Listen: twenty-nine short conversations by KUBOA
It’s beautiful.
Thanks—is it—
Your ass, so fresh—
Jim, I—
May I just, Katya, touch it?
Jim—Ok, just—
It doesn’t feel rough. I thought it would feel rough.
Stop. Stop now. Go sit down.
Right. Sorry.
There now.
Katya, you-
I’m just removing these jeans. Ok? They’re too fucking tight. I wanted you to see the tattoo.
Did you?
Well, I thought about it. Your seeing it. I think I wanted to show you that I do things without you, outside of your—I don’t know influence? No, that’s too strong a word. But, initially, it’s like—you know—the guy whose girl dumps him so he cuts his hair—that kind of thing. It’s not revenge—it’s—autonomy. Anyway, then, just now, I really wanted you to see it so I could gauge your appreciation, I guess. I really wanted you to see it, so, there. I showed it to you.
A gift. Are you going to sit there like that?
Does this bother you? I’ve got boxers on for Chrissake. Men’s boxers.
I know. It’s just, you know, sense memory or something. Body memory.
Stop looking there.
Right.
Now.
Your legs are still so perfect.
What do you mean still? I didn’t age a decade since you’ve seen me.
Oh, right.
Jim, you’re aroused.
Now, who’s looking?
It’s fairly—well—
Sorry.
No, no, it’s just—fuck—I mean, ok, I’m flattered. It’s been a while since—
This last guy wasn’t—
No, he wasn’t. He made me feel—dammit—he made me feel so unsexy. Ok?
Katya. You’re—so desirable.
Jim.
I mean it. That glimpse of your ass—jeez, Sweet—you’re so—
Jim. Look. I want you to do something for me. And then I want you to leave. Can you?
What? Anything. Katya, I—
I want you to masturbate.
What—
I want you to take it out and masturbate—all because you saw my ass—because you can’t take your eyes off my crotch. I want you to desire me wholeheartedly and I want to sit here and watch you and be unmoved. I want you to see that masturbation, for you, is the metaphor. Writing/masturbating. See? I want your pure desire—your pure want—and then I want to see it spent and then I want you to leave. Still sticky with your craving for me—you can’t even clean it off, ok? Can you do that? Can you do that final thing for me?
I—
And it will be final. Jim. I want you to come and then never come back. I want our last thing to be your unquenchable need for me sexually and my insouciance, my calm uncaring exhibitionism. You owe me that. After that book—after I was exposed—you owe me this debasement.
You want to debase me.
In a way, yes. I want to see that I have control and I want you to see it and then I want you out of my life.
Katya.
If you can’t do that—
Of course I can. I want you. I have always wanted you. You’re like a drug—I—
Ok, I want you humbled—symbolically—metaphorically, you fucker—I want you on your humble knees.
Ok. This is—
No more talk.
What—
Unzip your pants.—
Right, I—
You’ve deflated. Pull them down further I want to see it all.
There, I—
It’s no good like that.
Katya, I—you want me to—
Shut up. Look. Slowly now. There it is, there’s the dragon. Yes?
Oh, Katya—
There now. Look at it, see me roll my hips
Move just—
Shut up. There it is. Ah, that’s it, Jim. That’s your manhood. See. See, Jim. I have it. I have your manhood—Katya, Jim. This is me—I’m not a fucking character. Do it, Jim. Stroke it hard. You want to see more, hmm—don’t talk to me, dammit—look, here, Jim, here’s Katya’s ass, so round, so—what did you say. Such a deep crack. There’s my crack, Jim, a place you can never return to. I’m like a stripper—you can look but you cannot touch. Now, I’m sitting back down and I’m just going to watch, Jim. It’s all about me, now. Stroke it, baby. I am watching you in your need, your pitiful need
Katya, nn—
No, you can’t talk about me. Look Jim. Just look, there are my thighs, and the darkness between them right up there, Jim. That’s it—oh, you’re so engorged. Do it, dammit! Stroke it harder, goddammit! Let it go Jim, go—Jim—
Aaahhhh!
Hm.
Aah. Jesus, Katya. I came so hard. Jesus. That was—
Shut up now. Go.
Katya—
I mean it Jim. It’s all over. That’s it. I did you. See? I fucking did you.
Katya.
Put it away and go. Leave it all on you. Leave it.
***
So, now you’re over. That part is over. My life now—
Did you really need to debase me to get on with—
Shut up. You don’t get to analyze. You don’t even get to write about this. You dig?
Ok.
Ok.
Katya.
No.
Katya.
Jim. Go home. Go back to your burgeoning family and relish all that you have. You are a selfish self-centered man. Go home and wallow in it.
Do you hate me that much?
No, Jim. No.
Ok.
Last word. How is the writing going?
Ok. I’ve got some ideas. I’m not bereft of ideas.
Ok.
Katya—
No.
What. What am I to do?
Go.
I—
Go, Jim. Write. Just not about me, please.
