I ask who’s in the flick? Nicole Kidman.
My heart just does a high jump to my throat.
And Aaron Eckhart’s in it. Diane Wiest.
First John. Now you. I’m floored, to say the least.
Sex and the City. Rick, you got a note?
I will do anything you want, so here.
Put on your monster mask. Come home to bed.
You’re Freddy. Rape my soul. And fuck my head.
I’ve always wanted to get fucked by fear.
I love you, Freddy Krueger. Thank you, Fred.
Oh thank you, Freddy Teddy. Make me die.
Your fingernails are kissing me goodbye.
Oh thank you, Freddy. Fuck me till I’m dead.
I’m such a lucky fucking little bitch.
Oh Freddy, I’m your faggot. Fist my soul.
I’m worthless and I’m nothing. Make me whole.
I’m cumming, Freddy Daddy, scratch my itch.
Oh Daddy Freddy, Baby loves to pop.
My little dicky wicky sicky oh.
I’m sorry. I’m a faggot. Fuck me… No.
Oh God. Sweet Jesus. Rick. This has to stop.
FEBRUARY
HEIDI: Oh Neil, you’re such a wanker.
NEIL: Shut up Konnt.
HEIDI: Just call me Heidi. Neil you never call.
NEIL: Because you’re not my friend.
HEIDI: Ah Neil. Zat all?
Zat all the thanks you give me?
NEIL: I’ll be blunt.
Miss Konnt, you’re my addiction. You’re insane.
HEIDI: The friction Neil, my God, what brought this on?
NEIL: Get off the stage.
HEIDI: You need my rage. Come on.
NEIL: I’d like to try to have sex without pain.
Alternative Miss Ireland was a scream.
This pageant raised some funds for HIV.
I won as Heidi Konnt. So I could be somebody when I
went out on the scene.
HEIDI: I see.
NEIL: Now, Heidi, look we’ve had our fun.
HEIDI: I gave you the best handjobs, Neil. Fuck you.
You faggot little wanker. ‘I’m so true.’
You tell the people all the things you’ve done?
NEIL: I have.
HEIDI: Oh no you haven’t.
NEIL: Yes I have.
HEIDI: Oh no you haven’t.
NEIL: Yes I have.
HEIDI: You have?
NEIL: Oh yes I have.
HEIDI: Oh no you’ve not.
NEIL: I have.
HEIDI: Have you a smoke?
NEIL: I haven’t.
HEIDI: Well I have.
NEIL: Where did you get that?
HEIDI: Fuck sake, Neil, let go.
You know you love your joints. He does.
NEIL: I did.
I’ve knocked that on the head.
HEIDI: Please, Neil, don’t kid
A kidder. Kiddy Fiddler Heidi knows.
NEIL: I’m not a kiddy fiddler, Heidi Konnt.
HEIDI: Alas, when you’ve been fiddled, you will too.
NEIL: I’ve worked this with my therapist. Not true.
Fuck you, there’ll be no smoking.
HEIDI: But I want to.
NEIL: I won’t let you do another show.
HEIDI: It’s ’coz I am a woman. You’re ashamed
Of femininity. How could you blame
Me for my need for love, my need to grow.
I only want to give you sex, Neil.
NEIL: Stress.
HEIDI: Remember how it feels tied up by thugs.
Or Daddy types, or half-retarded mugs?
You loved that cop from Kerry.
NEIL: Heidi?
HEIDI: Yes?
NEIL: I’ll tell the story.
HEIDI: Tell it gay face then.
NEIL: The cop was a distraction from my shit.
HEIDI: The cop was fucking cute. Mad out of it.
He rode you up the gick.
NEIL: Heidi… Ahem.
The only reason that I gave a shit
About that guy was –
HEIDI: you thought he was straight? –
NEIL: No mate. I fancied we might have a date.
He was a guard. That got me hard. Now split!
HEIDI: Okay relax. It’s just a fucking play.
NEIL: You aren’t in this play.
HEIDI: I make more cash
Than all your faggy acting gigs.
NEIL: I’ll bash
Your fucking head in Konnt. Now take
A Heidi hike. I made you.
HEIDI: So you’d think?
I’m what you think of girls. Your mother here
Tonight to see your wank? You mincing queer.
NEIL: She’s not invited.
HEIDI: Not without a drink.
Is this not what it’s all about? Your shame
Is with your mother. Don’t you miss her love?
Before you got your kicks from rubber gloves.
NEIL: It’s your hand that I wank with. You’re to blame.
HEIDI: Neil fantasises that he is a child.
Who’s getting baby-sat by skinheads.
NEIL: Stop.
HEIDI: That time Neil spent the night with that cute cop,
Neil’s fantasy, even for me, too wild.
NEIL: Konnt leave me be.
HEIDI: Sweet Neil, I keep you safe.
Without me, Neil, your mother would be dead.
I save her from you when I’m in your head.
NEIL: That isn’t true, Konnt. You begin to chafe.
HEIDI: The night that Neil spent with the cop. The cop’s
Asleep. So Neil wanks on the sleeping guard.
