All language subtitles for Last.Call.2020.WEB-DL.x264-FGT

But I'm not one for poetry,

not really entertaining, in my
opinion, as the movies, for me,

a bit of comedy
or cutting the lawn,

which I enjoy for reasons
I don't fully understand.

No, I'm not one for poetry.

I can't say his was
unpleasant, exactly.

Really, it's like
the little tinkling you hear

from the music box
when you open it up,

and you shut it,
and it's gone.

And as I was green

and carefree...

famous among the barns,

about the happy yard and singing
as the farm was home...

In the sun
that is young once only

time let me play
and be golden

in the mercy of his means.

And green and golden

I was huntsman and herdsman,

that calves sang to my horn,

the foxes on the hills
barked clear and cold,

and the sabbath rang slowly

in the pebbles
of the holy streams.

I appreciate that as I've been
mentioned in the newspapers,

the mere gazing upon my person
creates a sense of validation...

...thank you.

Like witnessing a very
important car accident.

- I love you!
- I love you, too.

You bastard!

Thank you.

It is unnatural, the egg.

How was your trip,
Mr. Thomas?

Isn't it the embryo
of a living thing, a chicken?

The consuming of embryos
not even coveted

by the Chinese
and they ate puppies.

But the trip?
How was the tour?

Oh, the trip
was wonderful, Carlos.

Four months of being feted
and worshipped...

what we all require
by rarely obtain.

Monied rest.

Well, you're here
very early today.

And with good cause,
Carlos.

- Cause?
- The weather was

particularly fine
this morning, the sky clear.

Even the birds
in their song were praising

the demi-paradise
that is us.

- That sounds nice.
- Hmm.

So I thought what better place
to come than the White Horse,

which smells of piss,
stale beer,

and the hidden depths
of feral creatures.

- One scotch, then?
- Double.

First one of
the day, very important.

And it must not suffer
in anonymity,

we shall name it,
you and I.

Return of
the Prodigal Son, Carlos.

Hi, Mr. Thomas!

Chaps!

What do you think,
we're naming drinks.

What do you mean?

Giving them names, specific
names... names, monikers,

designations, captions, titles,
labels, to label, to dub,

to christen, to baptize,
to name drinks as we must name

all things,
to change them, yes?

No?

Oh, well, I suppose
it's early in the morning.

We shall call this first
drink... Innocence, which is,

after all, how all things begin,
without guide or intention.

Was that straight up
or with soda, sir?

Innocence by it's very nature,
Carlos, is unsullied.

...gentlemen.

Good morning, good morning,
good fucking morning.

Yes, he was, uh, he was
very much appreciated

wherever we went, um...

concerning the money,
it wasn't, it wasn't

a large sum of money,
but it was, it was more

- than he had earned before.
- What about the drinking?

I would say, I would say
that's exaggerated.

What is?

The reporting of his drinking,
I would say that's,

I would say that's
very exaggerated.

- Exaggerated, really?
- Yes.

How do you mean...
"exaggerated"?

Um, exaggerated, um...
made bigger, extreme,

more than it is,
exaggerated, as in exaggerated.

Okay. Let's accept that.

Shouldn't you have
stopped him?

I mean,
before what happened?

Are you a liar,
Mr. Brinnan?

It is with the greatest pride
that I have the honor

of introducing one of the most
unique voices of our generation.

Ladies and gentlemen,
please welcome Dylan Thomas.

Now as I was young and easy
under the apple boughs,

about the lilting house and
happy as the grass was green,

the night above
the dingle starry,

time let me hail and climb,

golden in the heydays
of his eyes

and honored among wagons
I was prince of the apple towns

and once below a time I lordly
had the trees and leaves

trail with daisies
and barley

down the rivers of
the windfall light.

Nothing like a good piss if it
offers the pleasure of relief

and the delight of knowing
there's more room at the inn,

so a second, please,
Carlos, and a third.

What?

Bartender...
not brother's keeper.

Fix on me no harm, Carlos.

Actually, he meant it
rhetorically.

Who?

God? The brother's keeper
reference.

Don't take it away.

Think of it as the sadness
of the half-forgotten

of the vague scent
of what it once was.

He was only
going to wash it.

Shall we wash away
the past, Teddy?

He's just
gonna clean the glass.

Yes, shouldn't we hold
the past precious?

Isn't that why we label
our experiences?

- Label?
- That awful day

or that summer
at your parents.

Nothing unnamed
can be precious

because the unnamed is lost,
combined, forgotten.

- I forget things.
- But in naming things

we change the essence
of that we wish to remember.

Memory, what a mess.

It's as much fiction
as it is truth.

All the same, it's how
we order our world,

so let's name things.

What are you gonna
name that one?

- Enthusiasm.
- Enthusiasm?

