Jane Joritz-Nakagawa
from PLAN B AUDIO
Excerpt #1
i press the call button over
and over to no avail, until
i recall that as of recently i may
be the only resident, there is
nobody but me to answer to.
and there is no way for me
to help myself (that i haven't
tried already)
because without this job
i couldn't stand it, am scarcely
surviving now….
The window is sweating again, a cold sweat. I can see
birds but can't hear them, the shapes of their heads
appear to be changing. there are people
moving about for unknown reasons. perhaps
just out of habit. or, they are following
orders
tomorrow perhaps
i'll return to the house
with its false freedoms,
its narrowness, its
brown and beigeness, its
disorienting chaos
its failure to deliver on promises
its coldness and meanness
posed as if "for my own good"
i can never escape
the heavy responsibility, the
oppressive blaming, the
unending diarrhea in my clothes
wherever i am i can't
forget. i cannot
express myself
against this dull background
of green linoleum floors
and grey metal desks
paper clips
the monotony of place
and disorderliness of
shifts beyond my control
creating additional sites
of fracture. between places
where suffering is expected
and cultivated and notated
causes confusion and a lack
of questioning of the processes
controlled by authorities
worries about their judgment and
trustworthiness, as connected
to my own. i am not sure
i prefer to stay in an orderly
place, where attachment
creates a painful fissure,
as i react to almost nothing
i would miss the dragon
most of all. and realize it
differs little from the
nature of the house
i became the mountain range
under his feet. she hoped
to become the mountain
range he'd tried on as he
rose to the top, flattening
her peaks, obliterating
what she held dear,
the skyline for instance,
nothing became the
focal point at which
she aimed as she
became part of
nature.
The three headed dragon that licked sucked
and bites. The red light in the ceiling
that blinded my right eye and attached
to my hip. The women whose vulva
were not just stolen but replaced, or
rather than replaced were
simply covered with skin, so that
they looked like antique
Barbie dolls in a museum
Viewed from my office / prison, the room with the scratched up grey metal
desk with 3 drawers, just enough room for my legs (if they don't swell!) covered with silver paper clips, i see orange-ish spiraling cobblestone streets and colorful shops with slanting windowpanes bordered in black. although there appears to be nothing and almost no one inside the shops. there is a wastebasket next to my desk which may be for human waste.
of course some men actually preferred plastic replacement vulva
A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
. . . women / walking with ovaries / hanging inside
i cry uncontrollably as the physical
therapist looks on i can't
go outside so i imagine my feet
walking the semi-circular gravel path,
losing my way, getting it back, passing
the distilled lemon yellow flowers
reaching up to the sky
The white machine is a dragon with
many heads. The red light blinds me; one
of the heads falls from the ceiling
flattening me under its weight. i
cannot be saved anymore
Leaves swirl in the wind
as if they are nauseous
I can't take in the vista
at this angle
my swollen foot trudges on
as if waiting for an army
The maid comes, banging the
vacuum cleaner against the
papered walls and green plastic
lined metal trash cans. although
i am asleep i can smell
the discomfort
Sitting in a drab pink chair
warming my face by the
cold sweating window
Yesterday pop music, a sultry
voiced woman, slightly jazzy, the
ceiling with green plants. Today
a definitive jazz tune, as
multi-headed dragons tear
at my vulva. I imagine the
oncologist following me,
unable to get enough
of my naked pussy
I wonder if my true self
is the short-tempered self
in pain, or the cheerful person
i imagine who knows nothing
of the life i actually lead i ask
myself as i leave the walking
path to walk towards the
hospital where a carefully
prepared meal that i don't
want to eat is waiting for
me.
do i resent those patients with a large
audience, do i want to be them,
can i only be me, can i continue
to strive to be the cheerful person
i believe i am or once was, or
actually become when you
are near? i don't care if
i make any sense, it's not
my goal. this morning
i woke up smelling you
thinking of you in your checked shirt
and black sweater that i bought
for you, looking so handsome,
the spot near your ear that
smells delicious, that i love to
kiss, the head that i want
to right now hold in my hands
My wrist burns from writing
this, from thinking it
There is not a lot to do here other than record my bowel movements and temperature, wrap my leg, and read anonymous emails telling me what the rest of the world might be doing.
there are cars moving and beyond what i can see carp swimming in a pond with their mouths open. why do the cars move forward? a black and white cat will not turn to look at me. perhaps she is eyeing a bird. one bird is perched on top of a very tall tree, like a star on a christmas tree, a tiny branch moves swiftly in the wind, she clutches to it as if desperately.
