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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 7 of 7. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 11:14:06
Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997
Six tons of angry super-predator
Hurl themselves
At full speed
Down five flights
Of apartment stairs,
Clawed three-toed feet
Splintering the worn wooden steps,
Twelve-inch teeth gnashing
At imagined foes
And tearing chunks
From the greasy
Graffiti-covered plaster
That clings to the walls
By sheer force of habit.It thunders
Into the lobby
With glittering red-rimmed
Eyes
As cold and hard and indifferent
As granite, but,
Incongruously,
The color
Of a pale blue spring sky.
Battle-scarred hide, dark as black leather,
Stretches across its back.
It surveys the shimmering promise
Of the nightscape
Beyond the door,
Then bursts from
Its lair
Onto the sidewalk
To hunt.Pain and fury
Drive it forward.
Pedestrians swerve abruptly
To avoid
Any contact
With the charging
Beast.
Its reptilian brain
Roils with words,
Hated words
That fuel its rampage.
Nonsense words
That sound
Like they were penned
By Dr. Seuss.
Paxil
Zoloft
Prozac
Xanax
Lorax.
All have failed
To stop
The creature's
Gruesome mutation
From man to monster,
From lover to stranger,
From friend to foe.Blasting into McGinty's
Liquor store,
It snatches
A bottle
Of Jack Daniels
From a shelf
Without pausing in
Its ominous advance
Toward the counter,
Slapping a bill
Onto the surface,
Its nails clacking
On the Lucite,
Before turning
And stalking out
Without waiting
For change.It's heading for
The little park
Over the FDR Drive
To snarl and roar
In accompaniment
To the herd of traffic
Racing relentlessly past
Below.
The thing
Dumps half a bottle
Of Xanax
Into
Its steaming gullet,
Washing the pills down
With the whiskey,
Pausing,
Then wolfing
Down the rest
Of the pharmacological
Carcass as well.
It chugs the booze,
Pacing,
The spikes of hair
Crowning its head
Tingling,
Feeling
Like defensive spines
Against anticipated attackers.The animal sways,
Seeks the solid support
Of a tree trunk,
Calming,
The trios of bony sickles
On each of its feet
Blurring together
Into leather-covered
Steel-toed boots.It thinks of its wife, of Alyssa, now,
Her eyes rheumy
With tears
And exhaustion,
Curled up
In a red beanbag chair
Held together
By silvery strips
Of duct tape,
And it wishes
She were as easy
To repair.
This can't go on,
The tyrannosaur muses,
I'm killing both of us,
It has to stop.The beast hurls the liquor bottle
Against a wooden park bench,
Hearing it shatter
With a satisfying medley
Of exploding glass
And splashing whiskey.
The same bench
Where it and Alyssa
Used to sit
And read
The Sunday Times,
Passing pieces
Back and forth,
And chasing stray pages
Snatched
By the winds
That come
Off the East River
Before weighting
The restless newsprint
With ragged chunks
Of concrete
Collected from the edges
Of the crumbling block
Into which
The bench is anchored.The reptile regards
The jagged glass edge
Ringing the broken bottle's neck,
Dimly sensing a solution
To everything
From within
The primordial soup
Of benzos and liquor
That further fogs
A brain
Already awash
In a biochemical miasma
It doesn't comprehend."What's happening to me?"
It croaks sibilantly,
Holding the tubular shard
In its right hand
And turning it slowly, slowly
In the dim and fluttering light
Of a lamp post
That seems as worn
And battered
As the dinosaur itself.A thought rises
Like the first wisp
Of smoke
From a fire,
Finding shape
In a single word:
Extinction.
The t-rex touches
The protruding point of
The jagged crystal
To its left wrist,
Feeling the weight
Of the cool glass
On bare skin,
Considering,
Then lets the
Bottle's neck
Slip from its fingers
And tumble to the trampled
Browning grass
Beside the bench.
Not tonight, it thinks,
Not just yet.It stumbles through the door
Into the apartment
And Alyssa's embrace.
