Provided by explosiveskull https://twitter.com/kaboomskull
But I'm not one for poetry,
not really entertaining, in my opinion, as the movies, for me,
a bit of comedy or cutting the lawn,
which I enjoy for reasons I don't fully understand.
No, I'm not one for poetry.
I can't say his was unpleasant, exactly.
Really, it's like the little tinkling you hear
from the music box when you open it up,
and you shut it, and it's gone.
And as I was green
and carefree...
famous among the barns,
about the happy yard and singing as the farm was home...
In the sun that is young once only
time let me play and be golden
in the mercy of his means.
And green and golden
I was huntsman and herdsman,
that calves sang to my horn,
the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
and the sabbath rang slowly
in the pebbles of the holy streams.
I appreciate that as I've been mentioned in the newspapers,
the mere gazing upon my person creates a sense of validation...
...thank you.
Like witnessing a very important car accident.
- I love you! - I love you, too.
You bastard!
Thank you.
It is unnatural, the egg.
How was your trip, Mr. Thomas?
Isn't it the embryo of a living thing, a chicken?
The consuming of embryos not even coveted
by the Chinese and they ate puppies.
But the trip? How was the tour?
Oh, the trip was wonderful, Carlos.
Four months of being feted and worshipped...
what we all require by rarely obtain.
Monied rest.
Well, you're here very early today.
And with good cause, Carlos.
- Cause? - The weather was
particularly fine this morning, the sky clear.
Even the birds in their song were praising
the demi-paradise that is us.
- That sounds nice. - Hmm.
So I thought what better place to come than the White Horse,
which smells of piss, stale beer,
and the hidden depths of feral creatures.
- One scotch, then? - Double.
First one of the day, very important.
And it must not suffer in anonymity,
we shall name it, you and I.
Return of the Prodigal Son, Carlos.
Hi, Mr. Thomas!
Chaps!
What do you think, we're naming drinks.
What do you mean?
Giving them names, specific names... names, monikers,
designations, captions, titles, labels, to label, to dub,
to christen, to baptize, to name drinks as we must name
all things, to change them, yes?
No?
Oh, well, I suppose it's early in the morning.
We shall call this first drink... Innocence, which is,
after all, how all things begin, without guide or intention.
Was that straight up or with soda, sir?
Innocence by it's very nature, Carlos, is unsullied.
...gentlemen.
Good morning, good morning, good fucking morning.
Yes, he was, uh, he was very much appreciated
wherever we went, um...
concerning the money, it wasn't, it wasn't
a large sum of money, but it was, it was more
- than he had earned before. - What about the drinking?
I would say, I would say that's exaggerated.
What is?
The reporting of his drinking, I would say that's,
I would say that's very exaggerated.
- Exaggerated, really? - Yes.
How do you mean... "exaggerated"?
Um, exaggerated, um... made bigger, extreme,
more than it is, exaggerated, as in exaggerated.
Okay. Let's accept that.
Shouldn't you have stopped him?
I mean, before what happened?
Are you a liar, Mr. Brinnan?
It is with the greatest pride that I have the honor
of introducing one of the most unique voices of our generation.
Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Dylan Thomas.
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs,
about the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
the night above the dingle starry,
time let me hail and climb,
golden in the heydays of his eyes
and honored among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
and once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
trail with daisies and barley
down the rivers of the windfall light.
Nothing like a good piss if it offers the pleasure of relief
and the delight of knowing there's more room at the inn,
so a second, please, Carlos, and a third.
What?
Bartender... not brother's keeper.
Fix on me no harm, Carlos.
Actually, he meant it rhetorically.
Who?
God? The brother's keeper reference.
Don't take it away.
Think of it as the sadness of the half-forgotten
of the vague scent of what it once was.
He was only going to wash it.
Shall we wash away the past, Teddy?
He's just gonna clean the glass.
Yes, shouldn't we hold the past precious?
Isn't that why we label our experiences?
- Label? - That awful day
or that summer at your parents.
Nothing unnamed can be precious
because the unnamed is lost, combined, forgotten.
- I forget things. - But in naming things
we change the essence of that we wish to remember.
Memory, what a mess.
It's as much fiction as it is truth.
All the same, it's how we order our world,
so let's name things.
What are you gonna name that one?
- Enthusiasm. - Enthusiasm?
Enthusiasm, Carlos, because the second double scotch
makes the world a pleasanter place,
one for which we might have some enthusiasm.
Who knows what the future might bring?
Perhaps some enthusiasm for some new gained wisdom
or an adventure worthy of enthusiasm, looking at
the end of the bar... in the corridor, leading to the loo.
Yes, I'm coming!
So you're off, then?
I am.
No drink in there, I hope.
No.
Say good-bye to your father, children.
Ooh, I'll miss you all so very, very, very, very,
very much, I'll miss you all.
Daddy will write to us and he'll send great gobs
of money so we can all have nice things.
That's why he's going to America and leaving us behind.
Just because he went before and didn't send hardly
any money back, we shouldn't think
that the same will happen again.
Silly mummy.
Brinnan.
Ah... Dylan!
- I was worried. - Terrible flight.
Very sorry, but your plane landed two hours ago, Dylan.
Full of gnomes, international spies
and Presbyterians... horrible.
- Did you not know I was here? - Yes.
- Yes? - Yes.
- Yes, well, I was. - Yes, well, you were,
but Presbyterians, Brinnan.
Yes, um, let's get you to your hotel.
No, no, we'll have a heroic night, I must make it up to you.
I can tell you're upset, we'll go to the Minetta Tavern
and have a few drinks there, meet some old friends
and then on to the San Remo...
No, no, no, no, no, but I would like...
Save the best for our return to New York...
the White Horse, my promiscuous muse...
but let's gather our rosebuds while we may.
This is a gift, I've been wanting to give that to you.
Gift? Thank God, I thought it might be
that awful book you've been working on.
And I'm very glad it is.
We met in a pub, of course, the Wheatsheaf in Fitzrovia,
we were, uh, immediately attracted to each other
and started what was to become a long series of...
wonderful nights together.
Do you remember our first time, Dylan?
Yes, of course.
It was a time of great wonderment.
You took off your trousers and you didn't have
any underpants on, which was slightly grotesque.
But then you never wore them... why?
Hmm, it's a time-saving measure.
