IT

"This IT you keep referring to. What exactly do you mean by IT?"

"I don't know. I don't really know how to explain it."

"Is it fear or anxiety, or is it more of a sadness?"

"It's everything, all of that. It's like this thing that comes and gets me. I can see now I've been running from it my entire life. That's what the whole thing's been about. I would get in shape and start modeling and I would travel around, but it would always come and find me. No one knew. You know, when you're on the cover of magazines and shit, it looks like you're doin' fine. It would affect my smile. It's like I had this smiling disease. I couldn't smile right. And I would get all weird on shoots and I would end up loosing clients. Or I would go to castings and I would look around at the other models and I just couldn't do it, ya know. I would just go get a beer or something. I remember once I was behind in rent and I booked this big job down in Miami for like ten thousand dollars or something, and I just, you know, I just couldn't get on the plane. I was with my ex-wife back then and I had her call the agency for me."

"What'd she say?"

"It was pretty funny really. She told them my cheese slid off my cracker. Haha."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah, that was it. That was the last job I had for like 5 or 6 years. That's how it went. I would stop modeling and I would hunker down and I would get some sort of job and I would start writing and then it would just get worse and worse and everything would fall apart. So then I would panic and I would get in shape and start modeling again and it just, you know, it just went on and on for years and years. But it got worse every time. The stakes just got higher and higher. And that's the thing, ya know. Right now I could get back in shape and start making pretty good money again but it doesn't get me anywhere. I've done all that. I'm just so tired. I'm tired of running from it. I'm absolutely exhausted. And I just, ya know, I just wanna write. I just... I need to be able to write!"

"But you've gotta understand that what you've just told me is an awful lot. You've got a new baby, two kids. You've got all these jobs and the writing and this IT you keep referring to. You're definitely exhausted. I can see that. Anyone would be. But I really need you to try to explain the IT okay? I need you to tell me how it makes you feel?"

"It feels like... Well, it's like this looming energy. It almost has a personality. It feels like at any moment anything can happen. Anyone can turn on you. I feel like I could say one word to anyone, ya know, friends or family, and it's like I feel like they could turn around and murder me. My imagination just goes haywire. And my nerves are just totally shot. When someone talks to me it's like I'm getting stabbed by their words."

"Yeah."

"And when I stand next to people I feel like I'm just going to explode or something. Or I just want to start confessing EVERYTHING to them. Mostly though, it's like I'm just completely overwhelmed with these envisionments. Is that a word, envisionment?"

"I don't think so, but I understand."

"Anyway, ya know, it's part of the reason I watch all the stuff I watch online, the autopsies and the beheadings and stuff. I don't know, I just gotta see it. I need to see everything. But it's this tension that wears me out. The first time I remember feeling it was when my mother would come home from the hospital and we'd have dinner ya know, and everyone would just sit around the table like nothing had happened. It just drove me fucking nuts. And you know, like we'll have dinner with friends and I just, I don't know, I just can't take it. I can't understand how people can talk about what they talk about."

"The small talk?"

"Yeah, it just drives me insane. I can't stand it. And so then I start getting all inappropriate. I just want to de-pants people or take off all my clothes and start running."

"A lot of people feel that way. Well, maybe not to the point of wanting to de-pants people. But the small talk. How's the weather? It doesn't make them any less. It doesn't make them stupid. There was a study where... well, it turns out that it's a very necessary thing for most people."

"Yeah, I know. I get that. But it's more than that. It's funny, ya know, even interesting conversations aren't interesting to me anymore. I only like conversations when I can eavesdrop on them. It doesn't matter how stupid they are. Actually, the dumber the better. It's the most exciting thing in the world to me. But if I'm in the equation, it just totally ruins it. It's no longer authentic, ya know. It's like I need to not exist. I'm sort of like that with a lot of things. Bodies, you know. I just want to inspect people's bodies. I don't mean in a sexual way. Like old men. Like their ears and stuff, ya know. Anyway... I don't want to get inappropriate but..."

"Hey, listen, I used to work at a VA hospital. I've heard it all."

"Okay, well... Hmmm. I forgot what I was going to say."

"That's okay."

"Oh, here's something, I just really, ya know, I'm not gay in any way but I'm like preoccupied with other men's penises. I wanna see them. I don't know, I feel like if I'm gonna have an honest conversation with another man then we should see each other's penises."

"Hmmm. I don't think that's abnormal."