I. I can’t. I lied. I have no ideas. I’m—bankrupt—it was just masturbating. I’m a one shot artist
No.
I can’t
But, you’re gonna do a sequel, you—
No, never that. No.
No.
No.
My Continued Conversation With The Ghost Of John Lennon
‘Rolling Stone: I have no more to ask.
John Lennon: Well, fancy that.’
the end of Lennon Remembers
It still makes me so sad, here, what, almost thirty years later.
Let it go, my friend. I have
Sure, it’s easy for you, being, you know, pure spirit and all.
Sure.
Still, isn’t there a hankering, a yearning for continuance, for, at the very least, more songs?
No, not even that.
Not one song since the shooting?
Not one.
Huh.
Yeah, imagine.
I can’t. Of course, I can’t imagine writing a song at all.
Of course you can. You’ve got words in you. Let them sing.
They don’t sing. They plod. They trip, stumble and fall. They are words that remain earthbound.
All words are earthbound. Here, we have no need of words.
No words!
None.
Yet, you continue to talk to me.
I do, that’s true.
Why is that?
You seem to need it so. You seem to fairly burn for connection.
And you were always the empath, the one willing to take on your fellow man, the planet’s ills.
Kind of you to say.
Did it do any good, John? Your passion, your engagement?
I think so.
From your perspective now, did it change anything?
All the changes, my friend, were in me. Where changes should linger and resonate.
And that is a brief, good thing?
Yes it is.
Ok.
You still blue?
Sure, sure. Would you sing for me? Just
***
It’s ok.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night…
That’s Paul’s.
Is it? I could have sworn it was mine. It was so long ago.
It’s ok. Thank you. It’s a beautiful song.
It is.
A brief good thing.
Better than brief.
Yes.
Lighter than air, it is an air, lighter than all human hope, a tinkling harmony in the human heart, a silvery, chiming balm.
Is that a song?
More soon, my friend. Let it rest.
I will.
Let it be.
Paul’s again.
Huh.
Chin-Chin In Eden
Adam said to Eve,
‘That swollen belly of yours,
what can I make of it?
Have you eaten already of
the forbidden fruit?’
Eve looked at Adam with
serpentine eyes.
‘Foolish man,’ she said.
‘You are father of all the
absurdities to come.’
Adam walked into a quieter
part of the garden, his
head full of clouds, his
heart aching with newbirth:
a jealousy.
Hypnotic Induction
Dr. O’Dyne?
Call me Ann.
Ann. Thanks for seeing me.
This is what we do here.
Thank you. Well, um, just thank you.
Ok. What can I do for you, Mr. Galeen?
Smoking. I have to quit.
We can help you.
Who is we?
Sorry. It’s just the way we phrase it here at the clinic. I. I can help you.
Great. You use hypnosis, is that correct?
That is the most efficient method, yes. We could also use EMDR.
I saw something called Psychoshamanism. Is that—
Fairy tale stuff. We’re a bit more grounded here. Hypnosis—let’s say that’s what we do.
A buddy told me it could take only one session.
A myth.
Ok. Do we start today?
Sure. Lemme just ask you a few questions, get some background, put you at ease.
I’m at ease.
Of course. Mr. Galeen.
Henry.
Henry. You work, let me see, at a downtown bar?
Sweety’s, yes.
As a—
Manager.
Ok. And you’ve been doing this kind of work for how long?
I’m a bartender.
Wha—
I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. I’m really just a glorified bartender. Night manager they let me say. I’m the bartender.
Is there some shame associated with being just a bartender?
No. No, I don’t think so.
Ok then.
I used to be a drunk.
Oh.
Yes, I used to be a drunk. 11 months sober.
That’s wonderful. So, being a bartender—
Is a refuge for many an ex-drunk.
I didn’t know that.
Well, yes it’s true. Many of us find that extra little bit of strength by being around what plagued us and not submitting.
That’s commendable.
Not so much.
Ok. And now—
Like a lot of ex-drunks I smoke too much.
I see.
Now if I could lick cigarettes—
You would be what?
Clean. Really clean. A model citizen.
You smile when you say that. Do you mean it ironically?
No, well, partly. But, really, it’s my last vice. Cigarettes. Coffin nails.
Not many people just have one vice.
I know. How about that?
Why did you turn to cigarettes, Henry?
Same reason as anybody. Well, any drunk. Something to suck on. Oral stimulation you might call it.
Might I?
I don’t know.
Right. Ok. Well, so, working in a bar, that lifestyle, how would you describe it?
Um, late night. Lots of activity. Too much activity. An easy lifestyle to be seduced by.
How so?
Well, it’s energizing. There are lots of things around to turn you on. Lights, music, women.
I see.
And lots of smoking.
There’s smoking allowed in, um, Sweety’s?
No, well there was until recently. No, not inside anymore.
So you smoke on your breaks?
Right.
And women, you said. I assume you’re single.
Well, I’m sort of engaged.