You ran... ran into bed and got under the sheets
as quickly as you could.
You still had your jacket and shirt on and your socks.
I think it's 'cause you didn't want me to see your funny,
little, pink body, do you remember that?
I remember that.
Time stood still, and cloistered from the world,
safe from it all.
Tempests could've raged behind the walls and waves
could've bust away the city, but we were safe... magic.
You had such a funny body then.
It was like a pink turtle without its shell.
Yes, you keep saying... it's a recurring theme.
That's all we remember, images, I suppose,
some of them fixed in the mind.
Well, why wasn't mine like any other?
Why should that be any different for you or any other woman?
Then we went to visit Augustus, do you remember that?
And he didn't know anything about us.
And you and I, we got in the backseat
and we kissed and fondled.
And he could see it all in the mirror.
Made him drive faster,
and faster which only made the fondling more pleasurable.
Imagine, one's love of squeezing your breast
being your last sensation before death.
Do you remember that?
I remember.
And then when we got back to the house
Augustus wanted to fight me.
And I did rather well, I think.
No! He beat you up, terribly, you were so pathetic
and wounded, your face all red with cuts and bruises!
- I loved you then. - And I loved you.
Well, perhaps if you had been beaten more often.
Well, had I known you liked it so much,
I'd have beaten myself like a flagellist.
Well, had I known that, then I would've asked.
Will you not come with me to New York, Caitlin?
I won't be able to breathe without you, it's so...
noisy there and so... tall.
Caitlin... Caitlin?
How did this happen?
It may not be as bad as all that.
It is a cataclysm.
- Potential. - It is a cataclysm,
it is apocalyptic.
Really? Dorothy.
Really? Roger, shut up, I am speaking.
My God! This is Vassar College!
And you... bringing a drunken,
debaucherous libertarian to this college...
I... I'm in charge of booking the speakers
for the Autumn term.
Oh?
Of course you are.
Not the Empress of Russia, or a fairy princess?
No, you are in charge of booking the speakers
for the Autumn term.
That is an honorary position and should not be taken seriously
by anyone, least of all, anyone charged with your supervision.
I'm looking at her, Roger, but I'm thinking of you.
What is your name, dear?
Penelope Goldstein.
Well, Penelope, if this man
should embarrass the college in any way,
if anything at all should happen, I promise you
that your time at Vassar College is over.
Am I making myself clear?
It's very, very important.
Yes, yes, I promise you he'll be there, yes.
Very important.
Um, yes, Vassar is very important to him
and you have my personal assurance.
- Thank you. - Yes, All right,
- thank you very much. - Thank you.
- Oh! - More troubles.
Some young girl worried about...
Least of your problems.
Ha-ha-ha, you laugh at me, Felton,
- but to be around genius... - Brinnan, please.
No, it's like the caring of a golden chalice,
- is that ridiculous? - Yes.
- Or a magical elixir? - Stop.
That when you drink it, the world is forever altered.
Oh, it must be bleak for you, I am sorry.
I just don't want
to ask him for anything.
No, of course not, just a few phrases for the jacket
of your book, which will put you on the map, pay all your bills
and validate your hitherto pointless loitering
on this planet.
And don't do your injured look, it gives me a rash.
Yes, I would like for him to find merit in my book...
is that too much to ask?
Who could say it was good or bad, and who cares?
Do find a way to try and flog
the massive pile of crap, I sense.
It's not crap, Felton, it's my life's work.
Brinnan, we all have lives,
it doesn't mean they're important.
What did he say?
He told me not to worry my little girlish head.
Okay, then, that's good, right?
Thanks, Alexi.
I didn't mean that, I mean that
- it's good he's coming, right? - Right.
Well, maybe, you know, it wasn't worth all the worry?
Why do you always have to say something stupid, Alexi?
I prefer when you just say innocuous and sincere things
you heard your professor say but then you have to improv.
Jeopardizing four years of college to get some drunk poet
doesn't really seem like the best thing to do, does it?
I'd like you to stop talking now.
Smoke, or something, pose, do anything,
- but please be quiet. - I mean, who is he?
- I loved him. - Pardon?
I love him... I... I love his ideas, I love his voice,
I love his language, I love everything about him,
I'd have his child if he asked me to.
- You are joking. - Which part?
The child.
No, that's the part I mean most of all, I'm actually
checking my ovulation cycle,
hoping it will correspond to his visit.
You're mad and not funny. You don't even know him.
It's so much easier to love people we don't know,
don't you think?
Oh, I get it, you're making fun of me.
Yes, I am.
Good news, gentlemen, more room at the inn.
Like the crew of a sinking ship,
we evacuated through all available portals.
Glad to hear it.
- Did you leave a mess? - A little one.
I daren't look, and that'll be the poor sod
that has to clean that.
You are inscrutable, Carlos.
Am I?
Yes, do you read?
- What? Newspapers? - No.
- Books? - Yes, books.
- Yeah. - What sort of books?
You wouldn't like them much.
Something salacious, I hope, or saucy, detective novel
or some tales of the old west
or perhaps you read the Holy Bible
out of respect for your Catholicism.
I don't read saucy detective novels
and I don't really read tales about the old west.
- What I read... - Pornography, of course.
I have a completely open mind in that regard, there's some
very good pornography, my wife's diaries, for example.
Not pornography.
Ah, well, you shall remain inscrutable, then, Carlos.
But a drink must not be a mystery,
a drink must have a name, what shall we call this?
You're the king, you name it.
Ah, Teddy, for you happen to mistook me all this while,
I live with bread, like you.
Feel, want, taste grief, need friends, subjected,
thus how can you say to me that I'm a king?
Yeah, well, you're the king, so you name 'em.
Well, I had some time to ruminate on this, as it happens,
when I was indisposed in the WC, not always a place
of inspiration, but today served.
- We shall call this drink... - Yes?
- Hope. - Hope?
Yes, you see, the enthusiasm for which the second drink
was named can seem unfounded.
The ordinary world is not an easy place, but with hope,
the simple can be replaced by the faintest magorical,
and the third drink brings us that hope.
Hope that simple things which only moments ago
seemed banal but in time acquire magical qualities.
Miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.
What was that you just said?
- Just now? - Yes, just now.
Oh, the miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.
- Hmm. - Am I bothering you, sir?