Enthusiasm, Carlos, because
the second double scotch

makes the world
a pleasanter place,

one for which we might have
some enthusiasm.

Who knows what
the future might bring?

Perhaps some enthusiasm
for some new gained wisdom

or an adventure worthy
of enthusiasm, looking at

the end of the bar... in the
corridor, leading to the loo.

Yes, I'm coming!

So you're off, then?

I am.

No drink in there,
I hope.

No.

Say good-bye to your father,
children.

Ooh, I'll miss you all
so very, very, very, very,

very much,
I'll miss you all.

Daddy will write to us
and he'll send great gobs

of money so we can
all have nice things.

That's why he's going to America
and leaving us behind.

Just because he went before
and didn't send hardly

any money back,
we shouldn't think

that the same
will happen again.

Silly mummy.

Brinnan.

Ah... Dylan!

- I was worried.
- Terrible flight.

Very sorry, but your plane
landed two hours ago, Dylan.

Full of gnomes,
international spies

and Presbyterians...
horrible.

- Did you not know I was here?
- Yes.

- Yes?
- Yes.

- Yes, well, I was.
- Yes, well, you were,

but Presbyterians, Brinnan.

Yes, um, let's get you
to your hotel.

No, no, we'll have a heroic
night, I must make it up to you.

I can tell you're upset,
we'll go to the Minetta Tavern

and have a few drinks there,
meet some old friends

and then on
to the San Remo...

No, no, no, no, no,
but I would like...

Save the best for
our return to New York...

the White Horse,
my promiscuous muse...

but let's gather our rosebuds
while we may.

This is a gift, I've been
wanting to give that to you.

Gift? Thank God,
I thought it might be

that awful book
you've been working on.

And I'm very glad it is.

We met in a pub, of course,
the Wheatsheaf in Fitzrovia,

we were, uh, immediately
attracted to each other

and started what was
to become a long series of...

wonderful nights together.

Do you remember
our first time, Dylan?

Yes, of course.

It was a time of
great wonderment.

You took off your trousers
and you didn't have

any underpants on,
which was slightly grotesque.

But then you never
wore them... why?

Hmm, it's a time-saving
measure.

You ran... ran into bed
and got under the sheets

as quickly as you could.

You still had your jacket
and shirt on and your socks.

I think it's 'cause you didn't
want me to see your funny,

little, pink body,
do you remember that?

I remember that.

Time stood still,
and cloistered from the world,

safe from it all.

Tempests could've raged
behind the walls and waves

could've bust away the city,
but we were safe... magic.

You had such
a funny body then.

It was like a pink turtle
without its shell.

Yes, you keep saying...
it's a recurring theme.

That's all we remember,
images, I suppose,

some of them fixed
in the mind.

Well, why wasn't mine
like any other?

Why should that be any different
for you or any other woman?

Then we went to visit
Augustus, do you remember that?

And he didn't know
anything about us.

And you and I,
we got in the backseat

and we kissed and fondled.

And he could see it all
in the mirror.

Made him drive faster,

and faster which only made
the fondling more pleasurable.

Imagine, one's love
of squeezing your breast

being your last sensation
before death.

Do you remember that?

I remember.

And then when we got back
to the house

Augustus wanted to fight me.

And I did
rather well, I think.

No! He beat you up, terribly,
you were so pathetic

and wounded, your face
all red with cuts and bruises!

- I loved you then.
- And I loved you.

Well, perhaps if you had been
beaten more often.

Well, had I known
you liked it so much,

I'd have beaten myself
like a flagellist.

Well, had I known that,
then I would've asked.

Will you not come with me
to New York, Caitlin?

I won't be able to breathe
without you, it's so...

noisy there and so... tall.

Caitlin... Caitlin?

How did this happen?

It may not be
as bad as all that.

It is a cataclysm.

- Potential.
- It is a cataclysm,

it is apocalyptic.

Really? Dorothy.

Really? Roger, shut up,
I am speaking.

My God!
This is Vassar College!

And you...
bringing a drunken,

debaucherous libertarian
to this college...

I... I'm in charge
of booking the speakers

for the Autumn term.

Oh?

Of course you are.

Not the Empress of Russia,
or a fairy princess?

No, you are in charge
of booking the speakers

for the Autumn term.

That is an honorary position and
should not be taken seriously

by anyone, least of all, anyone
charged with your supervision.

I'm looking at her, Roger,
but I'm thinking of you.

What is your name, dear?

Penelope Goldstein.

Penelope Goldstein.

Well, Penelope,
if this man

should embarrass the college
in any way,

if anything at all should
happen, I promise you

that your time
at Vassar College is over.

Am I making myself clear?

It's very, very important.

Yes, yes, I promise you
he'll be there, yes.

Very important.

Um, yes, Vassar
is very important to him

and you have my
personal assurance.

