Terminal Condition
[MILTON walks into the room, holding two cups of coffee. DENISE is packing things, hurriedly.]
MILTON: …what?
DENISE: I’m leaving, Milton.
MILTON: I’m not blind.
DENISE: You didn’t see this coming.
[Milton sets down a cup of coffee, extends one towards her.]
MILTON: Denise. Denise. Sit. Have a cup of coffee. We just woke up. [he looks at the steaming brew, then her] You can’t just up and leave a man without a wake-up.
DENISE: No. I have to go now.
MILTON: Where are you going to go? Your parents are dead. Your mother can’t take your phone calls.
DENISE: Really fucking poetic, Milton. Like you’re one to talk.
MILTON: That’s unkind.
DENISE: Is it unkind? Is it fucking, fucking unkind, Milton, to point out that we’ve been over so long this relationship has become the undead?
MILTON: Jesus!
DENISE: You’ve turned us into a pair of fucking ghouls and I’m not having it. [shakes her head, stops packing, looks at him] I’m not having it at all.
MILTON: Jesus — ! [looks around, with a vague sense of panic] You can’t be serious. Is this about the tea?
DENISE: [mocking] Is this about the tea? [normal voice] Milton, if this was about the tea, I just wouldn’t fuck you in the shower this morning like I always do so you actually talk during breakfast. This is about you [points at Milton] and me [points at herself].
MILTON: Where can you go?
DENISE: I’m going to go back to college.
[Milton scoffs, sets down her coffee, picks up his own. Denise throws a blouse at him, which he catches.]
DENISE: [Stares] That’s just like you. Everything in order. Why did you pick that cup back up?
MILTON: Well, that one’s mine.
DENISE: Neither of us have had any, Milton. Neither of them were anyone’s cup. You just have to be in control of the entire goddamn situation all the goddamn time. [closes up suitcase, starts packing smaller bag] Goddamn Milton has to drive the everything car and doesn’t tolerate backseat drivers. [looks over] Give me my blouse back.
[Milton throws the blouse back to her.]
MILTON: Where are you going to go?
DENISE: You think I’m going to come up with a different answer if you ask again?
MILTON: College, Denise. You’re 32. It’s a joke, now.
DENISE: I’d rather be a joke than a corpse.
[Denise stuffs the other bag closed and looks up at him. She’s angry.]
DENISE: You know what’s funny, Milton? This whole time, you haven’t told me that you love me, or you miss me, or even asked if I’ll suck you off one last time for old time’s sake. You just want to know where I’m going. That’s what sickens me. [She gets angrier] Because you have to be right. That’s all you have. You don’t have any feelings left except being fucking right.
MILTON: Denise! Jesus!
DENISE: You’ve gone cold, dead man.
[Denise walks to the door.]
DENISE: You could have said something. Anything. To show that I mattered, more than knowing.
[Milton looks at her. Tired. Then he composes himself, takes a sip of coffee.]
MILTON: Go on, if you’re going.
DENISE: I’ve already gone.
[The door slams.]
MILTON: Jesus — !
[There is a knock on the door. HADRIAN, the neighbor sticks his head in.]
HADRIAN: Hell of a fight you guys were having.
MILTON: Hell of a fight.
HADRIAN: She’s gone now?
MILTON: She’s gone now.
HADRIAN: I was in love once.
MILTON: Just the once?
HADRIAN: Just once.
MILTON: What happened?
HADRIAN: We had a hell of a fight, and she got a hell of a move on.
MILTON: Sounds like hell.
HADRIAN: Love is hell.
MILTON: Isn’t that a song?
[Fin]
Polk Street Livin'
- Me: I can't seem to write anything today.
- Voice In My Head: Well then, watch more Boston Legal.
- Me: I've already gotten through a whole season!
- Voice In My Head: Well then, go out to a bar.
- Me: I don't have any money.
- Voice In My Head: Hang out with someone.
- Me: Everyone's out with their girlfriend/boyfriend.
- Voice In My Head: Walk around the city.
- Me: Already did.
- Voice In My Head: Okay then, just go ahead and stew at the fucking internet for the next seven hours.
- Me: Oh, voice in my head. It's like you know me.
now entering Vaccerelliville
- Tony: My wife has been having all these...rape, domination fantasies and I don't understand.
- Me: Let me get some fucking breakfast before I deal with your bullshit problems.
DEMETER: It seems we’ve won the war.
SAXON: It seems.
DEMETER: So many dead.
SAXON: They would have died some day.
DEMETER: Was it worth it, in the end?
SAXON: The end is always uncertain.
DEMETER: Then how can we measure right and wrong?
SAXON: Comforting lies and opiates.
DEMETER: [to himself] Comforting lies and opiates. [to Saxon] Isn’t that just an escape?
SAXON: Like everything else.
DEMETER: [sighs, looks out into the distance] The war is over.
SAXON: Is it?
PAUL: What’s the weather like?
DEMBRAUGH: Weather.
PAUL: Is it hot or cold?
DEMBRAUGH: Both.
PAUL: Why do you never answer my questions?
DEMBRAUGH: You’re not asking the right ones.
PAUL: What’s the right question?
DEMBRAUGH: Not that one.
Speaking of “The Maltese Falcon”…
(via peterguilllams)
I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble
I’m discovering the plain truth is I get in more trouble when I’m being charming than when I’m being an ass.
I suffer from a personal dysfunction, called “no matter how much fun I’m having, it doesn’t seem to be as much fun as my friends are having, so in the end I’m more concerned with why I’m not having as much fun as them and don’t enjoy any of my actual experiences”.Works, undisputed master of dropping shit like this into casual conversation
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.Krapp’s Last Tape, Samuel Beckett
(Source: lifeinpoetry)
