The Circle of Addiction
Joe Hall, 2018
1: I want you to take these crayons and
craft paper and draw the kind of picture
you would draw when very young. Not a picture anyone
would ask you to draw or that you were drawing to show
your mother. Draw the kind of picture you would draw
on your own, when you were bored, no one else was looking.
Now I want you to draw a picture of yourself. You are
in the last year of your life. You are about to begin
the process we call death but you don't know this.
What does that look like? 2: No? I wrote this poem for you,
because I admire and would like to please you.
I want you to listen to it. You don't think very highly
of poems, so I want you to close your eyes. I want you to imagine
I'm your mother. I want you to recall the time you were angry and
slammed your bedroom door on my ring finger,
how right away you expected
me to hit you and stand you in the corner with your nose
against the wall. I didn't. I just looked into the ceiling
after you opened the door back up. Then I sat down against the wall in
the hallway and started to cry. I am your mother.
This is the poem: [Just so--Jesus raps-- /
--doesn't weary-- / Last at the knocker-- - / / - - / -
Demolysis - / - / - / - onopcyiata - / - / - / - / gaprepoie - / - / telemeter
/ - / - ] When you play piano, it's nice. But what I loved
was your singing. You never thought you
were good. 3: This is the last step.
Please think of one thing you give to people that
you like to give them. It should be something
you give without expecting a return. Tomorrow,
give this to me. 4: Tomorrow, you will be in charge.
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