence is to live a good, moral life in which you love your neighbor as your brother and you love your God because it fills you with joy. The human experience does not reflect that at all. Instead, they kill and say it’s for me. Well, I don’t want your blood! Your killing makes me feel dirty! Maybe Earth could be my first draft. Maybe I’ll get an A the next time around.

SATAN
No, no! Come on. What about the Amazon Rain Forest, the Grand Canyon? What about the Great Barrier Reef and Niagara Falls? And what about the UN…and Doctors Without Borders? Those are a couple great causes and they’re manmade!

GOD
Well, I did always appreciate sweaty doctors working for a good cause. (BOYFRIEND, feeling a little slighted, clears his throat; to BOYFRIEND) Oh, I always appreciate you all hot and sweaty too, darling.

(BOYFRIEND smiles and walks to the refrigerator. He opens the door and shuffles around.)

SATAN
I say: you just let those silly humans down there work this thing out.

GOD
But how much more killing is it going to take? How many more wars? They no longer deserve my forgiveness or my patience.

SATAN
But damning them all on a whim isn’t fair.

(BOYFRIEND pulls out container of orange juice.)

BOYFRIEND
Anything to drink, El? Beelze?

SATAN
(To BOYFRIEND) A water would be splendid.

GOD
(To BOYFRIEND) No thanks, hun. (To SATAN) Look, I gave them guidance and they misread it. I gave them prophets to listen to and they didn’t. I’ve given them any number of things for which all I have asked in return was a little respect. Instead, I have a planet full of selfish little pigs.

SATAN
Hey, at least the whole planet isn’t American, right!?

GOD
Oh! And those Americans! Don’t even get me started! Some superpower they are! They have the ability to make the world so much better, so much healthier. But do they? No!

SATAN
You can’t fix the world in a day, El.

(BOYFRIEND pours himself a glass of orange juice. Then, he untwists another cap off a plastic water bottle and hands the bottle to SATAN. He takes his glass and sits back down in his seat.)

SATAN
(To BOYFRIEND) Thanks so much.

GOD
(To SATAN) Their idea of creating a better tomorrow is electing the right singer for American Idol! I present them with choices – because I think that’s only fair – and they elect the nincompoop to higher office instead of the one with good human rights and environmental records. They all make foolish decisions and if I don’t destroy the world, they’re going to do it themselves!

BOYFRIEND
I’m with ya, El. Screw ‘em. God giveth and God can taketh away. “Fire and brimstone” their asses.

SATAN
(To BOYFRIEND, sharply) Oh, now you have an opinion! (To GOD, caringly) Just think good and hard about this. You’ve been working for billions of years on this projects –”

GOD
And it’s a failure!

SATAN
Don’t be so hard on yourself. Patience, El, patience.

(GOD stands in defiance.)

GOD
No, Beelze. I think I’m done being a carefree deity. You’re right. If it’s apocalypse they want, then it’s apocalypse they shall get!