- Thank you.
- Yes, All right,

- thank you very much.
- Thank you.

- Oh!
- More troubles.

Some young girl
worried about...

Least of your problems.

Ha-ha-ha,
you laugh at me, Felton,

- but to be around genius...
- Brinnan, please.

No, it's like the caring
of a golden chalice,

- is that ridiculous?
- Yes.

- Or a magical elixir?
- Stop.

That when you drink it,
the world is forever altered.

Oh, it must be bleak
for you, I am sorry.

I just don't want

to ask him for anything.

No, of course not, just a few
phrases for the jacket

of your book, which will put you
on the map, pay all your bills

and validate your
hitherto pointless loitering

on this planet.

And don't do your injured look,
it gives me a rash.

Yes, I would like for him
to find merit in my book...

is that too much to ask?

Who could say it was
good or bad, and who cares?

Do find a way
to try and flog

the massive pile of crap,
I sense.

It's not crap, Felton,
it's my life's work.

Brinnan, we all have lives,

it doesn't mean
they're important.

What did he say?

He told me not to worry
my little girlish head.

Okay, then,
that's good, right?

Thanks, Alexi.

I didn't mean that,
I mean that

- it's good he's coming, right?
- Right.

Well, maybe, you know,
it wasn't worth all the worry?

Why do you always have to say
something stupid, Alexi?

I prefer when you just say
innocuous and sincere things

you heard your professor say
but then you have to improv.

Jeopardizing four years of
college to get some drunk poet

doesn't really seem like
the best thing to do, does it?

I'd like you
to stop talking now.

Smoke, or something,
pose, do anything,

- but please be quiet.
- I mean, who is he?

- I loved him.
- Pardon?

I love him... I... I love his
ideas, I love his voice,

I love his language,
I love everything about him,

I'd have his child
if he asked me to.

- You are joking.
- Which part?

The child.

No, that's the part I mean
most of all, I'm actually

checking my ovulation cycle,

hoping it will correspond
to his visit.

You're mad and not funny.
You don't even know him.

It's so much easier to love
people we don't know,

don't you think?

Oh, I get it,
you're making fun of me.

Yes, I am.

Good news, gentlemen,
more room at the inn.

Like the crew
of a sinking ship,

we evacuated through
all available portals.

Glad to hear it.

- Did you leave a mess?
- A little one.

I daren't look,
and that'll be the poor sod

that has to clean that.

You are inscrutable,
Carlos.

Am I?

Yes, do you read?

- What? Newspapers?
- No.

- Books?
- Yes, books.

- Yeah.
- What sort of books?

You wouldn't
like them much.

Something salacious, I hope,
or saucy, detective novel

or some tales
of the old west

or perhaps you read
the Holy Bible

out of respect
for your Catholicism.

I don't read saucy
detective novels

and I don't really read tales
about the old west.

- What I read...
- Pornography, of course.

I have a completely open mind
in that regard, there's some

very good pornography,
my wife's diaries, for example.

Not pornography.

Ah, well, you shall remain
inscrutable, then, Carlos.

But a drink
must not be a mystery,

a drink must have a name,
what shall we call this?

You're the king,
you name it.

Ah, Teddy, for you happen
to mistook me all this while,

I live with bread,
like you.

Feel, want, taste grief,
need friends, subjected,

thus how can you
say to me that I'm a king?

Yeah, well, you're the king,
so you name 'em.

Well, I had some time to
ruminate on this, as it happens,

when I was indisposed in the WC,
not always a place

of inspiration,
but today served.

- We shall call this drink...
- Yes?

- Hope.
- Hope?

Yes, you see, the enthusiasm
for which the second drink

was named can seem unfounded.

The ordinary world is not
an easy place, but with hope,

the simple can be replaced
by the faintest magorical,

and the third drink
brings us that hope.

Hope that simple things
which only moments ago

seemed banal but in time
acquire magical qualities.

Miserable have no other
medicine, but only hope.

What was that
you just said?

- Just now?
- Yes, just now.

Oh, the miserable have no
other medicine, but only hope.

- Hmm.
- Am I bothering you, sir?

- No, no, not at all.
- That is beautiful.

Where did you hear that?

I don't know.
Maybe the nuns.

Is it from one of the Gospels?
They probably beat it...

Not the Gospels,
no, Shakespeare, Shakespeare.

How do you like that?

I think our friend here is
a bit of a dark horse, Dylan.

- A dark horse.
- "As You Like It".

We had great nuns, great.

No, theater, poetry.

- Not a Gospel?
- Yes.

- I know some limericks.
- Limericks?

There was a young lady
from Lunt...

No, please, Carlos, no.

Sorry, Mr. Thomas, I...
didn't mean to offend,

they're meant
comically, I think.

- Nuns!
- I haven't heard of

the place either,
but it rhymes with...