- No, no, not at all. - That is beautiful.
Where did you hear that?
I don't know. Maybe the nuns.
Is it from one of the Gospels? They probably beat it...
Not the Gospels, no, Shakespeare, Shakespeare.
How do you like that?
I think our friend here is a bit of a dark horse, Dylan.
- A dark horse. - "As You Like It".
We had great nuns, great.
No, theater, poetry.
- Not a Gospel? - Yes.
- I know some limericks. - Limericks?
There was a young lady from Lunt...
No, please, Carlos, no.
Sorry, Mr. Thomas, I... didn't mean to offend,
they're meant comically, I think.
- Nuns! - I haven't heard of
the place either, but it rhymes with...
In any case, rhyming is a virtue, not a necessity, Carlos.
Bless you.
Where'd it go?
Where'd what go? I'm sorry.
The money.
- What are you implying? - Implying?
I'm not implying anything, I'm just asking.
Well, you're asking a very implying sort of way.
So, apart from the vomiting, the cramps and the cough,
is there anything unusual?
- The diarrhea. - Yes, of course, the diarrhea.
D-i-a-r-h-e-a.
Thank you.
Anything else?
- No. - Just the diarrhea.
Well, yes, and the cramps and the vomiting.
And the cough, yes, of course, anything else?
Just those.
All right, then, good.
Call me if you feel any worse.
Yes, of course.
- Uh... - Yes?
An idea's just run through my mind.
Really?
Please stop me if you think that I sound too odd.
But have you thought about giving up the drink?
- Pardon? - Giving up the drink?
What, with all the discomfort of the diarrhea,
- the cramps and the vomiting? - Yes.
Well, how would I put up with it without a drink?
Quite. Just thought I would inquire.
To begin at the beginning.
It is spring, moonless night in the small town,
starless and bible-black,
the cobble streets silent and the hunched,
courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible
down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack,
fishingboat-bobbing sea.
Dear Dylan, I am glad the trip's going well.
I know your earnings were a fortune with which
I had thought we might buy a house.
The houses are blind as moles
(though moles see fine tonight in the snouting, velvet dingles)
or blind as Captain Cat there in the muffled middle by the pump
and the town clock, the shops in mourning,
the Welfare Hall in widows' weeds.
However, I am somewhat less ambitious,
enough to feed the children until next Wednesday
would be gratefully received.
It's not so much their nutritional needs with which
I am concerned as their constant reference to their hunger,
which distracts one from engaging them
in otherwise edifying discourse.
Love, Cait.
And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town
are sleeping now.
Does anyone really care about the sick?
Apart from their family, small circle of friends.
Gandhi, maybe, but, my God, the man wore a loincloth.
And apart from him, the sick are but cold
in the great furnace of indifference.
Then there are the famous, we know their names,
but do they possess some quality we do not?
Are they so much more than we are?
Why should we mourn their passing any more than we mourn
the passing what is now this cadaver?
It is only that we see ourselves in the famous
that makes them matter.
But if we do not, bring on the cadavers.
There's always a use for them.
When I first met him... Dylan... he had a...
a childlike quality that was irresistible.
We met in a pub... the Wheatsheaf, Fitzrovia...
we were introduced and pretty soon he was talking
without punctuation to anyone who would listen,
he was drunk, of course, but...
Not that he didn't mean it, but one wants a partner sober
and responsible when saying that sort of thing,
at least from a legal perspective.
Don't you agree?
Dylan, darling...
Dylan, wake up.
You must be Carlos.
You must Caitlin.
Well, yes, and no.
I'm actually a manifestation of Dylan's drunken,
feverish and dyspeptic imagination,
that's why I'm not here, here.
If you're interested in the rest of the story,
when Dylan and I met, Augustus and I were still lovers,
though he was a perfect bastard.
But I had no intention of altering which was, by then,
a perfectly satisfactory arrangement because a young man
had put his head in my lap and told me that he loved me.
Do you remember, Dylan?
I remember, I spoke as I felt, I loved you,
I loved you from the moment I saw you.
I was certain.
Is that perfectly ridiculous, don't you agree?
I don't get involved in domestic disputes.
He did have an elfin quality, though.
He was so very slim, do you remember?
So slim, so pale... so soft.
Like a turtle just out of its shell.
Well, I was a young man, like any other.
You were a turtle,
or a pink reptile with no muscle.
- Did I seem so unappealing? - I didn't say unappealing.
Though my taste does run to the strange.
Will you come to me, my love?
I'm lonely and I care so little for everything now.
I think of you.
Dylan... money is short.
Send some at once.
I am entirely serious.
We shall have to sell one of the children.
Which one do you recommend?
I worry, Carlos.
- About that cough? - No, not about the cough.
That I will be forgotten by all except young girls
at ladies colleges and young men whose earlier pubescent
awkwardness has caused them to think they've suffered
more than others and should therefore grow beards.
- That's what you worry about. - Yes! Sometimes.
I worry about snakes.
- Another? - Yes, why not?
I was thinking how easy seduction is.
I think I know what you mean,
I haven't done too badly myself.
Yes, well done, Carlos, I was speaking of seduction
in the broader sense,
causing those to hear one to love one,
a group seduction, a hypnosis of an entire audience.
Hmm. That sounds harder than hitting on some depressed girl
who just broke up with her boyfriend.
Yes, but it's all trick, Carlos.
Is that right?
Are you gonna name that one?
Ah, yes, the fourth, the fourth, the fourth, the fourth.
We shall call this... recalcitrance.
A lack of respect...
...for the self-righteous...
...and higher demands...
...to stop before excess.
To recalcitrance! Hmm.
Yes, there's problems.
Drunkenness... rudeness, lunging after women.
Yes, yes, yes, perhaps artists have different views
of things, it's the excitement of the iconoclastic mind.
Oh, I used to expect so little in return.
- Oh, yes. - How long?
Eight years.
That's a long time writing a book, eight years.
It's hard to finish,
you open yourself up to judgement and condemnation.
Your life wholly in the hands of someone else.
Oh, my life in his hands.
People put their lives in my hands all the time,
stop taking it seriously after a while.
I just want him to like it.
And failing that, to like it, for all you've done for him?
Have you ever heard him read?
Just an eye chart, but he did it beautifully.
If you could hear him read I think you'd understand...
