SIR FRANCIS

“I’ll have my usual—

Deep Dish Lolita and

tea with a sprig of mint”

(Sir Francis)—Evelyn Waugh

The Loved One

John Gielgud so subtly—

Heartbreaking as he realizes

He’s not longer needed

Hollywood society—

Trashes him just like it did to

British director James Whale

Looking back over his—

Shoulder at the film studio

Sadly one last time

Gielgud hangs himself—

While James Whale drowns

Himself in his Hollywood pool

Palm Springs Facelift

PALM SPRINGS FACE LIFT

“They told me, Francis Hinsley, 

they told me you were hung. 

With red protruding eyeballs 

and black protruding tongue.”

― Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One

I had most of my nose cut off—

After they sent me to Palm Springs

For some cheap cosmetic surgery

Then they sent me to Mexico—

For six weeks to learn Flamenco

To become quite the Valentino

It didn’t catch on even though —

I was quite good at it, you know

I definitely played a tres chic Sheik 

My legs were quite photogenique—

I was used to it after years of showing

A little leg there on Hollywood Blvd

No matter how coy and innocent—

I pretended to be as I danced away

I just simply couldn’t please anybody

Those League of Decency queens—

Insisted I bleach my hair and dye it 

A less voluptuous vermilion hue

The tacky directors insisted—

All my crooked teeth be pulled—

But my pretty dentures kept slipping

“BLESSED REVEREND”

WILBUR GLENWORTHY

“They ( the Americans) talk

entirely for their own pleasure

and they never expect you to listen!”

― Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One

Whispering Glades is blessed—

Having the “Blessed Reverend”

Wilbur Glenworthy (Jonathan Winters)

The Blessed Reverend runs—

Whispering Gay Blades Cemetery

Like a Disneyland Memorial Park

Like some grandiose Theme Park—

Right out Walt Disney, everything

There is so pretty, perfect, phony

He paints a gay face on the—

Dreaded eventuality of Death

Giving viewing areas romantic names

Like The Gay Gothic Slumber Room—

The receptionists masquerading as

Sexy smiling Black Widow Spiders

In tight black speedos and a wink—

Plus low décolletage big bulging biceps

To impress the weeping gay clientele

Ominous organ music follows—

‘The Blessed Reverend’ all around

More like a mob boss than funeral director

Making as much money as possible—

The main goal of the establishment

On your Loved One’s final journey

COUNSEL STARKER

Counsel Starker gives a nice—

Guided tour of the exquisite

Gothic Slumber Room

Liberace plays the role well—

As the slimy casket vendor extolling

The values of the latest models

Expensive caskets for the rich—

Like The Silent Night & The Rest King

As smooth as a Jaguar salesman

Satin makes a better coffin lining—

Because, my dears, “rayon chafes!!!”

We wouldn’t want that would we?

   

Yes, Liberace’s a suave caretaker—

He even plays the organ interludes for

The Loved Ones at Whispering Glades

They’ll do anything to make you—

And your Loved One happy, switching

Even to a quickie wedding just like that!

Aimee Thanatogenos

AIMÉE THANATOGENOS

“What did you have in mind?

Inhumement, Entombment,

Inurnment, Immurement? 

Some people just lately have

preferred Ensarcophagusment;

it’s very individual.” (Aimee)

― Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One

Captivating Aimée Thanatogenos—

A doe-eyed greek cosmetologist is

A true disciple of The Blessed Reverend

She’s blindly faithful to the world of—

Whispering Gay Blades, considered the

Best funeral cosmologist in the business

She does Sir Francis up like a drag queen—

To her utter ecstasy, Aimee is made the

First Lady Embalmer of Whispering Glades

Aimée’s caught in an unlikely love triangle—

With her co-worker Mr. Joyboy (Rod Steiger)

And a young English wanna-be poet

Mr. Joyboy’s a middle-aged mama’s boy—

And Dennis works at an animal crematory

While he lives with his uncle Sir Francis

Aimée can’t make up her dizzy mind—

So she consults Mr. Slump who gives her

Some advice: “Jump off a fucking building.”

MR. SLUMP

“Her letters are actually

answered by Mr. Slump,

who lives in an ever-

increasing alcoholic haze”

—Evelyn Waugh, The Loved One

Mr. Slump, known as Guru Brahmin—

An ironic name for a drunken creep

Who’s basically always in a slump

Mr. Slump lives in an ever-increasing—

Alcoholic daze, steadily deteriorating

Due to his smoking and alcoholism

For the first hours of every day—

Slump was possessed by a cough

Which arose from Tartarean depths

Only whiskey could revive him—

Retching, shivering, doing his

Dear Miss Lonelyhearts routine

Krapp's Last Tape

KRAPP'S LAST TAPE

"I realized that Joyce had gone 

as far as one could in the direction 

of knowing more, [being] in control 

of one’s material. He was always 

adding to it; you only have to look 

at his proofs to see that. I realized 

that my own way was in impoverishment, 

in lack of knowledge and in taking away, 

in subtracting rather than in adding."