In any case, rhyming is a
virtue, not a necessity, Carlos.

Bless you.

Where'd it go?

Where'd what go?
I'm sorry.

The money.

- What are you implying?
- Implying?

I'm not implying anything,
I'm just asking.

Well, you're asking
a very implying sort of way.

So, apart from the vomiting,
the cramps and the cough,

is there anything unusual?

- The diarrhea.
- Yes, of course, the diarrhea.

D-i-a-r-h-e-a.

Thank you.

Anything else?

- No.
- Just the diarrhea.

Well, yes, and the cramps
and the vomiting.

And the cough,
yes, of course, anything else?

Just those.

All right, then, good.

Call me if you feel
any worse.

Yes, of course.

- Uh...
- Yes?

An idea's just
run through my mind.

Really?

Please stop me if you think
that I sound too odd.

But have you thought about
giving up the drink?

- Pardon?
- Giving up the drink?

What, with all the discomfort
of the diarrhea,

- the cramps and the vomiting?
- Yes.

Well, how would I put up
with it without a drink?

Quite.
Just thought I would inquire.

To begin at the beginning.

It is spring, moonless night
in the small town,

starless and bible-black,

the cobble streets
silent and the hunched,

courters'-and-rabbits' wood
limping invisible

down to the sloeblack,
slow, black, crowblack,

fishingboat-bobbing sea.

Dear Dylan, I am glad
the trip's going well.

I know your earnings
were a fortune with which

I had thought we might
buy a house.

The houses are blind
as moles

(though moles see fine tonight
in the snouting, velvet dingles)

or blind as Captain Cat there in
the muffled middle by the pump

and the town clock,
the shops in mourning,

the Welfare Hall
in widows' weeds.

However, I am somewhat
less ambitious,

enough to feed the children
until next Wednesday

would be gratefully received.

It's not so much their
nutritional needs with which

I am concerned as their constant
reference to their hunger,

which distracts one
from engaging them

in otherwise
edifying discourse.

Love, Cait.

And all the people of
the lulled and dumbfound town

are sleeping now.

Does anyone really
care about the sick?

Apart from their family,
small circle of friends.

Gandhi, maybe, but, my God,
the man wore a loincloth.

And apart from him,
the sick are but cold

in the great furnace
of indifference.

Then there are the famous,
we know their names,

but do they possess
some quality we do not?

Are they so much more
than we are?

Why should we mourn their
passing any more than we mourn

the passing what is now
this cadaver?

It is only that we see
ourselves in the famous

that makes them matter.

But if we do not,
bring on the cadavers.

There's always
a use for them.

When I first met him...
Dylan... he had a...

a childlike quality
that was irresistible.

We met in a pub...
the Wheatsheaf, Fitzrovia...

we were introduced and pretty
soon he was talking

without punctuation
to anyone who would listen,

he was drunk,
of course, but...

Not that he didn't mean it,
but one wants a partner sober

and responsible when
saying that sort of thing,

at least from
a legal perspective.

Don't you agree?

Dylan, darling...

Dylan, wake up.

You must be Carlos.

You must Caitlin.

Well, yes, and no.

I'm actually a manifestation
of Dylan's drunken,

feverish and dyspeptic
imagination,

that's why
I'm not here, here.

If you're interested
in the rest of the story,

when Dylan and I met, Augustus
and I were still lovers,

though he was
a perfect bastard.

But I had no intention of
altering which was, by then,

a perfectly satisfactory
arrangement because a young man

had put his head in my lap
and told me that he loved me.

Do you remember, Dylan?

I remember, I spoke
as I felt, I loved you,

I loved you from
the moment I saw you.

I was certain.

Is that perfectly ridiculous,
don't you agree?

I don't get involved
in domestic disputes.

He did have
an elfin quality, though.

He was so very slim,
do you remember?

So slim, so pale... so soft.

Like a turtle
just out of its shell.

Well, I was a young man,
like any other.

You were a turtle,

or a pink reptile
with no muscle.

- Did I seem so unappealing?
- I didn't say unappealing.

Though my taste
does run to the strange.

Will you come to me,
my love?

I'm lonely and I care
so little for everything now.

I think of you.

Dylan... money is short.

Send some at once.

I am entirely serious.

We shall have to sell
one of the children.

Which one do you recommend?

I worry, Carlos.

- About that cough?
- No, not about the cough.

That I will be forgotten
by all except young girls

at ladies colleges and young men
whose earlier pubescent

awkwardness has caused them
to think they've suffered

more than others and should
therefore grow beards.

- That's what you worry about.
- Yes! Sometimes.

I worry about snakes.

- Another?
- Yes, why not?

I was thinking how easy
seduction is.

I think
I know what you mean,

I haven't done
too badly myself.