That he's better than we are.
It was all shining, it was Adam and maiden,
the sky gathered again, and the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
in the first spinning place,
the spellbound horses walking warm out of the whinnying
green stable on to the fields of praise.
And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
under the new-made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
in the sun born over and over, I ran my heedless ways.
I will read it, Brinnan.
I wasn't talking about that, Dylan.
- No? - No.
But if you don't mind me asking, how far along had you gotten?
Well, coming up to the interesting bit, I hope.
Ah, and what is the interesting bit?
Well, you would know, dear boy,
I haven't got there yet, have I?
Number five, Mr. Thomas!
Freewheel!
He's rather beautiful.
Will you name it beauty, then?
No, on, no, no, we shall call it faith.
- Faith? - Yes, faith.
You calling something faith. Why faith?
Don't offend my customers, please, Felix.
He doesn't mean any harm, Carlos.
Who's doing the harm here?
Faith that the drinks that follow
or whatever is to follow holds great promise!
Faith for those who have it has more certainty than hope,
but less evidence,
making it all the more remarkable
and therefore beautiful.
To faith! Cheers!
To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary.
To one without faith, no explanation is possible.
- Carlos. Carlos, Carlos... - What?
- That? - Yes, that!
St. Thomas Aquinas!
- Oh, the nuns again! - Absolutely, sir.
- He has a good memory. - I don't know about that.
Just a bartender who whips out the odd phrase
to impress the ladies.
Oh, the ladies respond in a big way to St. Thomas Aquinas.
You'd be surprised, sir.
It doesn't mean anything to me,
it just sounds pretty, sounds like it means something.
My dad used to talk very preachy to my mother,
then he would beat the fuck out of her.
I figured it wasn't what he said that mattered
or how pretty he sounded or whether it meant anything.
And speaking of money, Dylan,
Brinnan tells me you're inclined to buy everyone's drinks
and are betting on horses.
I would point out, in passing, that your children
are virtually without clothes or food
and that we are having to rely on charity.
Brinnan also mentioned...
that you have a mistress.
I do hope she's not the expensive kind.
One of the more economical variety in our circumstances
would seem more appropriate.
You are a bastard.
The children send their love.
There they are.
So this is the, uh, sixth, is it, Carlos?
There are five glasses on the bar, Dylan,
so that must be the sixth and seventh.
Yes, thank you, Felix.
None of my business, but couldn't you stop now?
I could, Felix, but the fifth is faith
and it proved unfounded, it was inevitable, we all lose faith
at some point, at least for a little while,
then comes that ennui, that mordant contemplation
of how little future holds and our own certain death...
To new mistakes.
That seems sort of sad, Mr. Thomas.
Yes, it is a little sad, Teddy.
But do not despair because here is the seventh.
Is that a good one?
Oh, this is a good one, this is resurrection.
Oh, stop.
The spirit, which only moments ago seemed so bound
to the earth now seems to soar above and our companions
who formerly seemed so tedious now seem to offer insights
that we are certain to remember, if not forever,
then certainly until lunchtime next week.
To resurrection.
Do you mean us, Mr. Thomas?
- Mean you, Teddy? - Tedious companions?
No, no, not you, no, shh, I meant the others.
Damn it.
I don't know where he is.
He's not in his room at the Chelsea
and that girl keeps calling.
I called the San Remo,
- the Minetta. - White Horse Tavern.
Twice... they said he wasn't there.
Well, there are only a few hundred other bars in New York.
If you have a yellow pages, there's hope.
He promised he'd be done with the book by tonight.
Perhaps he's in the library reading it now.
Okay, you know, you know, Felton, for a friend, you are...
What do you expect? He's been nothing but trouble.
- Him? - This tour,
it's wearing you down.
Your constant good cheer is a redeeming quality, Brinnan,
try not to lose that.
You're right, I mean, he does find the coeds
at the colleges a bit distracting.
"The Bermuda shorts," he says. Ugh.
At times he stands too close to them and...
- And? - Makes suggestions.
- Oh. - And the drinking... God.
- But no matter how... - Drunk.
Yes... he is strangely reliable.
Yes, he has vices, but he still has principles.
He will read it, I'm certain of it.
In any case, his wife is on the three o'clock plane,
I booked the flight myself. Another great favor.
You're a kind man, Brinnan, you take some pride in that.
But this great favor, I wonder,
is it a kindness or a manipulation?
If you're suddenly becoming wise to the ways of the world,
I would find that disturbing. Say it isn't so.
No, I, I don't speak your language,
you do realize that, yes? Or no?
Anyway, he... he put his head in my lap,
like a child, and he said, sotto voce...
- Sotto voce? - Oh, you understand sotto voce?
Si, understand, understand.
Yes... he, he said that he loved me, and that
I was beautiful, and that we were going to get married.
He was very drunk, but doesn't that make someone
more truthful or, or less so?
Do you have thoughts in this regard?
Dylan, I'm sorry, I know this is not a good time, however...
You are, if I haven't told you, Brinnan, a wonderful man.
- Oh. Thank you... - And I mean that,
not in the overly hyperbolic north American sense,
you truly are a wonderful human being.
Well, that does mean a great deal to me, Dylan...
And this particular cow is deeply appreciative.
- I'm sorry, cow? - Cow, as in cash cow,
cow as in giver of milk, cash cow as in giver of money.
Dylan, I do not see you
as a cash cow, I...
Of course, also, a trophy and an ornament.
Sir, I'm not following you.
I understand, intuition not being
your strongest suit, Brinnan.
This tour, this... tour, all these cities, all this...
time, not enjoying a single moment of it...
what do I have to show for it?
I did this for the money, but despite these 20 cities,
20 examples of low theater,
I have absolutely nothing to show for it.
Caitlin and the children are virtually starving.
Who's responsible for this?
- Concerning the money... - Who is responsible for this,
Brinnan, I love them, dearly, I miss them.
Tell me, who's responsible?
Me, I suppose.
How's your wonderful,
wonderful book coming along, young Malcolm?
Ah, well, I should be asking you that.
Have you had some time to read and...
Um, I wouldn't say that, no, not completely.
Mm-hmm, of course.
Um, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.
If I could possibly have it back, I found a typist
that can make another copy of it and it would be very...
You mean the copy you gave me was the only copy.
