International Writers Magazine - Our Tenth Year: One Day in the Doctor's
T.S. Eliot Goes to London
in a room when in comes some guy brandishing a syringe and shouting,
yum yum yum. everyone gets up and screams but Im
thinking hang on a minute this is silly I came here to wait for
the doctor and this is what Ill do. this syringe guy sees
me and realises Im not scared so he gets right up in my face.
hes so close that I can actually see that his skin is made
of the finest china and if he was dropped he would shatter everywhere
the man peers into my eyes and obviously doesnt realise that Im
not blind so he waves the syringe around emphatically and screams yum
yum yum. i hear everyone else that is cowering in the corner let
out the gasp. if I hadnt of heard it I would have known anyway
because the room got a little tighter you see. Anyway I look at the
guy and think for a minute. hes clearly getting impatient so I
rub my nose so hard till it bleeds blue ink and then smile and say yo
ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The man staggers backwards and backwards for miles and miles until he
trips and slumps against the wall like a dead cowboy in an old western.
I look round the room to see if anyone is gonna praise me but they all
still look terrified so I just put on my dark sunglasses and light a
cigarette. I go over to the man who has now dropped his syringe and
offer him drag on my cigarette. He takes uneasily between erect fingers
and bums it. Im annoyed but I dont mind too much cos my
wife has got a tobacco farm in some country somewhere which is pretty
sweet. so Im sitting with the man wearing my sunglasses and he
starts to cry. I ask him what the matter is and he just says my
father never loved me. I look down at the floor and think for
a minute, but it could have been a few hours. I ask the man how he knew
his father never loved him. he crashes his face into his hands like
a prolonged wave above the beaten rocks of the shore. every Christmas
my two brothers would get a train set or a football or something like
that but all I would get every single year would be two maps of the
New York subway system and a dollar bag full of broken glass.
I smiled at the concept of a dollar bag which I didnt think even
existed. Then I thought he needed a reply. I said thats not a
valid reason to decide that his dad didnt love him. He pondered
for a minute and then he concluded that it was. I suggested maybe his
dad was queer. Suddenly the man stopped. He froze almost as though his
muscles were playing musical chairs and the music had stopped. (I suddenly
noticed my nose had stopped bleeding blue ink but had now started to
shrink). The man continued to pause. God I hope that doctor isnt
long. My dad was queer, the man said. I asked him how he
knew. when I was ten years old I came home from school early once
cos I had been sick on Jimmy Fourtooth who coincidently didnt
have a dad he only had three mothers and one of them hated him cos she
was a feminist and Jimmy was a bit of old fashioned type of guy. Anyway
I came home and walked into the living room and the sofa was my father
kissing the local vicar. I remember because Father Grimbley was wearing
the same sunglasses as you.
I took off my sunglasses because I didnt want to be associated
with this bizarity. I asked the man if he was queer and he simply said
no. I asked the man if he was straight and he simply said
no. I asked him if hes ever loved anything and he
muttered well I have always had an erotic passion for paint. The
smell the touch and the appearance. you can manipulate it into something
you want to see and it will let you
thats the important part.
I lit up another cigarette upon hearing this information and watched
Allen Ginsberg do cartwheels past the window. Crazy Allen Ginsberg what
will you do next? I turned to the man and said what an awfully odd thing
was to be in love with paint and he smiled and said thats
me in a nutshell.
I got up to get him a drink from the water cooler and got my foot stuck
in a bright green bucket. just then the doctor came out. I turned to
the needle man and went to say FINALLY, as you do, but he was up again
brandishing his needle and screaming YUM YUM YUM. I said
to him that I thought we were making progress the doctor looked between
the man and me with a puzzled look upon his face as his sideburns fell
onto the floor. would someone like to tell me what in Madonnas
name is going on? I sat the doctor and the man down and relayed
everything that had just happened. The cigarette bumming, Ginsberg,
queer dad and the love of paint. I then excused myself on the basis
that I needed a piss.
When i came back
the doctor was cradling the man in his arms and everyone had left. I'm
so sorry they were both saying. I wandered how long I had been
having a piss for but then I lit another cigarette and put my glasses
back on. I tried to walk over to them to ask what was going on, but
whenever I got close they both started screaming at me. So from a distance
I told the doctor that I think I was coming down with something because
I keep seeing things when laying in bed at night in the mercury mist.
The doctor ignored me so I went to walk out the door and go home. At
the very moment right then and there Andy Warhol walks through the door
with his arms folded and his dark glasses on. As I put out my arms to
wave at him he slips on a banana skin and fall to the floor with a gigantic
explosion of paint. as he does this the doctor drops the man who shatters
on the floor.
So I left this mess of fine china dancing electrically among the liquid
fields of magic. Now I think of it, I never did see that doctor.
© WhitD May 2009
all rights reserved - all comments are the writers' own responsibility
- no liability accepted by hackwriters.com or affiliates.