This is a hospital so someone must die.
Some will get better, or bitter, others grateful. Some still have hair or meat on their bones. Some shuffle down the hall in pajamas which no longer fit, looking like they're about to fall. It's a kind of life.
I decide to fall in love with the three headed dragon (realistically, what choice do i have?) the machine whirs and licks me passionately. i'm in ecstasy, it's a romance novel, i must stay completely still, my screams, like those of my parents, are all internal.
despite my blindness, i stare defiantly into its red eyes.
how relaxing would it be to revel
a lugubrious monument
my labia, shaved pussy under
a piercing red light . . .
the false (flimsy) pride of people w/complete anatomies
and no nausea
my heart (foot) has become ancient
too heavy and stubborn to belong anywhere
wild swans amidst sewage
near the apartment where i once
lived, why do i think of them now?
stars and automobile lights looking the same
a body once full of energy
what nonchalant laughter follows!
altho the trash bins are clearly
labeled as to what goes in them
in which i belong i'm not sure
(nor would i dare tell japanese
people their rice is tasteless!)
(a giant shimenawa
lands on my head)
ALWAYS WHISTLING
tho last week it was jazz
this time it's boring movie tie-ins
So i try to summon different
music to my head
I am dancing wildly to Brian
Eno! but the dancing becomes
bizarre, pelicans appear,
red beetles, everyone
flapping their wings in
time to the music using
invisible tamborines
the beetles crawl up my
ankles toward my
knees then into my anus
I don't know what to
do except let the
torture continue for
some time . . . .
A choice
I am given a choice between
going to work for the
drug companies or
solitary confinement
Of course, I choose
the latter At first
I enjoy it, no odd
whirs, no biting,
no awful radio
friendly soft
pop music, no
convenience stores,
no metal desk, much
time to think and do
as I wish But the room
is quite cold and with
no furniture No doubt
the lack of sleep
which resulted led
to my complete breakdown
So one day I found myself
at an old grey metal desk
covered with pencil
shavings, cellotape and
silver paper clips with
drawers that don't open
(at least not for me)
My job is to sort medicine
by size and color in a different
part of the building usually
for different body parts.
It is very hot so some
medicine, naturally,
melts. And of course
for this I am blamed.
I ESCAPE!!!
It is a morning like any other, where
I was sleeping, to the extent possible,
on a small piece of cold concrete
next to my metal desk Except
when I opened my eyes, somewhat
fearfully, there are no other
people, or inhuman but living
beings, anywhere to be found.
Outside the crooked cross shaped
window (which mirror the cross
shaped tattoos the dragons
implanted on my body) the leaning
buildings beckon. I eventually
find a tiny door i can bellycrawl
through. It is very hot outside,
the sun blinding (tho I am already
blind), but the oddly placed buildings
and cobble stone streets are in
beautiful shapes and colors. I
try to create a route based on a
particular rainbow i create in my
head corresponding to the color
of buildings. But as you can
guess I made a fatal mistake.
When I got to a red building
the dragons were there
waiting for me. Their red
eyes propelled me back to
the office room of partially
melted medication. Since
the medication was apparently
quite expensive, even melted
medications were fervently
sought (by those who
could afford them) or
dispensed to patients
who were told that the
medicines had simply
been altered to make them
more easily assimilated
by the body.
One patient had apparently been
waiting her whole life for
her diagnosis. She was now
near the end of life, over
90 years old. She had
been told her illness was
all in her head, there was
no biological evidence
of disease. But actually
even a lay person could
see that her vulva was
abnormal and her
legs didn't match.