- Yes. - The only copy...
why would you...
But surely there's another draft.
No.
Brinnan... thank you so very, very much
for putting your trust in me, I... I shan't forget this.
There are a few things as gratifying
as the study of alcoholism.
The thing about an alcoholic's body
is that rarely do we see such a direct causality
between an activity...
...and its effect on physiology.
First of all, alcohol causes stomach secretions and...
dilates the blood vessels in the skin
so that, though the drinker's actually losing body heat,
he is feeling warm.
The immediate effect of alcohol,
that which we like, results from depression...
...of the nervous system,
so there is a what feels like a stimulant effect,
but actually, clinically, that is because there is
a depression in the part of the brain
that inhibits our actions, so,
far from loosening us up...
alcohol is depressing us,
one part of the brain at a time.
One Christmas was so much like another,
in those years around the sea-town corner now
and out of all sound except the distant speaking...
Why do you stay with me, then?
You have so little feeling.
Uncertainty.
Uncertainty whether the option for anything better exists.
Lack of energy to explore that option,
and the hope that the option with which we are stuck
might transmogrify into something else.
You know, it's strange...
how we choose our life partner.
We shop so wisely for everything else,
but we throw judgement out of the window when we marry.
We don't consider the investment or the return or the downside.
We meet somebody, we see them for a while and then
we stay with forever, or what feels like forever.
It's a very strange way to shop.
- Did it seem like forever? - Longer.
I know what you mean.
Oh, not that some of us haven't got lucky.
I find the constant reassurance from radio commentators
that you're a genius hugely reassuring,
especially as we watch you drink our money away.
"Do something," he said,
and we threw our snowballs in the smoke.
I think we missed Mr. Prothero,
and ran out of the house to the telephone box.
"Let's call the police as well," Jim said, "and the ambulance,
and Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."
By the seaside, hearing the noise of birds,
hearing the raven coughing winter stinks, my busy heart
who shutters as she talks sheds the syllabic blood
and drains her words.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
drives my red blood that dries the mouthing streams,
turns mine to wax, and I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
how at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
Dylan...
I suppose this is a bit late.
I'm sorry.
Sorry.
There's any consolation,
I've hurt you less than you've hurt me.
You have hurt me.
You love me, Dylan?
I appreciate that as I've been mentioned in the newspapers,
the mere gazing upon my person cerates a sense of validation...
- We love you, Dylan! - Thank you.
Like witnessing a very important car accident.
We love you!
I love you too.
William Butler Yeats.
Thank you.
William Butler Yeats.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
the falcon cannot hear the falconer.
Things fall apart, the center cannot hold.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
the blood dimmed tide is loosed.
And everywhere, the ceremony of innocence...
Yes, I understand, thank you.
Are you all right?
Yes, I'm fine.
You found him?
He's at the White Horse, he's been there since nine.
Hmm. How much?
Seven, eight doubles.
Well, perhaps I shouldn't have given you that, but...
Where was it found?
On... Charles Street, and apparently
there were a f...
Is it really you?
You've finally come to me?
No. You're drunk.
I'm your hallucination.
Well, there are advantages.
Advantages?
As your hallucination I can say whatever you want me to.
Every man's dream.
As your wife I would never do that.
Ah.
Ah? Ah, as in let's have another drink?
Why don't you get drunk and smell of your own vomit
and let what's left of your body rot?
If it's my hallucination, why did I get Vlad the Impaler?
- Pardon me, sir? - Speaking to myself, Carlos.
You know, the wind, north by northwest.
- That would... - He...
That would be two doubles, then.
Yes, thank you, thank you.
- I'm only 39, Carlos. - Thirty-nine?
I'm only 39 years of age.
I thought you were much older.
So much time wasted.
And by who?
- The ninth is... - Listen to me, Dylan...
- The ninth is regret. - Dylan.
We cannot undo or redo the past
and we're never certain whether we've lost or gained.
And still we regret all the same.
I like that one.
Good, Teddy, because this...
How can you say you love me and behave like this?
...this is the tenth love again.
Do you love me, Dylan?
And again, and again, and again, and again.
You're taking your time with that one, sir.
Yes, I am, Felix, because,
you see, this already has a name...
- So do you? - And a function.
Do you mean that I should sacrifice my life for you?
- Possibly, in part. - I have!
- Possibly, you have, in part. - No, I mean my life.
What's gone you've taken or I've given or lost.
What's it called, then, sir?
Then tenth, Carlos, is excess.
What else can it be called but excess?
Most of life's events and turmoils have been experienced,
so there's little point in carrying on, but we do.
The optimistic, out of curiosity, and the rest of us
because we see no alternative
than masked guests at one own's party.
What the hell do you mean
when you say I have taken your life?
If we have loved each other,
then we have taken each other's lives!
And they were freely given! So, do you love me, Dylan?
If I loved you, if I loved you, then your infidelity
would have caused me suffering, and I have suffered...
- Oh, please! - So you can say,
if it's important to you, that yes, I have loved you.
Oh, please, Dylan!
In fact, you've given me ample opportunity to love you...
- Dylan! - ...repeatedly!
- Again and again! - Dylan.
Should I forgive your infidelity?
My God! The torture of mind you've provided, to give me
the chance to understand what you mean by love!
- Dylan, please. - A definition, love is
the agony one provides to the person you care for most!
Dylan... please.
Please what, Caitlin?
Please, please, can you fuck someone else?
Please, should I forgive you?
And that ridiculous girl.
- That does not burden me? - She was of no consequence!
- But it was first! - It wasn't important!
It broke my heart!
Your heart that gave you an excuse!
You're just a bloody drunk and bloody man!
I will...
I will bloody drink!
The eleventh is disappointment.
Disappointment at not stopping after ten, but also
at everything into which we've invested our faith,
nothing deserving.
Twelve, heh, 12, 12, 12 is sadness,
which is the great shade that hovers behind us
like a thief with a cudgel.
What's gone and what's past help should be past grief.
I'm not even going to ask, Carlos.
What?
Has a... has a woman ever been unfaithful to you?
Depends on what you mean by "unfaithful."
I had no idea there were several meanings.
What I mean is, has a woman you loved
ever had physical intimacies with another man?
- Physical intimacy? - Jesus Christ, Carlos,
has a wife or girlfriend of yours ever fucked someone else?
