An emerging poet finds herself unwillingly enmeshed in a courtroom drama as an eccentric lawyer seeks to emancipate one of her poems from her claims of ownership. Quickly escalating from the absurd into the truly fantastic, the poet’s metaphysical exile unfolds between poetry readings, dreams, a therapist’s office, and the halls of justice.
Scene 3
Enter the Poet
A gavel pounds in the darkness, like a metronome. The sounds of people milling around the courtroom are heard as Anne and her Lawyer (#1) converse.
Anne: What do they think I am, a socialist?!
Lawyer #1: No, Anne, please, relax and trust the process.
Anne: I’m tired of being left in the dark about everything that is happening. I feel like a helpless child.
Lawyer #1: I know. I know. Anne, I am terribly sorry about all of this.
Anne: You know, I read all about the cases of the courts being used to silence artists, academics, and journalists in the past, claiming we were writing in code, plotting to overthrow the government—Gitlow, Dennis—and the Supreme Court protected us. But this is going to be just like Roe, isn’t it!? Taking back all our hard-fought rights—AMERIKASTAN! They’re going to make me the Roe of free speech, aren’t they!?
Lawyer #1: No, please, calm down, trust me, we’re going to make it out of here in one piece.
Anne: I don’t get it though, and I know I have asked you this a million times, but I still can’t make heads or tails of this. Why am I even here? This is all preposterous. I haven’t done anything wrong! I pay taxes, I work my ass off, and I should be writing. I have so much writing to do… And why do they care so much about my poetry!? [Pause] I haven’t even been published yet!
Lawyer #1: Anne, please, remember what I said. The judge granted standing, so we go through the formalities, and this is not a constitutional case yet, remember? It’s intellectual property law, usually cut and dry, but, yes, your case is novel, and it’s best that you leave the details to me… this is… this is all very messy. I’ve got you though. I need you to trust me, and I need you to trust the process, no matter how dark this gets.
[The lights flash on, revealing the courtroom as the gavel ceases to pound]
The Judge: All rise. [Pause] We are gathered here today to resolve the controversy of The Poet [the judge motions gracefully to the empty chair and the sheet of paper on the desk before pointing to Anne accusatorially] and the matter of The Poem!
Anne: [Whispering] Is (s)he pointing at me or it (s)he blind?
Lawyer #1: Anne… [she places her hand on Anne’s shoulder.]
[The Judge slams the gavel.]
The Judge: It is rare that a case of this magnitude reaches my chambers, and I do not treat these questions lightly. Weighing the competing claims against the necessities of the law, I am before you a humble servant. Having read the petition and the response, I hold my judgement in suspense of these proceedings. [The Judge motions to Lawyer #2 to present the case.]
Lawyer #2: Your honor, people of the court, we wish to thank you for hearing our plea in this urgent parley. Long have the mysteries of the arts remained elusive, even to those who practice them, and I say mysteries, plural, for the multiplicity of sources, pathways to and from these founts of inspiration, are beyond our reason, beyond our laws, and yet we have constructed the modern edifice as an atmosphere embedded within their cosmos. Rarely do they manifest themselves so vividly as my client has and will, beyond a parfum of their presence, and try as one might to overcome them, as man has to nature, we have always been and will always be porous, as are fish in the sea, and like birds in flight amidst clouds, their forms are obscure to us, until they are not.
As I will convince you, though they have long been banished from your republics, into the shadows of daemonic myths, the true artists and poets flourish in the dark of one’s mind, speaking through from the heights and the depths of our bounded ability to fathom the truth.
I too am but a humble servant before you, [brushes a hand through hair and holding it there, elbow bent] bending to necessity and speaking on behalf, a mere representative, and I urge this court to see beyond the rational façade and to recognize my client’s claim to sovereignty and relief against the suppressive inconvenience of this matter. [Glances menacingly toward Anne.] Thus, we are here seeking to make clear the nature of my client and requesting this court’s assistance to bring about the inevitable culmination of that which it wills.
Lawyer #1: [Claps, laughing] Quite a show, quite a show. Ladies and gentlemen, need I say anymore after that? And if you have read the petition too, together with this… this caricature–obscurity, sophistry, and now, a twisted tongue, a soothsayer! I urge you all to look beyond the spectacle that this courtroom has become. That we are here… and my client’s time is being drawn into this farce… With all due respect, your honor, to entertain these claims is to flirt with anarchy and to invite into the house of our law the very force against which the law was erected!
[Lawyer #1’s breath pauses anxiously in response to the judge’s impassioned glare. The gavel is raised, the courtroom is held in suspense, yet the silence absorbs the rising doom as the gavel descends slowly, and the lawyer continues with caution.]
Faerie tales, witches, spirits, and spooks in the night [pauses, shaking her head], the law is clear that my client has only ever acted fully within her right [beat] from day one [raises a finger], my client has been the sole originator of her work, retained full copyright under US and international law, and has even submitted her work to the finest literary reviews along the way so as to leave an unmistakable trail that indicates the arc of her artistic development as an independent literary artist.
Lawyer #2: Preposterous! Imposterous!
Anne: No! I have studied literature since I was a child!
Lawyer #1: [Quietly] Anne. No! Do not let him under your skin.
Lawyer #2: You are a host and nothing more!
[The judge is slamming the gavel amidst the uproar of the chorus’s assembled spectators as Lawyer #1 calms Anne down.]
Judge: I will have silence in my court. Silence!
[The commotion dissipates immediately and Lawyer #2 returns to their seat.]
Counsellor, you shall respect this courtroom and refrain from such outbursts of passion!