—Samuel Beckett,

Here I am—

Late evening sometime

In the nearby future

Krapp's den—

Front center a small table

Drawers open towards audience

Sitting at the table—

Facing the audience

I’m crappy Krapp again

Pale faced, purple nose—

Disordered grey hair with

A frowning expression

A pause

On the table a tape-recorder—

With microphone & a number of

Cardboard boxes sitting there

Reels of recorded tapes—

Inside the boxes, strong white

Light above, the rest in darkness

I remain motionless—

I heave a forlorn long sigh

Look at my watch, shake my head

I fumble in my pockets—

Take out a small bunch of keys

then stoop, unlock the first drawer

A pause

I take out a reel of tapes—

I pick spool five and put it on

The stupid tape recorder but pause

I go backstage into darkness—

Ten seconds, a loud pop of a cork 

Then a snort of some Irish whiskey

Back at the table I wipe my mouth—

Take out the ledger and push the

Button so that the tape begins

I bend over the ledger, turn pages—

Find the entry I want and read along

As my voice comes off the tape

A pause

“Equinox, memorable equinox”—

I raise my head, staring blankly into

The darkness as the voice goes on

I assume a rather listening pose—

Bending my head to listen to the

Voice that was once me back then

Leaning forward, elbows on table—

Hand cupping ear towards machine

Listening intently to the Voice

It’s a strong voice, rather pompous—

Clearly my crappy Krapp's rendition 

Of who I was thirty years ago

A pause

Crest of the wave or thereabouts—

Celebrating the awful occasion tonight

Like I used to… getting drunk

Good to be back in my den again—

Back when all I had were my old rags…

(Vehemently.) Cut it out! 

The new light above my table—

Such a great improvement over all

This darkness always around me 

Extraordinary silence this evening—

It’s strange to hear my voice again

After all these years, so self-assured

A pause

Just listening to an old year—

Back to Andre when we were living

There on Thackeray Street

There in the U-District—

Not far from campus and

The revered Neptune Theater

Well, out of all that ended up—

Hopeless business, not because

Of him but more because of me

Hopelessly hetero—

He kept having girlfriends over

To fuck the long nights away

A pause

Sometimes I’d get him off—

Between one chick & another

What a gymnast body he had!!!

And suddenly I was there again—

Listening to the tape talking about

All that old ache and pain and jizz

I switch the tape off—

I can’t stand it any longer

Leaving me brooding and blue

I take out the tape—

Throw it against the wall

Then have another stiff drink

A pause

It’s hard to believe—

It was so long ago back then

All my hopes & aspirations!!!

Smirking to myself—

I put another spool in the

Infernal memory machine

This one’s even more sexual—

A tape recording him getting off

What an animal orgasmic grunt

Long and drawn-out—

As I got every fucking shot

Of hot young male cum

A pause

Unattainable happiness—

My prolonged laugh gradually

Turning into sobbing tears

Thank God it’s all over with—

The only memory I have left is

What misery a fag goes through

The false ring to it—

Shadows of some estranged

Opus that ended up nowhere

I turn off the recorder again—

A prolonged laugh in which Krapp joins

A shabby railway-station platform? 

Pause.

I brood to myself—

I go backstage into the darkness

10 seconds, pop a cork, a good snort

Fit of coughing, coming back into—

The light, sitting down, wiping my lips

Resuming my listening posture

The tape continues its story—

After my long viduity as a dying

Miss Havisham reclusive fag

All the breeders, regular fuckers—

Nursemaids, old men, infants, dogs

I got to know them well, my dears

A pause

One dark young beauty—

I recall particularly, there at the

Campus gym in the showers

I was bold enough to cruise him—

He knew my designs right away

With a schlong like that who wouldn’t

He took me home to his place—

A cheap dumpy apartment north

Of the rambling ugly campus

To my great surprise he had—

A younger freshman kid brother

Hung like a horse like he was

A pause

I switched off Krapp’s tape—

I happened to look up and there 

It was all over and done with for now

I sat on for a few moments with—

Nothing but moments, his moments

And his brother’s moments with me

I could still feel it, taste it—

I wish I could’ve kept it but you know

How slutty young undergraduates are

Ah well . . .

A pause

Spiritually a year of profound gloom—

And over-indulgence with boys, booze

And much too much dope

Until one memorable night in March—

At the end of the dock by the lake

In the howling wind, I’ll never forget

When suddenly I saw everything—

The flash, at last, that’s guided me 

Ever since then like a secret roadmap

No need for any memory—

I simply started dictating to the tape

The Voice that had set me free

A pause

Past midnight—

Never knew such silence

The earth might be uninhabited

So I end this reel—

Perhaps my best years are gone

When there was a chance of happiness

But I wouldn't want them back—

Not with the fire in me now

No, I wouldn't want them back

I sit here motionless—

Staring out before me

The tape runs on in silence