Oh, right, yes. Bitch, a bitch.
And was she unfaithful with several men
- at several different times? - You think I'm stupid?
Of course, every situation is different, Mr. Thomas.
But what if you still loved her?
- Why would I do that? - Yes, Carlos,
why, why would you do that?
Why would you do that when your trust was violated?
And all your secret, little special intimacies
weren't secret anymore,
and when the invalid is violated, love them?
- Why do that, Carlos, hmm? - Exactly.
Ah, love, let us be true to one another, for the world,
which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams,
so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy,
nor love, nor light, nor certitude,
nor peace, nor help for pain.
Ah, thank you very much for coming today.
I'm sorry, is this everyone?
This is, yes?
Um, yes, in his poetry would be discursive
for no particular reason other than ennui.
We called our tour an endless journey of sameness.
Persons, as rule, more generously doling out
responsibility than they are in the giving of gifts.
As we muffle the noise of the world
there is nothing as erroneous like children.
There comes the remembrance of things past.
When a person dies, we like to see it as someone else's fault,
presuming there was someone else to blame.
I've spoken to him in a bar and he would look at me
with those glazed eyes and I didn't see
the faintest glimmer of comprehension.
Somehow, he would, he would be where he needed to be,
with or without me.
They are elusive, the spectra at the top of the stairs.
A shade, a vapor... frighteningly clear.
It's much preferable believing
your world godless and uncaring.
If someone is to blame, there is order in the world.
Sometimes he'd be so drunk he could barely stand,
you'd think his lips were incapable of movement
until he would read and then, bam!
God... it would all change,
and it was magical, magical.
But if the world is not ordered...
but if none of us are responsible for any event,
even those that occur in our own lives...
What a terrifying place the world would be...
or is, already.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
because their words had forked no lightning,
they do not go gentle into that good night.
Thirteen... is bravado, come full circle from up.
It is the act in absence of faith or hope
that draws attention to oneself.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight...
And who can resist an audience?
So, naturally, 14 is a requirement for one's public,
and having got them into the hall with 13, one must perform!
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage... rage against the dying of the light.
Uncertainty.
Uncertainty whether the option
for anything better should exist.
Or lack of energy to explore the options
and hope that the option with which you are stuck
might transmogrify into something else.
And I'm not going to ask you this time
to stop drinking.
I'm glad you agree.
No, that's really not the question.
Exactly my view.
I'm going to ask you if you want to die.
- What a curious notion. - Do you?
I should like to see my own funeral.
I think everyone would.
I could give the eulogy, I think I'd do rather a good job.
Do you wish to die, Mr. Thomas?
You must tell me.
- Doctor, I... - I'm entirely serious.
I have children.
My angels, who I adore.
I have Caitlin.
I wish she was here,
I could put my head in her lap and sleep.
And for you, I wish she was here.
But if you wish to see your family again,
you must stop drinking, now.
You must rest, you must eat if you are to live.
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
with the man in the wind and the west moon.
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
they shall have stars at elbow and foot,
though they go mad they shall be sane,
though they sink through the sea they shall rise again,
though lovers be lost love shall not,
and death shall have no dominion.
He's drunk.
- You can't know that. - Look at him.
- You wouldn't understand. - I understand drunk.
He's not gonna be able to speak tonight.
Yes, he will.
He will.
Excuse me, um...
Mr. Thomas?
Say that again?
We... I have come from Vassar to help you.
To help me?
To help you find your way to the college today.
Well, that's very generous of you, but...
I must ask you, do I look confused?
No, no.
A little drunk, perhaps? Do I seem drunk to you?
No, I don't think you're drunk, I, I...
I think you're marvelous, I, I think that you make
the commonplace magical and the magical seem real and...
Brinnan!
This young lady seems to be in love with me, I think.
Um, if I might have a word with you?
Not now, Brinnan. Who are these, Carlos?
- Your fans. - Fans? I don't need fans,
I need idolaters, those who love me.
What are your names?
- Alexi. - Penelope.
Lexi and Penelope,
you're making those up, aren't you?
No.
Nom du plume.
What are you, pith-helmeted hunters,
searching for some wildebeest
or some super-annuated literary figure?
They are our real names.
My God.
I must insist, Dylan,
that we have this conversation, please.
- A drink, Mr. Brinnan? - Well, Lexi and Penelope...
Penelope and Alexi, tell me,
did your parents think themselves...
unusual?
Meet my dear, dear friend, the prosaically named Brinnan,
and this is Carlos, and this is my drinking partners,
Mr. Rosencrantz and Mr. Guildenstern.
Mr. Rosencrantz, Mr. Guildenstern,
please meet my new friends, Penelope and Alexi.
- Oh, you're from abroad. - No, they're not.
- Oh. - Oh, exactly.
Those your real names?
Because our names really aren't Rosencrantz and...
I found this, Dylan.
- Do you recognize this? - What is it?
It's a muddied page from my book,
I found it on the streets.
- Extraordinary. - Yes.
Yes, this is just extraordinary.
Where is it? Where is it?
Don't become agitated, Brinnan,
it doesn't suit you.
A page must've blown away, that's all.
Mm-mm, it's not just a page, Dylan, you know that.
Perhaps someone wrote exactly the same thing as you did
and by some strange coincidence left it in the street
and you thought it was yours.
Dylan, this is the title page of my book, that's my name,
John Malcolm Brinnan, do you see that?
Ah. Yes, yes, yes, yes, there is...
that is too much of a coincidence.
But when, when we'll see
Brinnan, when we'll see Gautier,
Brinnan, hmm? When, when?
I won't tell you until you tell me where my book is.
Don't you bully me, you dog's cock!
You may remember the great explorer, Captain Oates,
tried to discover the South Pole.
There was no food, his men were getting hungry and...
before he stepped out into the blizzard he turned to them
and said in the most quintessential of British
fashions and I say this with some pride, he said,
"I'm going outside now, I may be some time."
Unfortunately, my wicked witch arrives soon,
and my love for her makes our inevitable conversions
impossible, but we may share our imaginings, Penelope.
Lexi.
Penelope, I'm confused,
should I be anticipating Tolstoy or Greek?
Pardon?
Mmm, of course, in your case, with your name, Tolstoy!