Yes, well done, Carlos,
I was speaking of seduction

in the broader sense,

causing those
to hear one to love one,

a group seduction, a hypnosis
of an entire audience.

Hmm. That sounds harder than
hitting on some depressed girl

who just broke up
with her boyfriend.

Yes, but it's
all trick, Carlos.

Is that right?

Are you gonna
name that one?

Ah, yes, the fourth, the
fourth, the fourth, the fourth.

We shall call this...
recalcitrance.

A lack of respect...

...for the self-righteous...

...and higher demands...

...to stop before excess.

To recalcitrance!
Hmm.

Yes, there's problems.

Drunkenness... rudeness,
lunging after women.

Yes, yes, yes, perhaps artists
have different views

of things, it's the excitement
of the iconoclastic mind.

Oh, I used to expect
so little in return.

- Oh, yes.
- How long?

Eight years.

That's a long time
writing a book, eight years.

It's hard to finish,

you open yourself up to
judgement and condemnation.

Your life wholly
in the hands of someone else.

Oh, my life in his hands.

People put their lives
in my hands all the time,

stop taking it seriously
after a while.

I just want him
to like it.

And failing that, to like it,
for all you've done for him?

Have you ever
heard him read?

Just an eye chart,
but he did it beautifully.

If you could hear him read
I think you'd understand...

That he's better
than we are.

It was all shining,
it was Adam and maiden,

the sky gathered again, and the
sun grew round that very day.

So it must have been after
the birth of the simple light

in the first spinning place,

the spellbound horses walking
warm out of the whinnying

green stable on to
the fields of praise.

And honored among foxes
and pheasants by the gay house

under the new-made clouds
and happy as the heart was long,

in the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways.

I will read it, Brinnan.

I wasn't talking
about that, Dylan.

- No?
- No.

But if you don't mind me asking,
how far along had you gotten?

Well, coming up to
the interesting bit, I hope.

Ah, and what is the
interesting bit?

Well, you would
know, dear boy,

I haven't got there
yet, have I?

Number five, Mr. Thomas!

Freewheel!

He's rather beautiful.

Will you name it
beauty, then?

No, on, no, no,
we shall call it faith.

- Faith?
- Yes, faith.

You calling something faith.
Why faith?

Don't offend my customers,
please, Felix.

He doesn't mean
any harm, Carlos.

Who's doing
the harm here?

Faith that the drinks
that follow

or whatever is to follow
holds great promise!

Faith for those who have it
has more certainty than hope,

but less evidence,

making it all the more
remarkable

and therefore beautiful.

To faith!
Cheers!

To one who has faith,
no explanation is necessary.

To one without faith,
no explanation is possible.

- Carlos. Carlos, Carlos...
- What?

- That?
- Yes, that!

St. Thomas Aquinas!

- Oh, the nuns again!
- Absolutely, sir.

- He has a good memory.
- I don't know about that.

Just a bartender
who whips out the odd phrase

to impress the ladies.

Oh, the ladies respond in
a big way to St. Thomas Aquinas.

You'd be surprised, sir.

It doesn't mean
anything to me,

it just sounds pretty,
sounds like it means something.

My dad used to talk
very preachy to my mother,

then he would beat
the fuck out of her.

I figured it wasn't what
he said that mattered

or how pretty he sounded
or whether it meant anything.

And speaking of money, Dylan,

Brinnan tells me you're inclined
to buy everyone's drinks

and are betting on horses.

I would point out,
in passing, that your children

are virtually without
clothes or food

and that we are having
to rely on charity.

Brinnan also mentioned...

that you have a mistress.

I do hope she's not
the expensive kind.

One of the more economical
variety in our circumstances

would seem more appropriate.

You are a bastard.

The children
send their love.

There they are.

So this is the, uh,
sixth, is it, Carlos?

There are five glasses
on the bar, Dylan,

so that must be
the sixth and seventh.

Yes, thank you, Felix.

None of my business,
but couldn't you stop now?

I could, Felix,
but the fifth is faith

and it proved unfounded, it was
inevitable, we all lose faith

at some point, at least
for a little while,

then comes that ennui,
that mordant contemplation

of how little future holds
and our own certain death...

To new mistakes.

That seems sort of sad,
Mr. Thomas.

Yes, it is
a little sad, Teddy.

But do not despair
because here is the seventh.

Is that a good one?

Oh, this is a good one,
this is resurrection.

Oh, stop.

The spirit, which only
moments ago seemed so bound

to the earth now seems to soar
above and our companions

who formerly seemed so tedious
now seem to offer insights

that we are certain
to remember, if not forever,

then certainly until
lunchtime next week.

To resurrection.

Do you mean us,
Mr. Thomas?

- Mean you, Teddy?
- Tedious companions?

No, no, not you, no, shh,
I meant the others.

Damn it.

I don't know where he is.