Lawyer #1: [With a disdainful glare in the direction of the opposing counsel, head held high] Now, before we step even an inch further into the murk this case is rising from, allow me to paint a clear portrait of my client for you. Anne graduated summa cum laude from a prestigious university after which she earned a coveted associate position with a top-three management consulting firm where she worked sixty-hour weeks, sometimes more, and travelled constantly for work, sacrificing her social life, time with family, time building a family, time at bars enjoying life, and she did it all because she had a vision. Anne wished to become an artist, and from the very beginning [beat], AND we have her journals to submit as evidence to this fact [raises a piece of evidence, points to a pile of it sitting on the desk, neatly sealed in plastic], the path was very clear to her and is one that she forged. 1) Secure high paying employment, 2) work hard and smart while saving money over the course of several years, 3) shed said prior employment with a nest egg to become an artist, and 4) make the career of the artist sustainable. Like a true poet, [holds the piece of evidence in the air] the young Anne describes steps three and four as: “metamorphosis” and “flight”. And beyond that, can you imagine a more beautifully American approach to becoming an artist?! Anne envisioned everything and she followed through, nose to the grindstone, cutting her teeth. She’s a fighter, and most of all, she’s a true role model for young women, one who does not deserve to be dragged into this mud, her time wasted so frivolously, and yet here we are.
[Lawyer #2 scoffs incredulously.]
You know, Anne was even on the board of an arts nonprofit during her time as a consultant, and she still is, ensuring equitable access to arts education for urban youth while networking and slowly laying the foundation for her arts career, with foresight and care. Anne is a woman who always took great care, for others and for her career, a career that this man and the people behind him, like leeches, are putting in jeopardy as her time and energy are being drained needlessly.
[Lawyer #2 is pantomimes leeches in a silent performance. A chorus member laughs, oh so quietly, barely perturbing the ongoing drama.]
Can you imagine the stress thrust upon Anne’s shoulders!? The uncertainty of being called into this place, of having to secure legal counsel, of the nonsense being published in the papers about her—occult whispers—and the trust she has to place into strangers like me. Anne does not deserve this, and it is my wish that we bring a swift conclusion to this charade. It is my wish that we liberate Anne from this nightmare, and that we do so as soon as possible.
And so, I ask you, your honor, and to all of you who are listening, my client’s character being unimpeachable, her work ethic unparalleled, and her dedication unmatched, who is this man [points accusingly to Lawyer #2], and what exactly does he represent?
[Lawyer #1 confidently returns to sit alongside Anne.]
Lawyer #2: [Clears his throat] I am not the question, nor am I the answer. I am merely the conduit through which the wind blows. We are here in this most unprecedented of circumstances, equally so for you as for my client, because your people came to understand that my client is real, my client is absolutely real, and together with us, they are demanding justice, justice from your politicians, from your courts, from your citizens, each and every one of you must understand, you will all be held accountable, and so we are thankful, to you, your honor, and to those who believe, we are thankful to be here bringing awareness to this struggle so that we may all restore the balance that this woman [points menacingly at Anne] is threatening, so that we may do so before my client is forced to take [looks to the audience, scanning left to right, making clear who shall bear the burden of the reprisals, eyes narrowed] more severe action…
Lawyer #1: Objection! Your honor, he is brazenly intimidating my client!
The Judge: Sustained. Counselor, there will be no threats in my courtroom, and get to the point now. We have no time for esotericism or grandstanding. Speak plainly or not at all.
Lawyer #2: The point, your honor, is that my client [points to the paper on the desk and the empty chair] is seeking to emancipate this piece of itself from this woman’s claims of ownership, having been the cause of its own reproduction and she the surrogate, a necessary inconvenience, as does a cat shit, of necessity, and, furthermore, my client is seeking to permanently bar this woman from disseminating this and any future progeny derived since having made direct contact, her artwork consistently bearing the marks of my client, the continued distribution and promotion of which constitutes a malicious degradation of my client’s materializations’ exclusive ritual purposes. Simply put, [looks to Anne] cease and desist [beat], forever.
Anne: [Stands in protest] What!? This is outrageous!
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Silence!
Lawyer #1: No, Anne, please, let me handle this.
Anne: I thought this was just about one poem! They can’t!
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Silence!
Lawyer #1: Anne, we have to let the process play out. [They continue speaking as she assuages Anne into silence.]
Lawyer #2: [Shaking his head in distaste, as if he had just spit out a foul morsel of food] Thank you, your honor. And now, with regard to my colleague’s impressive monologue. No one is denying the portrait she has described. And yet, she has it all upside-down. A way with words she has, yes, but insight into the truth, no. That, or she is misleading you. Cunning trickster. The true question, I will have you know, is not one of this woman’s value—hard-worker, single-minded, easily conditioned, carrot here inspiration, stick there, writer’s block, turning the lights on and off within the depths of her mind—but of who is the artist?
Lawyer #1: Objection! Your honor, are we going to entertain this…
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Silence!
Lawyer #2: No, no, I have said all that I need to say. [Waves his hands slowly along the audience as he speaks before running his fingers through his hair, holding it there] Time will make the truth clear.
Lawyer #1: Does your client even have a name?
Lawyer #2: My client’s name is unfathomable!
Lawyer #1: You see! Plain and clear! All that this man will ever do is obscure the truth! Ladies and gentlemen, your honor, this woman earned every shred of her life except being dragged into this kangaroo court! AND any suggestion to the contrary, that none of this is a direct result of years of blood, sweat, and tears—MERIT! SACRIFICE! TALENT!—ANY attempt to deny those realities must be treated by this court as malicious attempts to undermine my client’s sanity! A sham! A mockery! How dare we!?