Melancholy Alexi... young, handsome, somewhat impetuous,
dissolute soldier return from the Front, lovingly,
adoring his beautiful but vain cousin Penelope Ivanovich.
It's getting late, and he's fucking drunk.
- Lexi. - Do you propose to judge me
on your vast life experience, Alexi Ivanovich?
Fuck you.
Look, Alexi Ivanovich, chaste Penelope,
waiting for her Ulysses to return
from the treacherous Aegean.
Imagine her chagrin on discovering
that you are just another sailor.
Not Ulysses, just someone
with the impossible name of Alexi.
If only names could make us unusual, but would Ulysses
to present himself to her
like the mighty king he truly is?
You know nothing about us.
Oh, but I do, Alexi Ivanovich, I'm a poet,
I speak for us all.
He is pathetic. Penny, let's go.
No, I'm staying, Alexi.
Witness now, Alexi Ivanovich,
the vagaries of the female sensibility.
Dylan.
Dylan?
Before you utter another word, Brinnan,
I have no wish, nor will,
please, a single syllable of your book.
I have no interest whatsoever,
I have no prosaic personality when I meet it.
I'm sure your pages, each and everyone of them,
is filled and full of your banalities.
It is your métier.
- Back again. - Yes.
I thought you were just a figment of his imagination.
Well, I am, but I'm not going in there, it's disgusting.
My God!
Oh, good.
Severe, and such velocity.
Projectile vomiting, probably caused
by pyloric muscle spasms.
Everyone's pretending... you, me, him.
I mean, he doesn't seem to care much.
About what?
About you.
No, someone, please, I really can't ruin this jacket.
Someone, please?
Thank you.
- And? - What?
His sickness, the color and the consistency.
Red and runny, mainly.
You know, you can't trust your feelings with him.
I'm sorry... what?
I mean, we are, all of us, drunk most of the time.
- No, no, I'm not drunk. - I mean intoxicated.
Any time any of us can feel something,
some unreasoned emotion.
- Do you know what? - What?
Just because we feel something doesn't mean it's real.
You should meet my husband.
- But it could be. - No.
If I may demonstrate.
Don't be so easy to be fooled by the words or the world...
it's all a lie.
Everyone's a liar.
You don't speak any of the Slavic languages, do you?
Why do you ask?
Out of curiosity.
Oh, well, how's it look?
Brown and watery now.
Oh, that's bad.
- Really? - Mm-hmm, fecal vomiting.
Oh, God. Fecal? It's really not.
Oh, I'm quite certain.
Some duodenal contractions causing the bile to...
Do you mean he's vomiting shit?
- Oh, my God. - Exactly.
Now, look what you've done.
I'm off.
Phone me if... phone me.
Blood.
Blood, bloody blood!
Blood.
Is it bloody blood...
God. Heh.
I don't envy the poor soldier who has to clean that up.
Oh, well, we mustn't dwell on these things.
Another drink, Carlos.
For God's sake, let us sit on the ground
and tell sad stories of the sad deaths of kings,
...for you have but mistook me all this while...
I live with bread like you, feel want,
taste grief, need friends.
Subjected thus.
How can you say to me... I am a king?
- You fuck. - Pardon?
You, you fucking fuck.
Uh, M-mister Thomas?
If you're feeling better...
He needs to go to the hospital.
I'm fine, Brinnan!
Just... the strangest odd taste in my mouth...
If you're not feeling well enough, your health is
the most important, of course, if you're...
up to it, we should really, we should go.
You are pure.
W-what?
No, I mean that, I...
I am jaded and...
a monster of sorts, predatory, evil, lost.
You have a kindness about you.
Thank you.
It is something about the primal nature of man
that wants to destroy innocence and kindness.
Why do you think that is, Carlos?
I think you should leave her alone.
Why do you think that is, Penelope?
- Stop it! - You bastard, Thomas!
Leave her alone.
Oh, my God, Dylan, this is beneath you.
- I have no beneath. - She's just a girl!
And what do you care what I think or say?
It's a bad show, old man, really bad.
You know all the tricks, don't you, Mr. Thomas?
As do you, Carlos, as do you.
I thought we were friends.
Did you?
Which college, then?
Columbia.
A fine institution.
Yeah, it was pretty good.
Writer?
You have something to say to me, I think, Dylan!
Yes.
And my work, what do you think of my work?
If I walk out of this bar, Dylan, you're on your own.
Another drink, then?
Yes, another drink, please, Carlos.
Happy to accommodate, Dylan.
"Dylan" is it now?
Here you go.
Sixteen.
Sixteen is the small wisdom
we have acquired from all the sound and fury.
Wisdom which comes only just to provide peritectic service.
Small reward for all that we have witnessed,
suffered and survived.
My work, man to man, writer to writer, what do you think?
I can't imagine you would care what I would think.
Oh, I care what everyone thinks, Carlos.
Everyone...
Except for those of who I've seduced,
whose judgement I cannot trust.
John Malcolm?
Where is she?
Brinnan, look at the time.
Where is she?
Et tu, Felix?
You're cruel to watch, old man.
But I'm rather fond of you.
Then don't you want to save me?
No, not particularly.
I'm rather in my own trouble.
See ya.
See you, then.
See you, Dylan, knock 'em dead.
Thank you, Teddy.
I will... knock them dead.
Well, Carlos, that was quite a day.
- For whom? - For whom? For whom?
Very posh.
I meant, Dylan, whether you were only thinking of what a day
it was for you, or what it was for the others.
Pardon?
Oh, no, don't look to me for pardon.
Speechless now, are we?
No audience roaring their meadow brow approval
of what they don't understand but thinks sounds nice.
Like a replica painting they bought at the five and dime,
mistaken for art.
Forgive me for seeming self-pitying, Carlos, I...
I believe I milked it all well.
You're not well, you're right.
You're a walking ruin.
But you and I have our secret, don't we, Dylan?
Do we, Carlos?
I would very much like to know what that secret is,
but forgive me, like Captain Oakes, I must be going now.
- Leaving, are we? - Ahh...
Like the March Hare, some important rendezvous?
To screw some naive girl who, like the other lotus eaters,
mistake sound for substance?
You fooled them all.
Please... you seem displeased with me, Carlos,
I... I need your help.
Our secret, your secret, is you know and I know...
there's nothing there.
