June 2-8, 2003: Lisa Haviland and Kelly Fremon

week of June 2-8, 2003

Lisa Haviland and Kelly Fremon

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Lisa Haviland

Bio (auto)

Lisa Haviland recently obtained a Master’s in Professional Writing from the University of Southern California She is currently working on her first full-length play, Clocks, a World War II-era waltz set in New Orleans Her first play, Mary Contrary, was a finalist in Theatre Three Productions’ Sixth Annual Festival of One-Acts on Long Island Lisa’s current poetry publications include Resume and Smoke at AnotherAmerica.org She recently produced her first chapbook, Dagez, presented during the annual Master Poetry Class reading at USC Lisa lives in Venice, biding time until she returns to Louisiana.

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Lisa Haviland and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author


A blindeyed Buddhist stole my old journals, my childhood
She keeps them locked
in the spare bedroom
California I’ll have to file a claim, claim
the crime
California You’re scenery to tear us all
Did you mean to destroy
the notion of eating
in America?

How long
can your young
women starve themselves?

The old lady is brittle,
bone, stone cold dead alone I can smell her stink
underwater-I won’t go
in the ocean
California The shiny happy people
pardoned their brains and have taken
up pilates in mindnumbing waves
California The local Venice lama
gave me a crystal
The chord broke
Everybody knows you’re hollow
My cat won’t go out either
California They congregate
outside my window anyway, never
They’re happy
They’re new
They shine
They woo

I’m in bed
with a blanket up
over my head
The Buddhist still holds my childhood
behind a locked door in Malibu, clutching
the only key.

Kelly Fremon

Bio (auto)

Kelly Fremon is 23 years old and will probably never date a guy who wears velcro sandals and definitely not if they’re worn together with socks She likes turkey, talking in accents, and once allegedly ate dinner with John Cusack, or possibly they we’re just at the same restaurant, she tends to lie about things like that On most days you will find her in her Hollywood apartment writing screenplays and concocting unique meals out of the four unexpired items in her refridgerator.

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Kelly Fremon and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author

Mid Air

When you first get to heaven you look like shit
cause you’ve been flying through space for nearly an hour
You’ve got star spit splattered across your face and
little baby planets stuck between your teeth
there are comets caught in the nappy parts of your hair, 
your eyes are glued shut with space boogers
and you smell like the moon’s B.O
It’s really kind of unpleasant

But don’t worry about that Don’t worry, Kevin

See, up in heaven they’ve got these special angels who
wear these big white glittery HAZMAT suits and
when you come soaring into the hanger they
catch you and scrub you and rub you and
throw you into a big bubbly salt bath

Then they send you to the higher-ups
Jesus and Buddha and all those nice guys
And that
is when they start
The Peeling

The Peeling, that’s right
They take this huge cheese-slicer device and
peel off all your skin ’til they get down to the core

No, no, don’t be scared, Kevin, it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt at all
So they start peeling and they peel and they peel and they peel and
pieces of yourself are flying all over the place, 
there are your thighs over there in the corner, 
your nose sliding across the tiles, and whoop!
there goes the ass you always wanted gone

They keep peeling deeper and deeper and
suddenly you look down, and honest to god, 
there on the floor right beside your ears
is your self-critic spread out like hair clippings
and then somebody sweeps your broken heart into the garbage
and loneliness is tossed upside-down next to your ass

More and more layers come flying off and soon
the floor is piling higher and higher with
“you’re not good enoughs” and “you can’t do its” and
over there, right over there in a place all its own, is one perfectly fresh
“I just don’t feel that way about you,”
lying far away where it can’t hurt you anymore

So there you are, just standing there looking down at all
the pieces of yourself spread out over the floor like
something out of an epic battle scene, 
and for one fleeting moment
for just one passing moment-

you want them all back

But as I said, it’s just a passing moment, 
just one small insignificant moment and
as quick as that moment passes another one comes swooping in and
soon you feel full and ready and charged and
you feel yourself growing bigger and freer getting taller and wilder and
suddenly your arms are shooting sideways and diagonal you’re
jumping up in the air like they do in those toyota commercials you’ve got
these unstoppable jazz hands! jazz hands!, and
you can’t help yelling crazy things like “God, it’s good to be home!” and
“Woaaaaah! Who turned on the lights?!”
You’re dancing with top hats and canes and
singing Andrea Bocelli and Enya at the
tippity top of your lungs in a big ecstatic spectacle of operatic magic everyone
is rushing up to you to compliment you on your
new sparkly god sandals, 
not to mention that perfect purple shade of your soul

Souls are always either purple or pink
Did I tell you that?

Mine’s purple
I like purple

What color do you like, Kevin?

Kevin, what color?


I knew you were gonna say black

Black because it’s the only thing you can see when you open your eyes, 
black because it’s the only thing you can hear when you close your eyes, 
black because it’s the color of secrets only you know, 
black because it’s the very distance between you and everyone, and black –
because that’s exactly what happens when a brain dies inside a body that’s still alive

When will you come home, Kevin?

I wish I could crack open your head and let all the madness spill out
I wish I could slip into your dark eyes and ride the monsters until we tamed those beasts
I wish I could just speak the language of the ghosts who heavy your head like that
You’re so heavy, Kevin

And there’s freedom in there-I know it Trust me, I know it
I feel it every time I remember the nonsense and
the pressure and this day-in-day-out mess that someone decided to call reality, 
I don’t blame you, I don’t

I just miss you

And sometimes I think that if you don’t get better, if you don’t come back, 
then maybe I’ll just come to you
I could sneak into your bumblebee robot world and
we’d both run from FBI agents trying to kills us and
find secret messages in news articles and
Shhhhhh!!!! Keep your voice down!
They’re listening to us

But tonight with you here looking at me with eyes that can’t stop losing themselves, 
with thoughts that turn and twist around corners in mazes of chaos-
I understand why you try to dive off the high board into that empty swimming pool
I understand why you want to jump off that tall, tall building

Because in the air-in mid air-there’s just you and your truth

No one to tell crazy from uncrazy Just mid air
Like leaping from canyon to grand canyon
No heads shaking at your secrets
no one to look at you the way people look at open caskets
Just free falling out of a plane
You can laugh at the ground the whole way down if you want, call gravity the mad man

But Kevin, you don’t have to jump off any buildings You’ve been sailing through space for nearly a month now-
you look like shit

There’s a hanger open for you this side of heaven, 
I keep trying to land you here so I can clean you up, 
and try to peel off all the layers

Because I know you’re in there

I know you’re in there somewhere singing and dancing, jumping up in the air
I can see it even now
And it’s not black anymore, Kevin

Everything is purple.

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