How sort of? Isn’t it like being pregnant, there are no degrees to it?
I guess so. Sandy is, well, she’s really special. She doesn’t care for the night life and that’s a problem.
I can see it would be.
She works days. I work nights.
And you are surrounded by should we say available women?
Nightly. Right.
And you have availed yourself of their seductive pleasures on occasion?
Hey, this doesn’t have anything to do with smoking. Can you just put me under and kill my nicotine craving?
Yes. Ok. Is that the only craving you want killed?
You’re being judgmental, aren’t you? Assuming I’m a birddog.
No. I’m trying to establish what about your personality makes smoking so irresistible, so necessary.
How do I know I can be hypnotized? Can anyone?
Almost anyone. Not psychotics, not people with low IQ. Not people who do not want to be hypnotized. Do you fall into any of those categories?
No, I don’t think so. Ha, maybe low IQ.
I doubt it.
Ok. How do we do it?
We’ll lower the lights. I’ll ask you to concentrate on a dot of light projected onto a small dark screen. Meanwhile I’ll be playing a single monotonous note. Do these details help you?
Help me? I don’t know. You’re the doctor.
Right. Now, Henry, let’s chat just a bit more. When would you say your worst cravings occur? Night, morning, at times of stress?
Night. I guess. In the bar it’s all I can do to serve drinks sometimes.
Serve women drinks?
You’re hung up on this moralistic approach. Serve women, sure, anyone.
I simply was asking if you found serving drinks to women especially troubling or disconcerting.
No, I don’t think so. Maybe.
Ok.
I mean, well, women are so free at night. They can be the straightest chick you know—Sunday School teachers—but in a bar, with their friends, it’s like they are on another planet. The usual strictures are loosed. All inhibitions, all conventions are temporarily suspended. They dress provocatively, they flirt. It’s hard—being, you know, engaged.
Or even sort of engaged?
Yes.
Ok. One other thing. Sandy—does she smoke?
Oh God no.
Why so adamant?
Sandy is, well, you know, straight.
The Sunday School teacher type.
She teaches Sunday School.
I see.
So, when we’re, you know, married, I won’t be around smoke, if that’s what you’re asking. Sandy wants me to quit more than I do.
More than you do.
A slip of the tongue. I do. I really want to quit.
Ok.
Ok.
Let’s just lower the lights. Get comfortable, Mr. Galeen. Henry.
Ok.
***
Now, Henry, you can hear me but you need not respond. Ok. You may respond but you need not.
Yes.
Very good. Now, I want you to place yourself somewhere else. The nicest, most relaxed place you can imagine. It might be the shore. It may be night. Moonlight on the water. You might be w
Yes.
Very good. The world is far away. You are only yourself, alone, rocking with the world. You need nothing. You desire nothing.
A cigarette.
No, you don’t desire a cigarette.
I do.
Relax. Let the waves carry you. You can ride the waves as if you are on a board, as if you are the board. It doesn’t matter if the waves are big or small, you can ride them. You are so relaxed the waves are only part of your blood, the flow of your blood.
Blood.
Right.
I want blood. A cigarette.
Uh, Henry. You do not want a cigarette. You only want—
Blood.
I’m sorry.
All I want is blood. I don’t need a cigarette if I can have blood. Just a sip.
Henry, I’m sure—
Just one pretty neck. That waitress with the great tits. Trinka. She’s always coming on to me. I want to suck.
Her breasts. You want to suck her breasts. She is Mother—
No, no, I want her neck. Her swan-like neck. So white, so smooth. To drink there.
Henry. I’m not sure where this is going. This waitress—she is a problem for you? You who are trying to stay true to Sandy. She is temptation.
She’s always coming on to me.
Ok.
Rubbing up against me. If she knew. If she only knew.
That you’re engaged. That you are beyond temptation.
That I would drink her blood. That I would bend her backwards, in a swoon, like a lover, exactly like a lover. I would tip her downy neck toward me and I would numb her with a kiss. She would at first think that I was making love to her. She would yield to it—can you see it? She is swooning toward me, she is offering her neck up to be loved. And I will attend to her like the gentlest lover—
Henry.
I would kiss her swan-like neck, gently, then more forcefully. She would moan as if I were her best lover. She would clasp her own breast. And in the moment that she gives herself up to me—that moment when she is sure I am her best lover—I would bite. I would lower my teeth into her flesh and—quickly, tenderly—she would think that she was in love—it must be love!—and I would begin to drink her sweet red blood. It would taste of iron and heat. It would taste of—eternity!
Mr. Galeen. Where did this come from? I am waking you up now, I am releasing—um—
Ann.
Mr. Galeen.
Ann, have you ever been made love to by eternity, by the endless wheeling of the stars, by the rotational tilt of the Earth itself? No—Ann—No—you don’t know! Imagine I am leaning toward your neck—now!
Mr. Galeen. When I count three and snap my fingers you will wake up. Do you hear me? One two three!