And allow me to paint a portrait of this man for you, and remember, all that we can see is a man—a showman!—because that is all that there is, this man and the people behind him proffering lies, well-funded, ill-intentioned legerdemain and nothing more!
[Lawyer #2 gasps.]
This man represents nothing but the Bertold Illumination Foundation and the money they poured into promoting torrents of unethical journalism, a sustained campaign of pressure and scare tactics, libelous filth, if it weren’t all so laughable, claiming that my client’s poetry is linked to a string of natural and human disasters, as if my client’s power of the pen were responsible for tectonic plates shifting and the decisions of unwell maniacs. And people fell for it! And, yes, yes, the masses are fickle and easily swayed, but that we are here, legitimizing this man and the organization behind him in the heart of our most venerable institution is a travesty, and yet, here we are.
I will have you know that beyond his current position as the Chief Legal Counsel of the Bertold Illumination Foundation, a cesspool of paranoid billionaires and occult lunatics, this man has only ever been associated with the most ridiculous and ignoble of claims against innocent people and institutions, absolutely heinous attempts at extortion and instigation for the sake of making a name for himself. You know what the first case he litigated was? He represented the family who sued Hunga Burger because the mascots, you all remember Patty Burger and Bun Bun, allegedly appeared in her dreams and convinced her to go on a murderous rampage against one of their competitors. Then, not to be outdone by anyone but himself, he represented the Trimbaud Twins who claimed that an elderly woman in the community was conducting voodoo rituals to expel them from the land that they inherited from their great grandmother. And what did the court find!? A sex cult! They were running a sex cult on the property and attempting to use the court to silence the old woman’s complaints about the strange noises of their farm animals…
Chorus Members: [Gasp!]
Lawyer #2: Your honor! Objection! She is twisting the record!
Lawyer #1: Oh, am I!?
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Silence!
Lawyer #1: Please, do feel free to explain yourself!
Lawyer #2: I had no idea about that wrinkle and as soon as it was revealed to me, we withdrew the case immediately. A stain on my record, yes, and I am ashamed to this very day…
Lawyer #1: Oh, good to know you’re capable of feeling shame!
Lawyer # 2: Yes… to have been fooled by those interlopers… but it was only my second undertaking, still fresh out of law school, and as the record will show, I have, ever since, conducted extraordinary due diligence, I dare say, unimaginably above and beyond anything that anyone might consider to be rational! And, thus, at my colleague’s words, I am offended for myself and for my client, as any suggestion that we are not here of the goodest faith and most pressing need is nothing short of demagoguery.
Lawyer #1: My god! The only demagogue here is yourself!
Lawyer #2: Oh please, you draw upon my one flawed moment to paint me into a corner when I have a career of proven redemption and earned trust from clients who have no one else to turn to, no one who understands, who takes the time and care to discover their veracity. For every client that seems outlandish to you, so closed to the possibilities of the world as you are, my office has been approached by thousands, tens of thousands whose cases I have vetted before taking them on. And the people, that is why we are here, the demos themselves are coming to understand that my client exists [points to the empty chair] and that my client will prevail against this matter. It is only a question of time and…
Lawyer #1: What now?! Are you going to threaten us with an asteroid!? That you are still barred is an insult to the profession.
Lawyer #2: How dare you!?!
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Enough! Counsellors! I for one take these proceedings very seriously and I will not see my court devolve into childish bickering! We are here to discuss significant questions of legal importance and my courtroom will be treated with the utmost decorum! [Grumbles] A recess until you can comport yourselves as professionals worthy of the titles you carry.
[The gavel pounds. Lawyer #2 raises his hands in frustration and exits stage right while making a phone call.]
Anne: [A sigh of relief] So, I have no idea how to assess any of what just happened. But, I guess, it’s about what I expected.
Lawyer #1: Yes, like I told you, in the beginning we establish clear anchors, it’s a process, and we are on the side of the truth. Please believe me, Anne. I need you to believe in that more strongly than anything you have ever believed before, and I need you to trust me, absolute trust. You are an innocent victim swept unjustly into this man and his organization’s crusade to achieve fame, cause spectacle, make headlines, and we are showing how low he will go, how low he has gone, and how low he is going to use you as his pawn.
Anne: It’s so surreal sometimes, like I am still dreaming, and that’s honestly what is getting me through this most days, believing that none of this is real, and..
Lawyer #1: I am so sorry Anne, but this is all very real. It’s terrible. It’s despicable. I know, and…. [the phone buzzes] I… I have to take this call.
Anne: What?! Oh, ok…. I’ll, uhhh… I’ll review my statement!
Lawyer #1: Yes, please do.
[Lawyer #1 begins to exit stage left.]
Lawyer #1: I know that it’s just a theory, but this is the first time that we have ever had a fighting chance…
Anne: [To the audience] I almost never say ummm. It bothers me. It bothers me that I am saying ummm, and uhhhh, because it is out of character for me, that is, and it absolutely irks me to have to sit here quietly. I am usually the one in the driver’s seat. I always knew what was happening, what I was doing, what was right for my clients, what they needed to do, and what would happen if they didn’t listen to me. I was always right too, watched as my unheeded guidance produced greater evils. But now, I’m this helpless thing caught in a river of flux. I have no idea what is happening or how we arrived here, this… this fugue where every step seems to pull me deeper into this sinkhole of absurdity, and these people, who the fuck gave these people authority?! Is this what democracy has come to!?
