Jacob Lawrence, "Funeral Sermon" (1946)
Jacob Lawrence, Funeral Sermon (1946)
Can a Game Be Literature?

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November 21 2002:

Her sister's apartment.

Sister sobbing. Torn to ribbons over the phone. She'd mocked her, like this: "He says I'm a lot more fun than you were. He says you wouldn't even go out with him for a beer when he wanted to. He says I'm a much better time." Sister throws her arms around you, shakes, sobs.

This is the only moment when you ever hated her.

3am. Interior of a small apartment, lit by sputtering candles and the LED display of an electric clock. Tall thin boy and tall thin girl lie in each other's arms, fully clothed, on a futon bed. She's asleep, short red hair brushing against his cheek as she breathes. He's awake, eyes red, drifting with his thoughts.

"She stabbed me in the back," her sobbing sister says. Three weeks earlier you'd said, "There's a knife in my back with her fingerprints on it."

He's as still as he can force himself to be. Doesn't want to wake her up.

Either:

i love her like a sister;
that drunk, that girl why
i wish her all the best.
that's all that's left 'cause she took the rest.
a heck of a past.

there's a drunk in my past.
one who let me down.
who wasn't around when they were needed.

-- John Doe / Exene Cervenka, Drunk in my Past

Or:

the devil drives a buick.
he sits inside & eats lunch.
and sticks his pitchfork through the trunk & into the spare.
and pulls out

true love, true love, true love,
true love, true love, true love,
is the devil's crowbar.

-- John Doe / Exene Cervenka, True Love

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