He's not in his room
at the Chelsea

and that girl
keeps calling.

I called the San Remo,

- the Minetta.
- White Horse Tavern.

Twice... they said
he wasn't there.

Well, there are only a few
hundred other bars in New York.

If you have a yellow pages,
there's hope.

He promised he'd be done
with the book by tonight.

Perhaps he's in
the library reading it now.

Okay, you know, you know,
Felton, for a friend, you are...

What do you expect?
He's been nothing but trouble.

- Him?
- This tour,

it's wearing you down.

Your constant good cheer is
a redeeming quality, Brinnan,

try not to lose that.

You're right, I mean,
he does find the coeds

at the colleges
a bit distracting.

"The Bermuda shorts,"
he says. Ugh.

At times he stands too close
to them and...

- And?
- Makes suggestions.

- Oh.
- And the drinking... God.

- But no matter how...
- Drunk.

Yes... he is strangely
reliable.

Yes, he has vices,
but he still has principles.

He will read it,
I'm certain of it.

In any case, his wife
is on the three o'clock plane,

I booked the flight myself.
Another great favor.

You're a kind man, Brinnan,
you take some pride in that.

But this great favor,
I wonder,

is it a kindness
or a manipulation?

If you're suddenly becoming wise
to the ways of the world,

I would find that disturbing.
Say it isn't so.

No, I, I don't
speak your language,

you do realize that,
yes? Or no?

Anyway, he...
he put his head in my lap,

like a child, and he said,
sotto voce...

- Sotto voce?
- Oh, you understand sotto voce?

Si, understand, understand.

Yes... he, he said that
he loved me, and that

I was beautiful, and that
we were going to get married.

He was very drunk,
but doesn't that make someone

more truthful or,
or less so?

Do you have thoughts
in this regard?

Dylan, I'm sorry, I know this
is not a good time, however...

You are, if I haven't told
you, Brinnan, a wonderful man.

- Oh. Thank you...
- And I mean that,

not in the overly hyperbolic
north American sense,

you truly are
a wonderful human being.

Well, that does mean
a great deal to me, Dylan...

And this particular cow
is deeply appreciative.

- I'm sorry, cow?
- Cow, as in cash cow,

cow as in giver of milk,
cash cow as in giver of money.

Dylan, I do not see you

as a cash cow, I...

Of course, also, a trophy
and an ornament.

Sir, I'm not following you.

I understand,
intuition not being

your strongest suit,
Brinnan.

This tour, this... tour,
all these cities, all this...

time, not enjoying
a single moment of it...

what do I have to
show for it?

I did this for the money,
but despite these 20 cities,

20 examples of low theater,

I have absolutely
nothing to show for it.

Caitlin and the children
are virtually starving.

Who's responsible for this?

- Concerning the money...
- Who is responsible for this,

Brinnan, I love them,
dearly, I miss them.

Tell me, who's responsible?

Me, I suppose.

How's your wonderful,

wonderful book
coming along, young Malcolm?

Ah, well, I should be
asking you that.

Have you had some time
to read and...

Um, I wouldn't say
that, no, not completely.

Mm-hmm, of course.

Um, that's what I wanted
to talk to you about.

If I could possibly have it
back, I found a typist

that can make another copy
of it and it would be very...

You mean the copy you gave me
was the only copy.

- Yes.
- The only copy...

why would you...

But surely
there's another draft.

No.

Brinnan... thank you
so very, very much

for putting your trust in me,
I... I shan't forget this.

There are a few things
as gratifying

as the study of alcoholism.

The thing about
an alcoholic's body

is that rarely do we see
such a direct causality

between an activity...

...and its effect on physiology.

First of all, alcohol causes
stomach secretions and...

dilates the blood vessels
in the skin

so that, though the drinker's
actually losing body heat,

he is feeling warm.

The immediate effect
of alcohol,

that which we like,
results from depression...

...of the nervous system,

so there is a what feels like
a stimulant effect,

but actually, clinically,
that is because there is

a depression in
the part of the brain

that inhibits
our actions, so,

far from
loosening us up...

alcohol is depressing us,

one part of
the brain at a time.

One Christmas was
so much like another,

in those years around
the sea-town corner now

and out of all sound except
the distant speaking...

Why do you stay
with me, then?

You have so little feeling.

Uncertainty.

Uncertainty whether the option
for anything better exists.

Lack of energy
to explore that option,

and the hope that the option
with which we are stuck

might transmogrify
into something else.

You know, it's strange...

how we choose
our life partner.

We shop so wisely
for everything else,

but we throw judgement out of
the window when we marry.

We don't consider the investment
or the return or the downside.

We meet somebody,
we see them for a while and then

we stay with forever,
or what feels like forever.

It's a very strange way
to shop.

- Did it seem like forever?
- Longer.

I know what you mean.