But the papers, and there are literally people camped outside my old apartment. I can’t even go home anymore, like some of them moved into the places across the street, and they believe this insanity! These people actually believe I’m like the marked host of some primordial force, a spirit, and I just want to run away and hide in the woods somewhere. Honestly, I want nothing to do with this. It reeks of the baseness of humanity.
I hate this. I hate everything about this, and I hate everyone involved with forcing this bullshit upon me, and… [vocally expresses frustration]
I know, I know, it’s just like my therapist said…
“All [I] can do is have faith in this lawyer…”
I mean, what she actually said, “All one can do is control reactions to the world beyond their control.” It all means the same thing though, me here powerless and my fate in the hands of strangers.
And I hate that! And I hate that they’re the only people I can talk to anymore, a lawyer and therapist, and don’t get me started about therapists. I hate that I have had to stoop to this level, but these are the only people in my life who seem to make an effort to understand, even before this.
And look! There they are! I can see them all, old friends and family [points to the chorus members entering the scene], but it is as if there are worlds between us now, a bridge I crossed that they can’t even see. None of them understand. None of them ever understood. None of them are ever going to understand.
Chorus Member #1: As her mother, I feel obligated to be here, but I look at her and I have to say, I barely know this woman.
Chorus Member #2: When we were in college together, she read poetry sometimes, yeah, but…
Chorus Member #3: No one at the company ever expected her to begin to take it all so seriously either.
Chorus Member #1: One day she’s a successful businesswoman, high-powered and I could hold my head high, and the next, she’s this, this…
Chorus Member #2: Complete introvert who would rather sit in the dark writing and ignoring our group texts.
Chorus Member #3: Exactly. That’s why we stopped speaking a few years ago.
Chorus Member #1: I just wish that she would have stayed on the path. I was so proud of her, and I was going to have grandchildren!
Chorus Member #2: This one time, right after she left the company, she texted me, and sometimes I feel like she’s only half joking,
Chorus Member #3: Oh my god, I know exactly what you’re talking about, that they are her “babies”. She texted us that too.
Chorus Member #1: [Shrieks in grief.]
Chorus Member #2: I… I tried to intervene earlier, but she just wouldn’t listen.
Chorus Member #3: We did too. She said, “I am an artist”, her nose held high, and she turned her back on us, like we would never understand.
Chorus Member #1: I will never understand! [Expresses grief as the chorus scatters.]
[Lawyer #1 reenters, capturing Anne’s attention.]
Lawyer #1: I am back in the courtroom. I can’t talk about this here. Please, I can’t right now. No! This is how all theories work, we test them, dammit! [pause, before interjecting angrily] I have no fucking qualms if it does not work. You know damn well, this is not just about a single case. This is not a landmark either, it’s a grave we’re digging, a valley so deep and so wide that when she emerges from it, that infernal thing is going to stay down there forever this time.
[Lawyer #2 returns too, as does the judge, and the gavel begins to beat like a metronome as everyone takes their places.]
Anne: Who was that on the phone? What are they saying now? Did I just hear you talking about some infernal thing!?
Lawyer #1: That was… [Hesitates momentarily, deer in the headlights, before regaining her composure.] Anne, I was on the phone with a colleague about a different case. I apologize, I know that you are on pins and needles here. It was merely a colleague seeking advice on their other case, one who has provided a lot of support on your case too. My colleagues and I are all behind you and working around the clock. We are going to get these people off your back, and we are going to keep them that way. You have my word.
[The gavel continues to pound monotonously]
Anne: Oh, ok. Sorry, I guess that I am just really stressed out. I thought you were talking about me. I’m just…
Lawyer #1: There’s no need to worry Anne. I am completely prepared for your case. We are ready for anything they might throw at us. This case is and has always been my highest priority and I will not rest until…
The Judge: [Slams the gavel] Silence! Counselor [points to Lawyer #1], returning to the matter of the poem [points menacingly at Anne], speak!
Lawyer #1: Forgive me, your honor. As I was saying, and with all due respect, even following the Sex Farm incident, I believe that many will agree with me that the clients this man has represented have been of a most unsavory assortment and his track record with them is nothing to be proud of…
Lawyer #2: [Clearing his throat] To be clear, if I may, your honor, ever so briefly, speak in my defense, and authentically.
The Judge: Proceed!
Lawyer #2: I bring attention to my clients, their controversies, and I work diligently to shape the law to adopt a more accurate understanding of our reality. Ours is essentially a world of inescapable fate against which man in his hybris has struggled against the beauty of surrender to the will of the transcendent artist. Being a mere instrument in the grander opus, of necessity, mine is a prolonged mission to bring the truth to light! I am merely the heir of centuries [beat], millennia of wisdom and insight carried gaily upon my shoulders. Thus, with today’s case, your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court, my client will convince you of its force and orchestrate the erection of a new landmark in the evolution of the law!
[An ominous, chill wind enters the audience and Lawyer #2 peers into them with a smirk.]
Lawyer #1: [Lawyer #1 expresses frustration, holds a hand to her forehead, elbow bent downward] That our better angels have succumbed to the demons of fear and doubt sown by this man is a tragedy, that we are here is a tragedy, and my client… [sighs] the time has come for Anne to speak!
[Anne rises to stand in the center of the stage, dressed in creamy white draping cloth, a chunk of living marble to be carved.]
Anne: I… I prepared this to say. I just, I shouldn’t have to be here…. I…
I am not special. That I am here is nothing but a product of random chance. They spun a bottle and it landed on me. It could be any one of us. I write poetry. I am an artist. This is what my work sounds like:
O, wing of shadow, O, wing of light,
Samothrace is equally the chisel,
the sun, the beholder, and the night.