"No?"

"No. Well, listen, Phil, that's our time."

"Really? That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it. Make sure you make an appointment with Sue on your way out. You take care of yourself. I'll see you next week."

"Thanks. You too."

ELEPHANT

"Did you ever read the one, Elephant?"

"Is that the one where the guy loans his brother money?"

"Yeah, yeah. I love that story. It's just fucking devastating. Man, he's a fucking genius."

"Yeah he is. I always thought it must be him who's the brother who borrows the money, ya know? When the IRS has a lien on his tax return. That's just gotta be him, like right out of his life."

"Yeah, I never thought of that. Maybe?"

"But then both of them, the man AND the brother. I bet they're both him because he'd been on both sides in his life. He's just able to show you the brutality of every day modern life. I don't know, ya know. I don't see how more people aren't just fucking losing it. Everything's just so fucking fucked up, man. Like how do people just keep going on like everything's normal, like nothing's changed? I can't understand it. I can't understand anything anymore."

"You're right, everything's about as fucked up as can be. You just gotta do the best you can. That's all you can do. Everyone's gotta pay their bills and take care of their family. You can't make sense of any of it."

"Man, did I ever tell you about this guy, Lenny, who I lived with at that flight house in Queens?"

"I don't think so."

"It was like the first day I moved in there. I went into the living room and he was sitting there in front of the tv, watching Gilligan's Island and eating Chinese food. Remember Booger from Revenge Of The Nerds?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, I'm not kidding, that is exactly what this guy looked like. I mean, I'm talking EXACTLY!"

"Holy shit."

"I can still remember the episode he was watching."

"Which one?"

"It was the one where the gorilla finds like some stash of hand grenades and starts throwing hand grenades at everyone. I mean, like why the hell was there a gorilla on an island anyway? Gorillas don't live on islands."

"I don't remember that one. Man, remember the professor?"

"Fuck yeah. That dude was a fuckin' badass! He was a sexy motherfucker!"

"Yeah he was. That was back when men didn't have to be all muscled up and shit. Ya know, I really think I had a crush on the professor!"

"Haha. Yeah, well. Man, I bet he had a huge hog! It's always those subtle good looking guys. He probably had like a 31 inch waist or something... Anyway, you know, he was sitting there..."

"Wait, what was his name again?"

"Lenny. He was sitting there, watching Gilligan's Island, and I said, hey, my name's Phil, and he just kept staring at the tv, slurping up his fuckin' soup. God, I hate hearing people eat soup. Or cereal. It's just fucking disgusting. I just want to bash their fucking faces in!"

"Yeah, that doesn't really bother me."

"No?"

"No, not really."

"Huh. So then, ya know, I asked him how long he had lived there, and he dropped his spoon into the soup and he looked at me and said, I don't feel like talking to you. I don't wanna talk to anyone, okay? I said, sure, man, no problem."

"Damn."

"Yeah. I guess he was all fucked up and was living on disability. They said he went down to Jamaica or something and got all mixed up with the locals and he took something and lost his mind. He was an aircraft controller for Northwest. Is Northwest even still around?"

"I don't think so. I don't know."

"Yeah, I don't think so either. Wait, Delta bought 'em. That's right. Anyway, there were all these incidences with him. I lived there off and on for years and I only saw him a couple of times. He just stayed in his room and ordered Chinese food. That's all he ate. Every now and then, someone in his family would call and you'd go knock on his door and tell him but he never answered. So then I went over to Milan and when I got back I heard that one day out of nowhere the police surrounded the house and closed off the block and evacuated everyone. They sent in a SWAT team and they broke down the door and took him away. He'd been stockpiling weapons and bomb making shit."

"Oh fuck."

"Yeah. It's funny, ya know, more and more I find I can sympathize with almost anyone. I can look back at nearly everyone in my life and I can't blame them or even judge them all that much. As a whole, you know, I can't stand humanity, but as individuals, they're pretty interesting. I wish I could go back and talk to Lenny, ya know. I really feel like I understand him now. I feel like I could've helped him."

"Oh yeah? What would you have said?"

"Shit, I don't know. Something."

BRUTAL DIAGNOSES

"They put you on WHAT?"

"Pristiq. It's the new version of Effexor."

"Dude, you're not depressed. You're probably not even an artist. You've just got tax problems!"