Oh, not that some of us
haven't got lucky.

I find the constant reassurance
from radio commentators

that you're a genius
hugely reassuring,

especially as we watch you
drink our money away.

"Do something," he said,

and we threw our
snowballs in the smoke.

I think we missed
Mr. Prothero,

and ran out of the house
to the telephone box.

"Let's call the police as well,"
Jim said, "and the ambulance,

and Ernie Jenkins,
he likes fires."

By the seaside,
hearing the noise of birds,

hearing the raven coughing
winter stinks, my busy heart

who shutters as she talks
sheds the syllabic blood

and drains her words.

The force that drives
the water through the rocks

drives my red blood that
dries the mouthing streams,

turns mine to wax, and I am dumb
to mouth unto my veins

how at the mountain spring
the same mouth sucks.

Dylan...

I suppose
this is a bit late.

I'm sorry.

Sorry.

There's any consolation,

I've hurt you less
than you've hurt me.

You have hurt me.

You love me, Dylan?

I appreciate that as I've been
mentioned in the newspapers,

the mere gazing upon my person
cerates a sense of validation...

- We love you, Dylan!
- Thank you.

Like witnessing a very
important car accident.

We love you!

I love you too.

William Butler Yeats.

Thank you.

William Butler Yeats.

Turning and turning
in the widening gyre,

the falcon cannot
hear the falconer.

Things fall apart,
the center cannot hold.

Mere anarchy
is loosed upon the world,

the blood dimmed tide
is loosed.

And everywhere,
the ceremony of innocence...

Yes, I understand,
thank you.

Are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

You found him?

He's at the White Horse,
he's been there since nine.

Hmm. How much?

Seven, eight doubles.

Well, perhaps I shouldn't
have given you that, but...

Where was it found?

On... Charles Street,
and apparently

there were a f...

Is it really you?

You've finally come to me?

No. You're drunk.

I'm your hallucination.

Well, there are advantages.

Advantages?

As your hallucination I can
say whatever you want me to.

Every man's dream.

As your wife
I would never do that.

Ah.

Ah? Ah, as in
let's have another drink?

Why don't you get drunk
and smell of your own vomit

and let what's left
of your body rot?

If it's my hallucination,
why did I get Vlad the Impaler?

- Pardon me, sir?
- Speaking to myself, Carlos.

You know, the wind,
north by northwest.

- That would...
- He...

That would be
two doubles, then.

Yes, thank you, thank you.

- I'm only 39, Carlos.
- Thirty-nine?

I'm only 39 years of age.

I thought
you were much older.

So much time wasted.

And by who?

- The ninth is...
- Listen to me, Dylan...

- The ninth is regret.
- Dylan.

We cannot undo
or redo the past

and we're never certain whether
we've lost or gained.

And still we regret
all the same.

I like that one.

Good, Teddy,
because this...

How can you say you love me
and behave like this?

...this is the tenth
love again.

Do you love me, Dylan?

And again, and again,
and again, and again.

You're taking your
time with that one, sir.

Yes, I am, Felix,
because,

you see,
this already has a name...

- So do you?
- And a function.

Do you mean that I should
sacrifice my life for you?

- Possibly, in part.
- I have!

- Possibly, you have, in part.
- No, I mean my life.

What's gone you've taken
or I've given or lost.

What's it called,
then, sir?

Then tenth,
Carlos, is excess.

What else can it be called
but excess?

Most of life's events and
turmoils have been experienced,

so there's little point
in carrying on, but we do.

The optimistic, out of
curiosity, and the rest of us

because we see
no alternative

than masked guests
at one own's party.

What the hell
do you mean

when you say
I have taken your life?

If we have loved each other,

then we have taken
each other's lives!

And they were freely given!
So, do you love me, Dylan?

If I loved you, if I loved
you, then your infidelity

would have caused me suffering,
and I have suffered...

- Oh, please!
- So you can say,

if it's important to you,
that yes, I have loved you.

Oh, please, Dylan!

In fact, you've given me
ample opportunity to love you...

- Dylan!
- ...repeatedly!

- Again and again!
- Dylan.

Should I forgive
your infidelity?

My God! The torture of mind
you've provided, to give me

the chance to understand
what you mean by love!

- Dylan, please.
- A definition, love is

the agony one provides to
the person you care for most!

Dylan... please.

Please what, Caitlin?

Please, please,
can you fuck someone else?

Please,
should I forgive you?

And that ridiculous girl.

- That does not burden me?
- She was of no consequence!

- But it was first!
- It wasn't important!

It broke my heart!

Your heart
that gave you an excuse!

You're just a bloody drunk
and bloody man!

I will...

I will bloody drink!

The eleventh
is disappointment.

Disappointment at not stopping
after ten, but also

at everything into which
we've invested our faith,

nothing deserving.