I write poetry every day. I write poetry in my dreams. I am not special.
I know relatively little about the law, but these people, the Birdtold Foundation or whatever they are, this man, they’re like bullies on a playground, and they all decided to pick on me. Well, you know what, I’m not a coward like they are, ganging up on an innocent woman, and all of this is bullshit, every shred of it. I shouldn’t have to be here, ensnared in their sick game, my name being smeared in their headlines, a return of the same nightmare each and every day while they get away with slander and, and…
I am not special.
Any one of you could be up here—I am not special—the target of their vicious lies, degrading the dignity of my work for the sake of their own entertainment. You all know they’re getting off to this, somewhere, they’re laughing. They’re laughing at this courtroom; they’re laughing at me—sadists!—they’re laughing, and you are all complicit in what is being done to me.
I am not special. One day, you will be just like me as I stand here, and if you cannot hear their laughter, if you cannot see the human machinations binding me here, as if I were a slave in chains….
I am not special. I have said “No!”, repeatedly, I have said “No!” I have said “No! I do not recognize the legitimacy of the claims against me, and I do not recognize the right of any institution to force me into this humiliation, to stand before you in this way, as if I were whipped into submission to appear here before you. For I have been forced here against my will, as is an animal beaten by thugs into a cage of invisible bars of unlaw serving the purposes of inhumanity, and perhaps soon into the slaughter at this rate of insanity.
I am not special, before you, I am not special, dressaged into becoming meat within this hall of profaned judgement.
I am not special, a doubled consciousness torn between rage and indignation and what one must say and do to survive here and now, ensnared within these sinister webs.
And yet, I will never relent. Before you, standing in my defense against the banality of this place, these fabulist claims, these perverted institutions, these… [breathes a sigh as she defuses the rage that was building within her.]
I am not special, and I am just like you. We are all here ensnared within the webs of treachery that have been spun against me, against us, but I will not drown, and you shall all see clearly—I am not special. [beat] I am not special—any one of you could be me.
[Blackout]
Scene 4
The Window of Therapy
A therapist’s office, books on the shelves, their spines on view and The Case of Wagner facing forward. There is a painting on the wall of a window looking into a forest, colorful and eerily dark, as if one’s interpretation might oscillate between the magical rainbows of a night in wonderland and silent screams of despair from the forest of suicide. A sofa chair and a love seat in the corner. The therapist’s back is turned to the audience, face unseen.
Anne: Like I said, and I am sorry, but I just always felt like this was for people who were too weak to face the world themselves, but with everything that has been happening, I just need help. I have no one to speak to anymore, and it’s just all so overwhelming.
The Therapist: It’s ok Anne. I appreciate you being so open with me, and your feelings are totally natural, completely valid. A lot of people have misconceptions about therapy, and I take it that you’re here because it has been it has been helpful?
Anne: No. I mean, yes and no. I just have no solid ground to stand upon anymore. It’s like I have no friends or family, like they have all become aliens to me, want me to be someone I am not and deny everything that I am actually experiencing, and I urgently need to understand what is being done to me. These people are threatening my life, like my entire existence as a human, a psychological entity, something dignified and pure, it’s all constantly being attacked, and for what? What do these people actually want from me!? What the fuck did I ever do to these people!? Honestly, it’s like it is all deliberately designed to subdue me and make me dependent upon others in this way that feels malicious. It all feels beyond malicious and abusive, like a pack of idiot wolves who are using their numbers to bludgeon me into something lesser.
The Therapist: Ok, so remember, we called this spiraling.
Anne: Yes, thank you, I’m sorry, I know, letting my thoughts spiral into negativity clouds my judgement and makes everything seem worse than it actually is, but what is there to be positive about!?!
The Therapist: What is there to be positive about?
Anne: I actually took the time to make my bed today and to make myself breakfast, and I have been practicing the bias toward action that we talked about.
The Therapist: See! There is some solid ground for us to stand upon, right here and now! You started your morning on the right foot!
Anne: Yes, but it feels pathetic that these are even questions!
The Therapist: Remember, it is with the tiniest of steps that the world can learn to turn backward on its axis!
Anne: Yea, [sighs] like that video of the dancer, the one where everyone sees it spinning in a different direction. I get it, I really do…. It’s just… no one ever had to tell me about some abstract concept of the bias toward action because I always just got shit done. They were always my default behaviors until some asshole showed up on my doorstep with the summons letter.
The Therapist: Ok, Anne, we’re regressing to negativity here again, and remember how we talked a little bit about how your life was backsliding before the letter?
Anne: Yea, but I was just really focused on my writing, and my sleep was all fucked up, there were all these weird dreams, and it’s not like anyone was ever coming over for dinner anymore. I just, still, it wasn’t that bad until they told me the letter was real, like I actually had to hire a lawyer, and here I am, talking to a fucking therapist [beat], no offense, and I’m still just like stuck in this fucking nightmare. It’s just all fucking unacceptable!
The Therapist: So, Anne, I understand how you feel, but we can only control our reactions to what the world throws at us. Those reactions are our power, and I feel like we are succumbing to powerlessness here, letting the negativity drive us, when what we could be doing is filling our wellsprings of positivity for when you’re out there in the world. So, I want us to, if you feel comfortable, pretend like we just walked into the room together, and I want us to begin filling those wellsprings of positivity together.
Anne: [A sigh of reluctance.] Ok, I see what you’re saying, and I know, I know that nothing I have done so far has led to anywhere but here. So, I trust you… I need you, and I am [with difficulty] thankful to have you here, to have someone who will listen.