Stubbornly, she refused
to leave the hospital
even though she
was all but ignored by
the staff except that they
gave her medicines which
had been rejected or regurgitated
by other patients in order for it
to appear they were treating
her for something, albeit a
something they insisted was
imaginary. This was in order
to justify collecting medical
insurance payments. Had
they not been able to obtain
such funds she would have
been turned out onto the street
decades ago. She had
one good eye, directed
inward, of course
A PROMOTION!
Declared incompetent as
to pill sorting, i am promoted
to garbage collection. The
problem was I wasn't sure
what constituted garbage,
it seemed to be such a
culturally bound idea, i
could not distinguish
garbage from something
useful. To tell you the truth,
most of the time it all seemed like
trash to me. However, as my
position granted the institution
extra funding for hiring people
with disabilities no one really
seemed to check what i
in fact did every day, whether
i did anything at all. What a
stroke of luck!
LOVE AGAIN!
My luck continues. To the
one I loved, who dumped
me nonetheless:
A frequent objection, dialogue
No, horizon as disgorging
Voice of luxury to be paid
Have a legitimate existence
Sadly the transposed!
To conclude, unspoken
(only you understand my true meaning)
I DREAM OF WALLS
Walls, my soul
Definitive steamer
Gardens every furrow
Faithfully calm
Where beggar but by bit
Cruel desk
for berated shine
Image for silver land!
I look beautiful in this photograph
of my waist and shaved genitalia, how
young I could be! the doctor takes it out
of a drawer and places it on his desk
repeatedly. we look at it together
with longing, with tenderness, with some
anger too. I think of the meadow in the
summer with bright yellow and purple
flowers, a bed of color touching your hands
that you hope to merge with
sometimes at this one almost feels successful
The medicines make we dizzy and confused
as to what day it is. i've forgotten
the code i developed to
unscramble the chain of events
previous page contents next page
from PLAN B AUDIO
Excerpt #1
i press the call button over
and over to no avail, until
i recall that as of recently i may
be the only resident, there is
nobody but me to answer to.
and there is no way for me
to help myself (that i haven't
tried already)
because without this job
i couldn't stand it, am scarcely
surviving now….
The window is sweating again, a cold sweat. I can see
birds but can't hear them, the shapes of their heads
appear to be changing. there are people
moving about for unknown reasons. perhaps
just out of habit. or, they are following
orders
tomorrow perhaps
i'll return to the house
with its false freedoms,
its narrowness, its
brown and beigeness, its
disorienting chaos
its failure to deliver on promises
its coldness and meanness
posed as if "for my own good"
i can never escape
the heavy responsibility, the
oppressive blaming, the
unending diarrhea in my clothes
wherever i am i can't
forget. i cannot
express myself
against this dull background
of green linoleum floors
and grey metal desks
paper clips
the monotony of place
and disorderliness of
shifts beyond my control
creating additional sites
of fracture. between places
where suffering is expected
and cultivated and notated
causes confusion and a lack
of questioning of the processes
controlled by authorities
worries about their judgment and
trustworthiness, as connected
to my own. i am not sure
i prefer to stay in an orderly
place, where attachment
creates a painful fissure,
as i react to almost nothing
i would miss the dragon
most of all. and realize it
differs little from the
nature of the house
i became the mountain range
under his feet. she hoped
to become the mountain
range he'd tried on as he
rose to the top, flattening
her peaks, obliterating
what she held dear,
the skyline for instance,
nothing became the
focal point at which
she aimed as she
became part of
nature.
past smiles hell in white of cool feet white ash amid knees | still olives grease unmoved slenderest cypress where she stands deeper still |
The three headed dragon that licked sucked
and bites. The red light in the ceiling
that blinded my right eye and attached
to my hip. The women whose vulva
were not just stolen but replaced, or
rather than replaced were
simply covered with skin, so that
they looked like antique
Barbie dolls in a museum
Viewed from my office / prison, the room with the scratched up grey metal
desk with 3 drawers, just enough room for my legs (if they don't swell!) covered with silver paper clips, i see orange-ish spiraling cobblestone streets and colorful shops with slanting windowpanes bordered in black. although there appears to be nothing and almost no one inside the shops. there is a wastebasket next to my desk which may be for human waste.