I don't deserve her,
Thinks the tyrannosaur,
I don't deserve her at all.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,"
The monster says,
Kissing her
Over and over,
Until it allows the pills
And the Jack
To finally overtake it,
Sliding to the ground,
Clutching her legs
Like a child,
Thinking that
Wooden floorboards
Never felt
So luxurious.
-- Atticus
Posted by B2chica on July 29, 2004, at 12:31:38
In reply to poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 11:14:06
is this you or is this me? step by step with the alcohol mix, the anger, and confusion, the feeling of not really being or of being a shell of whom we used to be and for the depth of undeservedness for those beloved at our sides-those poor souls that don't deserve what we are living.
Atticus,
your words echo in this muttled mind and draw vivid memories of not too long ago. what flows out of your gifted mouth is what encircles within my mind but stays trapped.
i tear from your words, not because i sadden but because... from someone else my voice is finally being heard.
i'm sorry but a thank you won't even touch on what your words do for me.
b2c.
Posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 14:35:50
In reply to Re: poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by B2chica on July 29, 2004, at 12:31:38
Thanks so much, b2c, I really appreciate it. The stories that show me as I was before the Great Crash of 1996 -- capable of hauling Walter's ass out of the fire at the Limelight -- are so much easier to write than the ones about incidents that indicate the blitzed, confused state I was in during the time period in which "Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997" takes place, or that depict the crushing depression after Alyssa left in "Brittle" (which is set in about 2002 -- it would have been our tenth wedding anniversary), or the graphic description of my suicide attempt earlier this year that I detailed in "Spots." You're right. It's hard to look back and feel like a shell of who I was or what kind of person I hoped someday to be. I'm glad my writing makes you realize you're not alone in the kind of struggles you face; it has the same effect on me when I get feedback like yours. I lay it all out there, and someone says, "Hey, this is really familiar." It means a lot to me. :) Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on July 29, 2004, at 20:21:11
In reply to poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 11:14:06
So many runs at the real thing....
I am so glad that is over for you.
Where is your sweet wife?
A poem so hard and edgy.
Violent and relentless.
massive and yet melting at her feet.
Love can soften some things, yes?If you have more under your hat....let's see it. Your words are so powerful.
Thank you for being so forthcoming.
Posted by Atticus on July 30, 2004, at 12:51:21
In reply to Re: poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by Jai Narayan on July 29, 2004, at 20:21:11
My ex, who put up with more than anyone should ever have had to, is now remarried, to a quiet, stabile, scholarly classics professor and living in Minnesota. I still miss her every day, but until my pdocs finally found a med this year that was effective, Effexor XR, I knew that I was toxic for her. It broke my heart to sign the uncontested divorce papers, but she deserved some peace, some tranquility, and I knew I just couldn't give it to her. I drove away a lot of people during my "Tyrannosaurus Meds" phase, especially those who were trying their best to support me. Not a pretty period in my life, but I'm for warts-and-all recountings. Thanks for writing. :) Atticus
Posted by Susan47 on August 25, 2004, at 22:23:32
In reply to poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 11:14:06
This is very real Atticus.
Posted by susan47 on June 6, 2006, at 19:13:54
In reply to poem ... Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997, posted by Atticus on July 29, 2004, at 11:14:06
> Tyrannosaurus Meds, 1997
>
> Six tons of angry super-predator
> Hurl themselves
> At full speed
> Down five flights
> Of apartment stairs,
> Clawed three-toed feet
> Splintering the worn wooden steps,
> Twelve-inch teeth gnashing
> At imagined foes
> And tearing chunks
> From the greasy
> Graffiti-covered plaster
> That clings to the walls
> By sheer force of habit.
>
> It thunders
> Into the lobby
> With glittering red-rimmed
> Eyes
> As cold and hard and indifferent
> As granite, but,
> Incongruously,
> The color
> Of a pale blue spring sky.
> Battle-scarred hide, dark as black leather,
> Stretches across its back.
> It surveys the shimmering promise
> Of the nightscape
> Beyond the door,
> Then bursts from
> Its lair
> Onto the sidewalk
> To hunt.
>
> Pain and fury
> Drive it forward.
> Pedestrians swerve abruptly
> To avoid
> Any contact
> With the charging
> Beast.
> Its reptilian brain
> Roils with words,
> Hated words
> That fuel its rampage.