NO, NO, WE'LL DO IT

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, man. My friend, Stacy, works with him. Next time you're in the city, go in there. He works like happy hour and shit."

"Dude, I can't believe that. They were fucking huge! I saw them at Tramps. I mean, he's gotta be what, in his late forties by now?"

"Yeah, probably. He might even be in his early fifties."

"Jesus, man, I hate hearing shit like that."

"Yeah, I know, but at the same time, I think that's exactly what's needed. I don't know, something's happened, something's changed. Even when I see something great anymore, it just doesn't matter as much. You see it and then it's gone, and then what? Everything's been done and everyone's great at everything, everyone knows everything. Everything just seems so fucking pointless."

"It's called nihilism, dude. You're depressed."

"No, it's more than that. It's like me with my writing, I could care less about getting anything published anymore. I'm serious, I don't think about that shit at all anymore. I'm not interested in anything going on in that world. I mean, what's the point? It's just a big jackoff like everything else. I don't care what other writers have to say or publishers or anyone like that. I seriously don't give a shit. I can't think of anything less interesting. If I can make my brother laugh or my friend, Steve Walls, likes it, or my brother-in-law, that's all I care about anymore."

"Yeah, well, we'll see if you start getting some stuff published."

"Published in what? Like who the hell cares? What's that gonna do? Plus, I don't even think it's writing I'm after anymore. It's something else, something sort of in between it all or something. Normal writing just doesn't do it anymore. It can't reflect what needs to be reflected. It's totally inadequate. It's weird, man, I don't even enjoy having interesting conversations anymore. It's like even when it's interesting, it's not interesting. I'd rather talk to the idiot at the bar or eavesdrop on some ghetto bitch at Key Food. THAT'S what's interesting to me now. I'm just so fucking bored with all the people around here, all the intellectual bullshit and their goddamn art and all their fucking fundraisers and shit. GODDAMN IT, these people make me fucking miserable!"

"Maybe you guys SHOULD move?"

"Yeah, I'd just be miserable somewhere else. You know what's funny is that just now while I was saying all of that, I starting thinking maybe I'm just not there yet, ya know, I'm just not digging deep enough."

"You mean with your writing?"

"Yeah. Maybe I just haven't reached it yet? Maybe I'm still hovering around it? Maybe I'm just scared of the consequences if I were to really write, you know, like a real novel or something, and I'm just one of those pathetic people that's angry with themselves but takes it out on the world?"

"Maybe?"

"Shit, I better go. I gotta be at work by noon."

"Yeah, alright. See ya later. Hey, let's go up the mountain sometime."

"Sure."

"You always say that."

"No, no, we'll do it."

APPROPRIATE REACTIONS. Undrawn cartoons by Philip Bram:

PANEL ONE: A nice spring day (weekend, lots of people) in a quaint little tourist town. A friendly looking middle aged couple pushes a stroller along Main Street. The woman (pushing the stroller) is in a flowery sundress covered with a wrap while the man sips on a to-go coffee with his other hand stuffed in the pocket of his jeans. They have stopped to peer into the window of a vacant store front with a large sign reading: "COMING SOON! CAFE RUMI"

PANEL TWO: Two dickheads on ultra hipstered out, intentionally loud, motorcycles, one Harley, one Triumpth, blast by, waking up their baby and setting off many car alarms. All the people turn and look. An old man covers his ears. The irate woman steps out, yelling after them: "I HOPE YOU FUCKIN' DIE IN A TERRORIST ATTACK YOU FUCKING ASSFUCKS!!!"

APPROPRIATE REACTIONS, Undrawn Cartoons By Philip Bram:

ONE PANEL: Two workers are working the kill floor at a slaughterhouse full of pigs. MAN ONE is doing the killing with the hand held device while MAN TWO corrals the pigs up the ramp into the metal holding slot. 

MAN ONE: "Well, ya know, they say their emotions are almost identical to ours."

MAN TWO: "I believe that. We'd've made pretty good Nazis then right? Haha!"

APPROPRIATE REACTIONS, Undrawn Cartoons By Philip Bram:

PANEL ONE: A piece of shit ghetto dude is standing with a group of other piece of shit ghetto dudes in the parking lot of a gas station. The piece of shit ghetto dude has his back to us and his huge male pit bull which he is only barely holding the leash of. 

PANEL TWO: A man walks past with his 3 year old boy in his arms, pulls out a gun, and shoots the pit bull between the eyes and keeps walking.