of course some men actually preferred plastic replacement vulva
A not admitting of the wound
Until it grew so wide
That all my Life had entered it
. . . women / walking with ovaries / hanging inside
i cry uncontrollably as the physical
therapist looks on i can't
go outside so i imagine my feet
walking the semi-circular gravel path,
losing my way, getting it back, passing
the distilled lemon yellow flowers
reaching up to the sky
The white machine is a dragon with
many heads. The red light blinds me; one
of the heads falls from the ceiling
flattening me under its weight. i
cannot be saved anymore
Leaves swirl in the wind
as if they are nauseous
I can't take in the vista
at this angle
my swollen foot trudges on
as if waiting for an army
The maid comes, banging the
vacuum cleaner against the
papered walls and green plastic
lined metal trash cans. although
i am asleep i can smell
the discomfort
Sitting in a drab pink chair
warming my face by the
cold sweating window
Yesterday pop music, a sultry
voiced woman, slightly jazzy, the
ceiling with green plants. Today
a definitive jazz tune, as
multi-headed dragons tear
at my vulva. I imagine the
oncologist following me,
unable to get enough
of my naked pussy
I wonder if my true self
is the short-tempered self
in pain, or the cheerful person
i imagine who knows nothing
of the life i actually lead i ask
myself as i leave the walking
path to walk towards the
hospital where a carefully
prepared meal that i don't
want to eat is waiting for
me.
do i resent those patients with a large
audience, do i want to be them,
can i only be me, can i continue
to strive to be the cheerful person
i believe i am or once was, or
actually become when you
are near? i don't care if
i make any sense, it's not
my goal. this morning
i woke up smelling you
thinking of you in your checked shirt
and black sweater that i bought
for you, looking so handsome,
the spot near your ear that
smells delicious, that i love to
kiss, the head that i want
to right now hold in my hands
My wrist burns from writing
this, from thinking it
There is not a lot to do here other than record my bowel movements and temperature, wrap my leg, and read anonymous emails telling me what the rest of the world might be doing.
there are cars moving and beyond what i can see carp swimming in a pond with their mouths open. why do the cars move forward? a black and white cat will not turn to look at me. perhaps she is eyeing a bird. one bird is perched on top of a very tall tree, like a star on a christmas tree, a tiny branch moves swiftly in the wind, she clutches to it as if desperately.
This is a hospital so someone must die.
Some will get better, or bitter, others grateful. Some still have hair or meat on their bones. Some shuffle down the hall in pajamas which no longer fit, looking like they're about to fall. It's a kind of life.
I decide to fall in love with the three headed dragon (realistically, what choice do i have?) the machine whirs and licks me passionately. i'm in ecstasy, it's a romance novel, i must stay completely still, my screams, like those of my parents, are all internal.
despite my blindness, i stare defiantly into its red eyes.
how relaxing would it be to revel
a lugubrious monument
my labia, shaved pussy under
a piercing red light . . .
the false (flimsy) pride of people w/complete anatomies
and no nausea
my heart (foot) has become ancient
too heavy and stubborn to belong anywhere
wild swans amidst sewage
near the apartment where i once
lived, why do i think of them now?
stars and automobile lights looking the same
a body once full of energy
what nonchalant laughter follows!
altho the trash bins are clearly
labeled as to what goes in them
in which i belong i'm not sure
(nor would i dare tell japanese
people their rice is tasteless!)
(a giant shimenawa
lands on my head)
ALWAYS WHISTLING
tho last week it was jazz
this time it's boring movie tie-ins
So i try to summon different
music to my head
I am dancing wildly to Brian
Eno! but the dancing becomes
bizarre, pelicans appear,
red beetles, everyone
flapping their wings in
time to the music using
invisible tamborines
the beetles crawl up my
ankles toward my
knees then into my anus
I don't know what to
do except let the
torture continue for
some time . . . .
