FANZINE

A private library.

The feel of the room is decadent.

Pog sprawls on a couch.

Gomey stands by a large globe. He spins it, once or twice.

Everything is dim.

A small window can be seen on the back wall, center stage.

 

Pog: Gomey?

 

Gomey: I’m not in the mood, man.

 

Pog: Oh. I thought ….

 

Gomey: Well, you thought wrong, man. Because, I am not. (spins the globe). I am not. (spins the globe). I am not like Comast—“On Demand,” you know.

 

Pog: By the way, I lost my glasses.

 

Gomey: Like I’m interested in your eyes. What they see. Covet. And what they don’t. Your brain. Your body. I’m just not in the mood, man. Absolutely not, man. Not. Not. Not. No matter how you slice it. (spins the globe with style).

 

Pog: The memorandum or the manifesto? Which one?

 

Gomey: Why do you have prattle off in such euphemisms when we both know you’re just lusting for it. You’re like a computer, man. A god-damned horny computer. But, I’m not interested. No, I’m not, man.

 

Pog: An index of prioritized contexts. The world with hats or without. Different worlds. The military that lurks like a parasite inside the body of the sacred.

 

Gomey: Yes, yes. Condoms and semen. I get it. I get it. Your desire. Your lust. But, still, I’m not in the mood, man. I’m just not. (spinning the globe)

 

Pog: When I was young things seemed ….

 

Gomey: O, no, you’re not going stop, man, are you, until you’ve made me push myself into you and into you and you, face down there, grunting like a steel beast. And then, suddenly, frozen up like an old PC. And then you’re going to coo, and coo, and make me tell you a story.

 

Pog: The new one? Or the best one?

 

Gomey: But no, man, not tonight. You’re going to have to do it yourself. Do it yourself in your sick little binary bullshit world. (spinning the globe, languidly, carelessly, over and over)

 

Pog: Oh fuck it. Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtagHashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtagHashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag Hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtagHashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtagHashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag hashtag, and so on and so forth …

 

Gomey: Well now, that’s interesting. (Gomey’s entire demeanor has changed. He is almost glowing) It looks like our neighbor’s got himself a Rhino. A good-sized Black Rhino. You know the one with the short, puckered mouth. And you should see it going at those daisies.

 

[Gomey suddenly leaves the globe, rushes to the back window.]

 

Pog:: [Still, on couch, and speaking with great effort.] A rhino, no shit.

 

[Gomey returns to globe.]

 

Gomey: You should see him, man. How virile and fiery. All that tough seething lust. It’s not obvious, man. But I can tell, man. I can tell. O, it’s like a fire that just will not die. (& spins the globe with new energy, dreamily, lustfully, maniacally)

 

Pog: The world is a thing that goes round and round and then no longer goes round.

 

Gomey: (as though hypnotized, like a child, spinning, and spinning the globe) I think I’ll kill you the next time we’re in “media res” as you call it. You pig, you. Yeah, just snap your neck in the middle of it.

 

Pog: We should have some tea. We should have toast. Tea and toast. It’s the perfect way to settle things. My mother would make me tea and toast. She’s dead now.

 

Gomey: That’s too obvious, man. (still in a trance, spinning). That’s just too obvious.

 

Pog: Funny. When I was a kid the do-re-me song made me inconsolably sad. I couldn’t feel anything other than sadness when I heard that part about the doe, a female deer. Strange … Perhaps it was the melody that was doing it to me, moving me towards sadness … A vibrational causation.

 

Gomey: Causation. Causation. You pig, you. Maybe I’ll cut you into pieces and then feed you to the rhino there in the daisies. Or maybe I’ll dump you in the lake. I know how afraid you are of water. Like you’ll get short circuited. You pig, you. You pig, you. Hahahahahahahaha

 

[Pog gets up, in a rush, exists stage left. The sound of puking off stage.]

 

Gomey: And then I’ll tweet all about it. Hashtag rhino. Hashtag you pig, you. Hashtag death. Hashtag OMG why didn’t I think of this when we lived in Alabama. Hashtag Hahahahahahahahaha.

 

[ Gomey stops laughing. Sighs deeply. And then just spins the globe. Over. And over. ]

[ A strange twisted silhouette lurches past the back window. ]

CURTAIN.