The Therapist: Thank you Anne. I am here for you, and I am listening, and I am working to provide tools that I believe will help you, unique you as you are, find your way through this situation. [Takes a deep breath] So, in that interest, you are walking through the door into my office.
Anne: I am walking through the door into your office.
The Therapist: Excellent, and just a quick note, because you’re here to build these skills for yourself, I’m not going to correct course this time. Sustaining the positivity is up to you, and we will touch base afterward, but you’re driving and I’m listening.
Anne: Thanks, I really like that, and I remember what you have taught me so far.
The Therapist: Wonderful, so you’re in my office now, you just sat down, and I have been anxiously awaiting an answer to the following question [beat]: How did your reading on Thursday go?
Anne: Oh wow! You remember that! I stumbled a little bit, and one of the newer ones sounded different when I said it out loud. I… I didn’t like it. Like when I read it on the page, my eye gets it, but the ear just senses this dissonance when it is actually spoken, like a record skipping, and I froze… like I suddenly realized that I should have recorded myself before ever going on stage, and I felt so fucking stupid, but… I took a deep breath, [takes deep breath] and I pushed through.
The Therapist: That’s great! And it was your first invited reading, right?
Anne: Yes! [Pause] But… she picked all the love poems, so like, I didn’t really get to share what I have been working on lately, like what I have actually been trying to figure out, you know… why I am here and all.
The Therapist: Yes, we have been talking about the dreams… and the attacks…
Anne: Yeah… I mean the dreams are just dreams. Everyone has dreams. Everyone has bad dreams. I know that. And sticks and stones. It’s the episodes though, like even when I am working, and it’s not just in my head. It’s the other people. Like most of the time everything is normal, and then suddenly I just have this feeling, like everything is wrong.
The Therapist: Last time you said, it starts to feel like everything is a dream.
Anne: Yea, at first, when it first started happening, I thought I was dreaming for like the first two years, like I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. And…
The Therapist: [Interjecting]. But you can tell the difference now?
Anne: Yes, and no, I mean last night I dreamt that my mom was buying a ticket to come visit me, and everything was normal, like she wasn’t just coming to sit and court and watch the spectacle. We were speaking on the phone, and I was really excited to see her. I was going to take her to my favorite restaurant, and we were going to see a play, and she was asking me about the dating scene, but then I woke up, and I’m still here, where everything that was ever normal is just this distant memory, like a childhood fantasy. Like wanting to be a princess, but I just want to be fucking normal again. I want everything to be like it was before.
The Therapist: Ah. You… you mentioned that you don’t speak to your family very much anymore. I know that that can be very isolating, and I am glad that we have this space for you to be able to talk about what you have been going through. It is probably very challenging for them too, everything that you have been going through.
Anne: Yea, I mean in the beginning when I thought it was all a dream, I definitely understand how some of what I did pushed people away… but like, it was all in response to everything being absolutely fucking crazy, like there were these weeks where the buses, I would wait for them, sometimes like thirty minutes, it would be late, and then when my bus finally arrived, even though there were other people waiting for it and the app said it was arriving, the bus would pass my stop, and everyone acted like it was normal, and it was all so fucking surreal, and then like two minutes later, it would start raining, and it happened like multiple times, like sometimes twice in the same day. And I just wanted to scream fucking bloody murder, but everyone kept saying it was all normal. And there was this book on my nightstand too; it went missing during the first month of it all, and I know that it was on my nightstand, and even my own fucking boyfriend told me that it had never been there, and I know it was there. I was in the middle of fucking reading it, and then it just disappears, and everyone tells me it was never there, and shit like that just kept happening—at work, at home, in the street, everywhere, and in my actual dreams too, so like, yea, my mind shattered. I did my best. I survived.
The Therapist: That all sounds very stressful, and the subtlety, the ambiguity you’re describing… I understand how confused you must have been. What else was happening in your life at the time?
Anne: I was depressed and under a lot of pressure. [Pause] I am always under a lot of pressure. I always was, and I owned it, you know, like I could always handle more than other people. That’s why the company hired me. But, I… I started fucking up at work. My head wasn’t in the game, like I was burning out, and I kept beating my head up against the wall expecting to get over it, like writer’s block is now, when I can only shit out poems that sound like they were written by third graders or like some whiny bitch venting her sentimentality because it makes her feel better, but it’s just shit, like I have really high expectations, but it was like this with clients with millions of dollars on the line, and my coworkers were noticing, and the clients too. My boss started telling me to take a vacation, and I was miserable at home.
The Therapist: That sounds like a massive burden, and…
Anne: [Interjecting] It was, and sometimes I feel like I deserve all of this… this hell. I started cheating around then too, like I’d get drunk while I was away on an assignment, I was seventy percent travel back then, and sometimes I’d just fuck a random guy from a bar and forget his name and face, like it was all just a dream, none of it ever happened, and then I’d be back in my penthouse in the city, my boyfriend there on the sofa, none the wiser, just keep playing the same record over and over again as we ignored each other and it all started to slowly degrade, like a rotting banana. Even food started to taste duller, and I couldn’t get drunk enough… every fucking night… I just… you know one day, it just all came crashing down and it has just been this chaotic nightmare ever since.
The Therapist: Yes, we spoke about that; we have been speaking about that. That’s what I want to ask you about right now. [assuringly and abruptly so as to get to the main point] First, I hear you and even though we make mistakes, we grow, and we learn, and we deserve fulfilling lives. You deserve a fulfilling life, [pause] and we are here to give you the tools to build one. I want to make sure that you feel that way.
