"Now I am going to throw up."
A cartoon hand extends a quarter into the bathroom.
Thanks!
Nicole admires the quarter, thinking it looks nice.
What does it mean?
It means one-quarter.
"I like it, Ziggy, but I want emptiness instead. Can you do that for me?"
I'll try.
Ziggy is drinking heavily when the word "suicide" enters the frame, then leaves it.
You don't want to know.
I came to this McDonalds for the wifi and from here I'm watching it all go down.
Ziggy is taking a birdbath in the Cherry Cola. Then Ziggy is drinking heavily. The bath is made of stone and cut marble. What happens before is arbitrary, or maybe not. Ziggy and Nicole are rape victims here for reprisal. The dining area looks like Ziggy's living room. Very foreign. Aliens exist. Ziggy's mother rapes him in his own dining room every day. He's thinking now would be a good time to quit the "victim" habit. Maybe he could if he knew this word "rape". Unfortunately for him, I've redefined it. Fortunately for me, it means great literature.
Ziggy sees images from Gummo (Harmony Korine, 1997) and he's thinking. "Pain" and "suffocation" flash in his mind like lightning. "Fear" lingers. Being a child star he knows the feeling, not the word. Now that he has a word to attach his feeling to he might feel better, he hopes. Maybe not though.
Look, Ziggy. I've deconstructed Catholicism for you.
He doesn't understand yet. He will.
Knowing that fear is the crux of great art, I also know that I need Ziggy to keep being scared.
Fact is, Ziggy is scared because his mother uses fear to control what he eats. And also when he eats. And also how he eats. When the mother's control fails society rises to compensate.
I want Ziggy to know he should go to a Chinese place and eat there.
I want myself to know I never wanted to be a writer.
For now.