Imagines he’s got down’s syndrome, he’s mad,
Our Neil, a pervert through and through, can’t stop.
Neil, tell me how you’re feeling.
Ah, Neil, please don’t ignore me.
NEIL: Miss Konnt, if you don’t go, I’ll kill us both.
HEIDI: Sweet Medicine says suicide is wrong.
It’s fine. I’m off. Go have your wank-a-thon.
You’ll never get your intimacy, Neil.
A head like yours can’t deal with stuff that’s real.
But, by all means, I dare you, prove me wrong.
MARCH
Shit. Sorry I’m late. Twenty past twelve.
I smoked some blow this morning but I’m grand.
Had coffee. Sue, I do not understand
Why I’m still here. This has been, fucking hell,
Three, four, five, years confessing all my fears,
My shame, my secrets. And what must you think?
I watched The Hours twice this week. I’m sink-
Ing slowly into my worst rut in years.
Mark doesn’t want to go out anymore.
Not that we really dated. Just two nights.
His core belief is no gay person’s right.
He wouldn’t let me sleep with him. I roared
And shouted while I walked home drunk. The flat.
They’ve still not let it out. Nobody there.
At least I didn’t have to pay cab fare.
That’s where I crashed ’coz I was mashed. That’s that.
I smashed a cup. I just want to have sex.
I just want to wake up in someone’s arms.
I always pick the thicks. Mark meant no harm.
He sort of has a boyfriend. I’m perplexed.
They always have a boyfriend. Or they’re weird.
Or unavailable emotion’lly.
Am I emotionally present, free?
I guess I’m not. That’s why I grow my beard.
To hide. Where I have moved isn’t as rough.
But still not great. Got called a faggot when
I left the house today. No, they weren’t men.
They were just kids, at play. Hi, Faggot, Puff.
I daren’t interfere. The
y’ve got tough clans.
I cannot even go out my front door.
That is fucking disgraceful. Sue. I swore,
Fuck them and fuck this world. I wash my hands.
Mark’s lovely but I guess he’s not my style.
The fantasy of someone who’s got class.
But can’t imagine him raping my ass.
Essentially, my taste in sex is vile.
Sure I’ve been on a wank binge since last week.
Like, Mark was not that frightening. But stoned
I fantasised he was a thug. I moaned
And shot my load. My headache eased. Eurek…
Perhaps there’s something in this. Like, perhaps
My higher self loves S & M. Combine
Some whipping with vanilla love. Divine.
Perhaps I won’t need drugs to wear my chaps.
I keep recalling when I was abused.
His name was also Mark. Do I attract
And recreate him? Because their names match.
Okay that part is normal. So I choose
To recreate the sense of shame. That’s great.
I’m fine. No, something has come up. I see
Him jump out from behind a door. Marky
Has heard me telling all my friends. He’ll bait
Me if I say another word. I got
A fright. How could a person be so mean?
It’s like being chased by Freddy in a dream.
How can a person interfere like that?
What? What? What you just said. Say it again.
That Freddy Krueger cannot penetrate
Your dreams. That’s lovely. Look, it’s getting late.
Just need to get my self in shape. And then
I will be off. He cannot penetrate
My dreams. It’s so poetic. So this means
That my abuser cannot have my dreams.
I want to thank you for these words. They’re great.
But I can’t go just yet. What’s with this flood?
It’s been locked up inside of me so long.
It isn’t right to interfere. It’s wrong.
I don’t know why I’m crying. For my blood.
You’re not supposed to touch a kid down there.
I trusted him and I looked up to him.
I liked him touching me. Now that’s the sin.
I liked it. And I wanted more. So there.
APRIL
Come ’ere you. You’re my best and oldest friend.
You know I love you, don’t you. But I can’t
Go on your stag night. See this sycophant’s
An elephant. It’s time to make amends.
There’s too much going on inside my head.
I’m trying not to drink or smoke the blow.
So if it’s cool with you. I cannot go.
And to be honest I’d rather be dead
Than be stuck on a stag night with the lads.
Such male machismo bullshit. Titty bars.
And shots and driving round in racing cars.
It’s not my thing. Big toys for boys. It’s sad.
I can’t afford it anyway. No way
I’m just about surviving in this kip.
How can I justify a little trip?
I won’t regret it on my deathbed. Hey.
You’re not losing your friends. It’s just too much.
So have your stag in Ireland. Just one night.
Then everyone could make it. Now, I’m right.
This fashion for big stags is out of touch
With the recession. One would think that you
And other grooms and brides would play it down.
You’ve got a text. No, check it. I won’t frown.
Who is it? Oh Bom Bum. He’s overdue.
He’s not been round in ages, then he swans
Into your life just for your stag. That’s bull.
Now he can’t go because his workload’s full.
I do not want his ticket. Please come on.
So even if it’s free. I hate stag nights.
They’re shite. You’ve been through therapy. These days
Are tough and I’ve enough of holding face.
Old memories are surfacing. Alright.
Je hear that young McGinley broke his back?
Your Ma was telling my Ma there at mass.
Remember how we bet McGinley’s ass?
Sure we were only messing, having craic.