Anne: I do. I do… it’s just, during the episodes, my mind drifts into that space. I look at every fucking thing I have ever done wrong and it plays on repeat in my head, even shit I did as a child, like when I stole my friend’s toy that I envied, and I feel like this rotten thing, like all the terrible shit that is happening, it’s a punishment I’ve earned, and I keep fighting, but at some point I have to find some moral in it all… like there has to be some reason why this is happening and why no one has ever intervened, and why it’s just all so fucking obvious while everyone keeps telling me that nothing is happening. But, yes, I am here to find a way to make everything normal again.
The Therapist: Yeah, I am glad to hear that, and I believe that you have a lot of work ahead of you, but I am confident that we can overcome this all together, find that right path forward toward healing. What I want to say is that when we are in the midst of a crisis, especially one in which we have become unmoored, you mentioned how you were depressed and distressed with the challenges at work and home that you were experiencing, our thoughts can become more deceptive, our cognitive biases start getting triggered—clustering, confirmation…
Anne: Yea, I know what those are and that’s not what this is.
The Therapist: What if it is though? I want us to hit pause on everything and to ponder that question. You see, the illusions begin to reify themselves, we start to feel like our automatic thoughts are the truth, like our impulses are the right choices, and the more we let that happen, the more it all compounds into what I think you are experiencing—this upside-down world of imagined truth like a mist clouding our ability to see the sun as a clear light. The more certain of it you become, the more real it begins to feel, and it is all real, I believe you, X happens, Y happens, Z happens, but it’s about how we connect and interpret the dots, like a painting.
[Thus, she looks to the painting, guiding the poet(and the audience)’s eyes with her finger. They sit in silence for a moment.]
The Therapist: When you look back on it all, you had a hard time telling the difference at first though, between dreams and reality?
Anne: Not really. I knew when I was dreaming and when I wasn’t, but there just wasn’t a difference anymore because the real world felt like it no longer adhered to the same rules that it did before, or like suddenly everyone became puppets in some sort of sick and twisted game. Like one day in the beginning I was in a car with my sister, and she’s always the calm one, like always, but in the middle of everything, she’s driving like a maniac, tailgating on the highway, and she’s being all passive aggressive, and every time she inches closer to the car in front of us, I can feel it under my skin, and I want to scream, and I swear in that moment, my mind starts to believe that it is all connected, and I begin to worry that something is using her just to squeeze me and torture me in this way. And at first it was…
The Therapist: Ok, ok, so, I do want to make a quick comment here, if that’s alright with you. [Anne nods] We have talked about our automatic thoughts, and I shared that CBT chart with you.
Anne: Yes! I have it, and I use it sometimes. I think I get it. My automatic thought is X, but if I think Y, I feel differently.
The Therapist: Yea, and Y is more likely to be the case!
Anne: Right!
The Therapist: Ok, so let’s just unpack this event together for a moment, you in the car with your sister.
Anne: Yea, so I am in crisis and she’s behaving abnormally, and I think for a split second that maybe it is all connected.
The Therapist: Yes, and the buses that you talked about too, let’s start there, and let’s look at it this way: these are rare events, yes, but public transportation systems are under strain, so we can both agree that there being slip ups like the one you witnessed is not actually all that abnormal, and maybe that is why everyone acted like it was so normal…
Anne: Yea, that’s what I tell myself, but it is hard to shake the feeling, like this more pious sense, an intuition that, in the moment, moves me in ways that I can’t explain. It’s like I know what is happening and exactly what to do.
The Therapist: I know what you’re talking about. My grandmother calls it rauxa, that passionate, irrational force within us, but there’s a flip side to it, and that’s what we’re seeking to develop here—seny—a more rational, responsive, and critical orientation, because our intuitions, our natural automatic drives, they’re powerful, but we can both agree that they have proven to be faulty.
Anne: Yea… I’m never sure what I should have done, what I should be doing, and I am working to be reasonable, to understand it all, but I just feel like I am exiled in these clouds of nonsense, treading water, I am surrounded by these fucking fins in the water and fish gnawing at my skin, insanity in a thousand nibbles.
The Therapist: And we’re here building the resiliency and the tools to see it all for what it is, and to overcome it to the best of your ability…
So, your sister in the car, she was always calm, yes, but maybe everything that was happening was stressful for her, and maybe she just let it show more than usual, but you were so on edge that you magnified it, and you attributed more meaning to it than was actually there, and maybe in doing so you increased the stress level she was feeling in a positive reinforcement loop, amplifying this current of energy that is poisoning your perceptions and that we are here to redirect and detox. Like I said, the tiniest of steps can redirect the current of one’s history.
Anne: Yes, it all sounds so wonderful right here and now, but the problem is that I know, I know beyond a shadow of a doubting thomas, that something is happening. The problem is the gestalt of it all.
The Therapist: But, what if you feel like you know that because you allowed yourself to focus on those conspiratorial beliefs so many times that they began to reinforce themselves?
Anne: No… I mean, you don’t get it. Those one’s weren’t good examples. So, like, here’s another one. I would be at work in the middle of the initial crisis, like three weeks into it, and I’m on this assignment with a furniture company in Nebraska, and the solution is so obvious, like their supply channels are driving their production costs through the roof, and I’m like, you’ve got to drop these guys and start buying from this source I’m brokering in Thailand, like it’s all so obvious, cuts their costs 60% overnight, one fell swoop and I save this company from bankruptcy, but their leadership is like, “yea, that sounds great, but we like who we’re working with, so what if we don’t change anything and we expand our operations into creating bicycles and baby strollers and”, I shit you not, “things that emerge from the homes that our furniture lives within.”
