Fred Sasaki

Characters:

John: A butch-femme boi. He has a sandy-brown lion's mane, philosophical forehead, and is wearing a red-leather, denim-style jacket and dusty-mauve slacks. He is Space Age Caveman 5000.

Paul: A pseudo-everything. He has on an American Apparel T-shirt; Nova check Burberry scarf; APC New Standard unwashed-indigo jeans; gold Nike sport-casual shoes; black- and amber-rimmed, plastic Chanel eyeglasses; and Hobo bag. He looks like a soap-opera extra.

George: A long drink of water. He has a homemade-mod haircut and is wearing black-rimmed, plastic glasses, loafers, and a horizontal-striped sweater. He is British-invasion fab (i.e. "gear").

Ringo: A fuzzy bear. He is wearing a five-point, ivy-plaid cap; Gap dark-denim jacket; black T-shirt; Dickies 874 work pants; black-rimmed, plastic eyeglasses; and Chuck Taylor All Stars. He is a perfect 32, 32.

Julia, Julia: Ocean child. Seashell eyes. Windy smile. Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering, in the sun. Morning moon. Sleeping sand. Silent cloud.

Scene: All the action takes place in a back nook of Simon's Tavern on Clark Street in Andersonville. Six thirtysomething writers sit on two exhausted sofas, drinking and eating Dead Man's Ale and Tombstone Pizza. Two poets flank a useless fireplace, discussing frequent-flyer miles and the smokeless burning of decay. One is dark and one is light. Both are bathed in eau de Perseus. They turn their wrists and stroke their chins and cast shadow flames on John, Paul, George and Ringo, who are carousing à la bourgeois.

George: Fuck rabbits. Fuck elephants and lions and dolphins. We'll kill all of them. We achieved ultimate dominance through language. Poetry is the most advanced manifestation of thought on the planet. Poetry is awesome. I love poetry. Chickens, bird flu, that's nothing.

Paul: That's...intense?

George: Well what's your definition, Paul?

Paul: I...don't...know. (He is prostrate, kneeling on the floor facing the scene, reeling drunk.)

George: Oh come on, Paul,you're an editor for a poetry magazine. You should be able to say something.

Paul:...

John: (Leans in to Paul and whispers) Poetry is the sexual embrace wherein senses are conceived before they are born in sentences.

Paul: That's...what?

John: (Leans in closer) Poetry is the sexual embrace wherein senses are conceived before they are born in sentences.

Paul: That's...great. Wait...what's that from?

John: I wrote it. In a poem. I wrote it on an overnight train to Prague. I had just finished a carton of Gauloises and Wittgensteins's "Tractatus," you know, "Wovon man nicht sprechen kann..."

Paul: Hey everyone...listen to this. Tell them. The poem... definition thing. (They lean in, listening. John stands and hovers over the table, incanting.)

John: Lenses. Tincture tincture! The trees erased. Fences. Poetry is the sexual embrace wherein senses are conceived before they are born in sentences. (Everyone is somewhat embarrassed, says nothing. John begins shaking.)

Ringo: Did you say, "the sexual embrace"?

John: Paul made me say it. (He starts pulling his hair.)

Ringo: Didn't Bukowski say that poetry is like taking a long, hard shit? Or a beer shit or something? Comes out fast and wet?

John: (He looks queasy.) Excuse me...I have to...go...to the bathroom.

(John exits. Julia, Julia enters wearing a full-length parka, slightly flushed. Her black-rimmed plastic glasses are steamy. She smiles wide and sidles up to George. Everyone is slow to recover, and she notices the silence.)

Julia, Julia: Sorry to interrupt your sausage party (looking at the pizza).

Paul: We were just...defining poetry. What's...your...definition? Of poetry?

Julia, Julia: What's the definition of poetry? As much pelvic thrusting as possible? (They are entranced, speechless. She slips off her coat.) I'm hot.

(2006-11-14)

Also by Fred Sasaki

The Agony and the Ecstasy
Hillbilly music is playing loudly and roughed regulars sit back and watch the gentry mingle and dance. Several Tim McGraw look-alikes flirt with tomboys in Cubs jerseys. A glass-eyed bouncer is constipated by the door. Our threesome is in the back corner trying to play pool. No one is winning.
(2006-06-21)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
"I'm on the roof of my apartment building and I can see two people having sex. It's like they're right there."
(2006-06-13)

The Parade of Summer
Decapitated heads of tulips lay splayed over decorative beds along Michigan Avenue as spring turns. The summer wind brings in a thrush of color in the teaming multitude of strangers on the Magnificent Mile. Immense in scope, the classification of the species that take the promenade is far beyond the means of a mere article. Such an endeavor demands a Jacques-Cousteau-like depth and a heavy prescription of Xanax. This being my only caveat, I give you a tasting blanket of the more peculiar anamules on parade, from bulbous suburbanites and tourists to the lean and harrowed hags of the avenue
(2006-05-23)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
"I know how guys are. They're gross like that. They're always masturbating."
(2006-04-11)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2006-03-28)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2006-02-28)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2006-02-14)

Love and Sex: Waxing Poetic
(2006-02-07)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-12-13)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-10-25)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-10-04)

The Agony and the Ecstasy
(2005-09-27)

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