> Nonsense words
> That sound
> Like they were penned
> By Dr. Seuss.
> Paxil
> Zoloft
> Prozac
> Xanax
> Lorax.
> All have failed
> To stop
> The creature's
> Gruesome mutation
> From man to monster,
> From lover to stranger,
> From friend to foe.
>
> Blasting into McGinty's
> Liquor store,
> It snatches
> A bottle
> Of Jack Daniels
> From a shelf
> Without pausing in
> Its ominous advance
> Toward the counter,
> Slapping a bill
> Onto the surface,
> Its nails clacking
> On the Lucite,
> Before turning
> And stalking out
> Without waiting
> For change.
>
> It's heading for
> The little park
> Over the FDR Drive
> To snarl and roar
> In accompaniment
> To the herd of traffic
> Racing relentlessly past
> Below.
> The thing
> Dumps half a bottle
> Of Xanax
> Into
> Its steaming gullet,
> Washing the pills down
> With the whiskey,
> Pausing,
> Then wolfing
> Down the rest
> Of the pharmacological
> Carcass as well.
> It chugs the booze,
> Pacing,
> The spikes of hair
> Crowning its head
> Tingling,
> Feeling
> Like defensive spines
> Against anticipated attackers.
>
> The animal sways,
> Seeks the solid support
> Of a tree trunk,
> Calming,
> The trios of bony sickles
> On each of its feet
> Blurring together
> Into leather-covered
> Steel-toed boots.
>
> It thinks of its wife, of Alyssa, now,
> Her eyes rheumy
> With tears
> And exhaustion,
> Curled up
> In a red beanbag chair
> Held together
> By silvery strips
> Of duct tape,
> And it wishes
> She were as easy
> To repair.
> This can't go on,
> The tyrannosaur muses,
> I'm killing both of us,
> It has to stop.
>
> The beast hurls the liquor bottle
> Against a wooden park bench,
> Hearing it shatter
> With a satisfying medley
> Of exploding glass
> And splashing whiskey.
> The same bench
> Where it and Alyssa
> Used to sit
> And read
> The Sunday Times,
> Passing pieces
> Back and forth,
> And chasing stray pages
> Snatched
> By the winds
> That come
> Off the East River
> Before weighting
> The restless newsprint
> With ragged chunks
> Of concrete
> Collected from the edges
> Of the crumbling block
> Into which
> The bench is anchored.
>
> The reptile regards
> The jagged glass edge
> Ringing the broken bottle's neck,
> Dimly sensing a solution
> To everything
> From within
> The primordial soup
> Of benzos and liquor
> That further fogs
> A brain
> Already awash
> In a biochemical miasma
> It doesn't comprehend.
>
> "What's happening to me?"
> It croaks sibilantly,
> Holding the tubular shard
> In its right hand
> And turning it slowly, slowly
> In the dim and fluttering light
> Of a lamp post
> That seems as worn
> And battered
> As the dinosaur itself.
>
> A thought rises
> Like the first wisp
> Of smoke
> From a fire,
> Finding shape
> In a single word:
> Extinction.
> The t-rex touches
> The protruding point of
> The jagged crystal
> To its left wrist,
> Feeling the weight
> Of the cool glass
> On bare skin,
> Considering,
> Then lets the
> Bottle's neck
> Slip from its fingers
> And tumble to the trampled
> Browning grass
> Beside the bench.
> Not tonight, it thinks,
> Not just yet.
>
> It stumbles through the door
> Into the apartment
> And Alyssa's embrace.
> I don't deserve her,
> Thinks the tyrannosaur,
> I don't deserve her at all.
> "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,"
> The monster says,
> Kissing her
> Over and over,
> Until it allows the pills
> And the Jack
> To finally overtake it,
> Sliding to the ground,
> Clutching her legs
> Like a child,
> Thinking that
> Wooden floorboards
> Never felt
> So luxurious.
> -- Atticus
Atticus is also magnificent .. I hope he doesn't mind but I've sent it to self at work and will post on the board, it's very appropriate there really truly.
This is the end of the thread.
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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
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Script revised: February 4, 2008
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