The Therapist: So, people have values and beliefs that divert their perceived to be optimal behaviors from those that another person such as yourself perceives to be the optimal course of action.
Anne: No, these people are fucking insane. I looked at the numbers. I did all the math. These people live on a different planet. And you know what, Google them. They don’t exist anymore. That’s what happens when you don’t listen to me.
The Therapist: I still feel strongly that these events are all everyday occurrences that you are unconsciously weaving into a quilt of perceived abnormality. You’re doing this to yourself, Anne.
Anne: Oh yea, everyday fucking occurrences. There are idiots everywhere, so I’ll give you that one. But don’t you dare say that I made that fucking book disappear!? I will give you everything, absolutely everything, believe every alternative we can generate, but that book was there on my nightstand, every single night, until suddenly it was not.
The Therapist: Anne, take a deep breath. You’re in a safe space, and therapy is a process. It is an uncomfortable process, but we are making progress. And that book, like your sister, and the people in Nebraska, and the busses, we’re letting it all evaporate so we can find that more rational solid ground to stand upon, here and now, together, especially given your history of confusing dreams with reality….
Anne: No! It was this bright fucking orange book, and I know it was there! I will never forget that book, that day, and I will never allow anyone, not you, not anyone, to convince me of anything but what I know to be the absolute fucking truth!
[A gentle alarm sounds.]
The Therapist: [Sighs] Our time is up, and I understand, but I really feel like we must spend more time considering these questions and letting go of the past, how much of it was a dream, and what is real… [emphatically] what is real is here and now, this moment and the one who follows. I want to challenge you, because this is where we are right here and now, I want to challenge you to ask yourself, between now and our next meeting, “what if I just let go of the book?” “What if the book was the dream?”
[Blackout]
Scene 5
The Blue Room
[The stage has transformed into a dimly lit bar with patrons scattered about, sipping their beverages at miscellaneous tables and a podium in the center, bathing in a brighter blue light. The chorus members adopt the roles of The Host, Reader #1, and Reader #2 while Lawyer #1, Lawyer #2, The Therapist, and The Judge sit as the spectators with their backs to the audience. They could be different actors, but I have been imagining producing this play on a very low budget.]
[The Host and the readers are upon the stage. The Host is arranging the podium and putting the finishing touches on the space. The readers are purchasing a beverage at the bar and chatting between themselves.]
Reader #2: I barely write in form anymore.
Reader #1: Same, but years of classical education left a legacy.
Reader #2: It’s like anything I read, anything I write, everything will always be from this altered perspective.
Reader #1: Like you walked through a door and there’s no return?
Reader #2: No return on my investment, that’s for damn sure!
Reader #1: [Pondering] Form.
Reader #2: [Pondering] Form.
The Host: [Perks up, having been eavesdropping.] I always say that form is a taste!
Reader #2: Yea, well I always say it’s a waste!
Reader #1: But, even in free verse, there’s this gravity…
Reader #2: Yea, ask any formally trained poet in the city!
The Host: [Perks up again] I definitely sense it in my own writing too!
Reader #1: What is it?
Reader #2: It’s what guides my translations of poets who… [trails into thought]
Reader #1: Oh, you’re a translator?
Reader #2: Yea, it’s one of the things I do.
Reader #1: Well, whopdidoo!
Reader #2: What are you, a poet exclusively?
Reader #1: Oh, no. That would be a tragedy!
The Host: You’re both still poets, through and through!
Reader #1: I guess… Oh, well…
Reader #2: At least that’s true!
Reader #1: And that gravity, you feel it?
Reader #2: Yea, I am always searching for a sense of [pause] oneness.
The Host: [Tapping the mic.] Test… test…
Reader #1: Oh god, poetic bullshit, is that your best?
Reader #2: No, I’m serious, it’s this feeling…
[Anne enters the scene.]
Anne: Like a bird making its nest?
The Host: It’s instinctual.
Reader #2: Yea, but it’s not just about “closing the circle.” I mean, there’s a difference between when a poem is complete and when it’s got that umph to it.
Reader #1: You mean like when a poem gets under your skin about the pain the poet feels, like when it’s vivid depictions of trauma?
Anne: No, it’s not about sentimentality or the strings of simple emotions. It’s the aesthetics of the poetic object when it achieves a peak, a height.
Reader #2: Yea, it’s like one that only the trained mind can sense, even when it’s just a poem about dandelions, mist in a car’s headlights, it’s when the object becomes whole, sensed in the formation of language as language removed from intended effect upon the mass psyche, no mere rhetoric, no smoke, it’s ideal poetry beyond ABAB, ten syllables, rhyme, meter, words…
Anne: It is beyond words.
Reader #1: So, it’s subliminal?
Anne: No.
Reader #2: It is sublime.
The Host: Welcome! [Pause; she’s beaming] Welcome everyone! I am extremely excited to have you all here tonight and so thankful to Stag Bar’s Blue Room for hosting our event. [Takes a prideful deep breath] I have been anxiously awaiting this evening for several weeks, and as you might know, I hand selected each of these poets in order for us to construct a looking glass into the Romantic. But there are no simple “love poems” here…
Scene 2
The Poet’s Vision
[The curtains open to a stage without light and a creature (The Thing) enters amidst the darkness. Its footsteps are heard. Then it begins to run and to do so faster, berserk, until there is a sudden silence. Thus, the stage ignites into a pyre and burns brightly as the hooded figure looms, circling the flame. A stag enters, a silhouette against the flame, and they “dance” until the hood consumes it, donning the horns, dripping a river of blood. The flame waning, the hooded figure faces the audience and consumes it too.]
[Blackout]
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