Just a cadence of the language, nothing else.
Not Auden, not Yeats.
- You're unkind. - Unkind?
Tell that to that young girl, that boy, your children,
and your friend who finds you work.
Your wife, tell that to your wife!
You think your self-destruction is grand theater.
It's not, it's simply sad.
You're just a performer in your own pathetic vaudeville show
with nothing of importance to say.
- I write of life! - You write of life?
You write of nothing.
The world you mourn hasn't passed.
It never existed.
You should have looked at and written about what is
actually here, around you, oblique, stinking, rotting,
corrupt, pernicious, soulless world on a darkling plain.
Our own ill-begotten monsters slouching towards Bethlehem,
waiting to be born.
This is what poets should write about.
You don't like my work, then, I presume?
Perhaps yours is different, I should... read it.
You'll forgive me if I don't give you the only copy.
- Why do you work here, Carlos? - Why?
- For you, Mr. Thomas. - For me?
Oh, yes, Mr. Thomas.
For you, to help you in the naming of drinks.
Here's one you will not drink.
But I'll leave you the bottle.
Ah, I must be going.
Close the door when you leave, would you?
You know what tells the whole story about you?
All this naming of drinks.
Each one of them sounded so grand
and so thought out, so clever.
But I can't remember a single one.
Or could anyone who was listening.
Nor can you.
That's what I mean.
We were remembering parts of stuff,
the rest, is just noise.
They really are quite easy to remember,
because there's nothing to remember
except the experience of a lived life.
First, and always first is innocence,
which may last a day or a lifetime.
And it's not a virtue because it cannot be chosen.
Then enthusiasm, bright promise, hope, recalcitrance, faith.
The mystical, the contemplation of death, the crossing
of thresholds, the resurrection, memory, regret...
...mere excess is eleven,
which is after ten...
is disappointment.
Twelve is the great sadness.
Thirteen is bravado, titling Quixotically
at the failure of our lives.
Fourteen is the mere servicing of our observers,
servicing our children and our audiences,
contorting our hands into shapes that throw
shadows on the wall, as if it were a living thing.
Fifteen is the uncertainty of what awaits us
when what awaits us is not far off.
Sixteen, sixteen is the small wisdom we've acquired
from all the sound and fury, but late in peritectic service.
And 17...
Seventeen... is what we offer ourselves in the absence
of enthusiasm, hope, faith, recalcitrance, bravado,
wisdom, resurrection...
Seventeen is intoxication, the absenting of ourselves
from all the noise of the world.
And 18...
Eighteen is...
Dylan... Dylan, darling.
Dylan, wake up.
Where are you?
I'm at home.
Home.
That's a long way away.
Dylan, after all this... after all this...
What is it that you love?
Home.
And me?
Love is a word so often used it's lost all meaning.
When all the words we exchange grow heavier with age,
like the stones in Virginia Woolf's pocket.
The tired body and the heavy stones dragging the mind
of the weary spirit to the bottom of a drowning river.
Oh, Dylan.
So, no, I did not love you, Caitlin.
You didn't?
So what remains something else.
Vines wrapped around a tree so tight
they strangle as they nurture.
But we would not live without the nurture.
Well, I loved you.
I do love you.
Our time apart would leave me with an absence
I could not fathom or quantify.
And your unfaithfulness would ruin the viscera
of my interior as a broadsword,
but your kindness was my only harbor in a tempest
of daily apocalypses, and the water torture
of the banality of everyday life.
So what does that mean?
It means that what has passed between us is a sacrament.
Nature is indifferent to us and only we know how we matter
to one another, and yet it cannot be measured
or spoken or quantified.
So I can say nothing else.
It was... November third, 1953,
and Dylan staggered into the Chelsea hotel, and he said,
"I've had 18 straight whiskeys, I think this is a record."
A few hours later he collapsed, he was taken
to St. Vincent in coma, they looked in his throat
and saw that he was drowning in mucus
and performed a tracheotomy.
He was still breathing when she arrived, and she said
the oddest thing, she said,
"Is the bloody man dead or alive?"
And, um... on November ninth Dylan, Dylan died.
Are there any, are there any questions?
"Do something!" he said.
And we threw all our snowballs into the smoke...
I think we missed Mr. Prothero... and ran out of the house
to the telephone box.
"Let's call the police as well," Jim said.
"And the ambulance.
And Ernie Jenkins, he likes fires."
But we only called the fire brigade, and soon
the fire engine came and three tall men in helmets brought
a hose into the house and Mr. Prothero got out
just in time, just before they turned it on.
Nobody could have had a noisier Christmas Eve.
And when the firemen turned off the hose
and were standing in the wet, smoky room,
Jim's Aunt, Miss Prothero, came downstairs
and peered in at them.
Jim and I waited, very quietly,
to hear what she would say to them.
She said the right thing, always.
She looked at the three tall firemen
in their shining helmets, standing among the smoke
and the cinders and the dissolving snowballs,
and she said...
"Would you like anything to read?"
I will talk about him later,
everyone wants to talk about him,
but I have other stories, you know.
When I was in medical school, of course,
we worked very hard,
but we still knew how to have a good time.
There was a woman in our class, I think she was the only one,
we were in the second year doing anatomy, and we used to,
we used to cut the penis off one of the cadavers
and leave it in her lab coat.
So, you see, later,
when she would put the hand in the pocket,
she would pull out a penis.
And the Swiss are always funny.
Some jokes, after a while, aren't funny anymore,
but a penis in the pocket, always funny, always...
...fresh, so we...
I used to do this two or three times a week.
We were running out of penises.
What became of her?
She became a urologist, I would like to think
I contributed to her career choice.
And a lesbian.
Yes, and I wondered if I might not have contributed
to that as well.
But later, one of my friends from medical school
told me that she said it wasn't the pricks in her pocket,
but the pricks in her class.
That had cleared up any doubts she may have had.
Apparently, always, that way inclined still,
pricks in a pocket... it's funny just saying that.
How reassuring.
Reassuring?
Well, that my husband is in the caring hands
of a sensitive physician.
Oh, just because I've a sense of humor
doesn't make me a bad doctor.
So what does make you a bad doctor?
Oh, I'm not certain, really,
either my lack of attention or my lack of caring.
Provided by explosiveskull https://twitter.com/kaboomskull