But, sorry, we were cunts to deaf John Dunne.
Je’member I sprayed fart gas on his coat?
Knocked in for him, ‘Is Bom Bum coming out?’
Sure everybody bullied poor Bom Bum.
Don’t make me go. I’ll be there the big day.
I’ll dance and sing, I’ll mind the ring. Please don’t.
Bom Bum can get a refund if he wants.
I’d have to pay him back. Stop trying to sway
Me. Please don’t make me go. Okay, then. Fine.
But know I’m only doing this for you.
I can’t believe I’m doing this. So who
Exactly will be going? There’ll be Brian…
Do any of them smoke the whacky? Well,
Here, find out how we’ll get some or I’m fucked.
I need to have the option so just look
Into it, will you, and I’ll go. With bells.
Is the accommodation paid in Spain?
What airline? Ryanair. Oh nice. Fuck no.
The colour scheme is Fisher Price. I’ll go.
I’ll just get drunk before I board the plane.
Now listen to me, pal, this breaks my heart.
It seems that I’ve a problem with…well…cock.
The truth is…I’m sure it comes as no shock…
My therapist has said that I should start
To work the steps, that I’ve become, well…hooked
To porn and dirty weekends and to reef.
I’m stony broke. I’m wallowing in grief.
Addicted to my dick. You see I’m fucked.
I have a lot of stuff to process. So.
I’m striving to acknowledge my gay shame.
I’ll be there on your stag. Right. But don’t blame
Me if I take an early night. I’ll go.
MAY
HEIDI: My dear beloved gathered here today.
What can I say? Neil Watkins loved a wank.
The church is black. So I’ll crack off. I thank
You all for coming. All; straight, bi and gay.
Your Holiness, Pope Ratzinger, the Cunt.
You’re very welcome. Watkins loved your work.
From Sesame Street, Bigbird, Ernie, Bert.
And all the Muppets sitting in the front.
Please put your hands together. Elton John,
Tom Selleck, Mickey Mouse and Bernie Dunne.
She isn’t famous. Listen. She’s just from
Neil’s estate. State. I can’t get through so long
A list of Nobel-winning scientists.
And politicians, porn stars, paedophiles.
If Neil were here, I know he’d wear a smile.
I knew him well. It’s hard to swallow this.
The death of Watkins is a blow to all.
Nelson Mandela says he can’t go on.
The Dalai Lama’s gone and bought a gun.
And Nickie Kidman won’t return my calls.
Oh what a lovely wanker. Blond and Kind.
He grappled with his gearstick. But, alas.
Neil Watkins wanked with a degree of class.
He gave himself to wanking. Wanked his mind.
His very name revealed an anagram.
‘Silent I wank’. The letters jumbled round
Disclosed Neil’s special role. So he did pound
His pound of flesh, his little leg of lamb.
That lanky laddy wanked his wand and waved
Like Voldemort himself casting a spell.
With Michael J
ackson, Neil resides in hell.
He was found on a cross, he died a slave.
The wanking couldn’t get Neil’s fire lit.
In his last days he searched for something more.
So on the internet he found amore.
A man who promised crucifixion’s hit.
He looked just like a paedophile might look.
Old, bald and fat, with glasses and red nose.
He stood and watched while Neil removed his clothes.
His dog barked out the back. Neil Watkins took
Out from his pocket pre-rolled joints. And smoked.
The crucifier once had been a priest.
And nailing Jesus to the cross released
For him a sense of love. Neil tried to cope
As finger nails clawed deep into his chest.
His arms tied to the cross, he was the Lord.
And Satan was the paedophile who gnawed
Into the face of rape, and hate. Impressed?
Neil didn’t fight the pain that swarmed his thoughts.
He felt just like a virgin. Felt so pure.
Like he had been enlightened. He’d been cured.
He’d finally found the love oft he had sought.
He died there on the cross, and flew to rest
And finally knew that he was Christ indeed.
I took him down. And watched Sweet Jesus bleed.
At thirty-three, molested, freed and blessed.
Some call it S & M. I call it love.
Neil Watkins didn’t fight our Father’s call.
And he embraced the light. And rose to fall.
He’ll come again of course. As God above.
JUNE
I don’t know many people who were not
Abused. That’s just being Irish. Forty shades
Of shame. We all submit when men invade.
Rape is the culture that we know. So blot
Out all that pain with all your might and drown
In drink. Our water’s blessed with alcohol.
Don’t think. Just stay asleep. Do not recall
The way you felt when you were small. Play down.
Sure is it any wonder it’s called locked?
The Irish have so many words for drunk.
So many words for cum and jip and spunk.
The drugs make porn seem real. No websites blocked.
I spunk another chunk. I beat the meat.
Ten times repeat. The sheet has not been changed
In bleeding weeks. Me Ma would freak. Deranged,
I piss into a bottle. I’m not neat.
It’s just a thing I do from time to time.
It’s my idiosyncrasy. Sure who
Does not enjoy a little crutch. Eschew
This practice? This keeps me alive.
I used to be good looking. But who cares.
The Oberon Anthology of Contemporary Irish Plays Page 24