A choice
I am given a choice between
going to work for the
drug companies or
solitary confinement
Of course, I choose
the latter At first
I enjoy it, no odd
whirs, no biting,
no awful radio
friendly soft
pop music, no
convenience stores,
no metal desk, much
time to think and do
as I wish But the room
is quite cold and with
no furniture No doubt
the lack of sleep
which resulted led
to my complete breakdown
So one day I found myself
at an old grey metal desk
covered with pencil
shavings, cellotape and
silver paper clips with
drawers that don't open
(at least not for me)
My job is to sort medicine
by size and color in a different
part of the building usually
for different body parts.
It is very hot so some
medicine, naturally,
melts. And of course
for this I am blamed.
I ESCAPE!!!
It is a morning like any other, where
I was sleeping, to the extent possible,
on a small piece of cold concrete
next to my metal desk Except
when I opened my eyes, somewhat
fearfully, there are no other
people, or inhuman but living
beings, anywhere to be found.
Outside the crooked cross shaped
window (which mirror the cross
shaped tattoos the dragons
implanted on my body) the leaning
buildings beckon. I eventually
find a tiny door i can bellycrawl
through. It is very hot outside,
the sun blinding (tho I am already
blind), but the oddly placed buildings
and cobble stone streets are in
beautiful shapes and colors. I
try to create a route based on a
particular rainbow i create in my
head corresponding to the color
of buildings. But as you can
guess I made a fatal mistake.
When I got to a red building
the dragons were there
waiting for me. Their red
eyes propelled me back to
the office room of partially
melted medication. Since
the medication was apparently
quite expensive, even melted
medications were fervently
sought (by those who
could afford them) or
dispensed to patients
who were told that the
medicines had simply
been altered to make them
more easily assimilated
by the body.
One patient had apparently been
waiting her whole life for
her diagnosis. She was now
near the end of life, over
90 years old. She had
been told her illness was
all in her head, there was
no biological evidence
of disease. But actually
even a lay person could
see that her vulva was
abnormal and her
legs didn't match.
Stubbornly, she refused
to leave the hospital
even though she
was all but ignored by
the staff except that they
gave her medicines which
had been rejected or regurgitated
by other patients in order for it
to appear they were treating
her for something, albeit a
something they insisted was
imaginary. This was in order
to justify collecting medical
insurance payments. Had
they not been able to obtain
such funds she would have
been turned out onto the street
decades ago. She had
one good eye, directed
inward, of course
A PROMOTION!
Declared incompetent as
to pill sorting, i am promoted
to garbage collection. The
problem was I wasn't sure
what constituted garbage,
it seemed to be such a
culturally bound idea, i
could not distinguish
garbage from something
useful. To tell you the truth,
most of the time it all seemed like
trash to me. However, as my
position granted the institution
extra funding for hiring people
with disabilities no one really
seemed to check what i
in fact did every day, whether
i did anything at all. What a
stroke of luck!
LOVE AGAIN!
My luck continues. To the
one I loved, who dumped
me nonetheless:
A frequent objection, dialogue
No, horizon as disgorging
Voice of luxury to be paid
Have a legitimate existence
Sadly the transposed!
To conclude, unspoken
(only you understand my true meaning)
I DREAM OF WALLS
Walls, my soul
Definitive steamer
Gardens every furrow
Faithfully calm
Where beggar but by bit
Cruel desk
for berated shine
Image for silver land!
I look beautiful in this photograph
of my waist and shaved genitalia, how
young I could be! the doctor takes it out
of a drawer and places it on his desk
repeatedly. we look at it together
with longing, with tenderness, with some
anger too. I think of the meadow in the
summer with bright yellow and purple
flowers, a bed of color touching your hands
that you hope to merge with
sometimes at this one almost feels successful
The medicines make we dizzy and confused
as to what day it is. i've forgotten
the code i developed to
unscramble the chain of events
from PLAN B AUDIO, excerpt #2
posted by mark young at 6:42 PM
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