Twelve, heh, 12,
12, 12 is sadness,

which is the great shade
that hovers behind us

like a thief with a cudgel.

What's gone and what's past
help should be past grief.

I'm not even
going to ask, Carlos.

What?

Has a... has a woman ever
been unfaithful to you?

Depends on what you mean
by "unfaithful."

I had no idea
there were several meanings.

What I mean is,
has a woman you loved

ever had physical intimacies
with another man?

- Physical intimacy?
- Jesus Christ, Carlos,

has a wife or girlfriend of
yours ever fucked someone else?

Oh, right, yes.
Bitch, a bitch.

And was she unfaithful
with several men

- at several different times?
- You think I'm stupid?

Of course, every situation
is different, Mr. Thomas.

But what if
you still loved her?

- Why would I do that?
- Yes, Carlos,

why, why would you
do that?

Why would you do that
when your trust was violated?

And all your secret,
little special intimacies

weren't secret anymore,

and when the invalid
is violated, love them?

- Why do that, Carlos, hmm?
- Exactly.

Ah, love, let us be true
to one another, for the world,

which seems to lie before us
like a land of dreams,

so various, so beautiful,
so new, hath really neither joy,

nor love, nor light,
nor certitude,

nor peace,
nor help for pain.

Ah, thank you very much
for coming today.

I'm sorry,
is this everyone?

This is, yes?

Um, yes, in his poetry
would be discursive

for no particular reason
other than ennui.

We called our tour an endless
journey of sameness.

Persons, as rule,
more generously doling out

responsibility than they are
in the giving of gifts.

As we muffle the noise
of the world

there is nothing
as erroneous like children.

There comes the remembrance
of things past.

When a person dies, we like to
see it as someone else's fault,

presuming there was
someone else to blame.

I've spoken to him in
a bar and he would look at me

with those glazed eyes
and I didn't see

the faintest glimmer
of comprehension.

Somehow, he would, he would
be where he needed to be,

with or without me.

They are elusive, the spectra
at the top of the stairs.

A shade, a vapor...
frighteningly clear.

It's much
preferable believing

your world godless
and uncaring.

If someone is to blame,
there is order in the world.

Sometimes he'd be so drunk
he could barely stand,

you'd think his lips
were incapable of movement

until he would read
and then, bam!

God... it would all change,

and it was
magical, magical.

But if the world
is not ordered...

but if none of us are
responsible for any event,

even those that occur
in our own lives...

What a terrifying place
the world would be...

or is, already.

Do not go gentle
into that good night.

Old age should burn
and rave at close of day.

Rage, rage against
the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end
know dark is right,

because their words
had forked no lightning,

they do not go gentle
into that good night.

Thirteen... is bravado,
come full circle from up.

It is the act in absence
of faith or hope

that draws attention
to oneself.

Grave men, near death,
who see with blinding sight...

And who can resist
an audience?

So, naturally, 14 is a
requirement for one's public,

and having got them into the
hall with 13, one must perform!

Do not go gentle
into that good night.

Rage... rage against
the dying of the light.

Uncertainty.

Uncertainty
whether the option

for anything better
should exist.

Or lack of energy
to explore the options

and hope that the option
with which you are stuck

might transmogrify
into something else.

And I'm not going
to ask you this time

to stop drinking.

I'm glad you agree.

No, that's really
not the question.

Exactly my view.

I'm going to ask you
if you want to die.

- What a curious notion.
- Do you?

I should like to see
my own funeral.

I think everyone would.

I could give the eulogy, I think
I'd do rather a good job.

Do you wish to die,
Mr. Thomas?

You must tell me.

- Doctor, I...
- I'm entirely serious.

I have children.

My angels, who I adore.

I have Caitlin.

I wish she was here,

I could put my head
in her lap and sleep.

And for you,
I wish she was here.

But if you wish to see
your family again,

you must stop
drinking, now.

You must rest, you must eat
if you are to live.

And death shall
have no dominion.

Dead men naked
they shall be one

with the man in the wind
and the west moon.

When their bones are picked
clean and the clean bones gone,

they shall have stars
at elbow and foot,

though they go mad
they shall be sane,

though they sink through
the sea they shall rise again,

though lovers be lost
love shall not,

and death shall
have no dominion.

He's drunk.

- You can't know that.
- Look at him.

- You wouldn't understand.
- I understand drunk.

He's not gonna be able
to speak tonight.

Yes, he will.

He will.

Excuse me, um...

Mr. Thomas?

Say that again?

We... I have come
from Vassar to help you.

To help me?

To help you find your way
to the college today.

Well, that's very
generous of you, but...

I must ask you,
do I look confused?

No, no.

A little drunk, perhaps?
Do I seem drunk to you?

No, I don't think
you're drunk, I, I...

I think you're marvelous,
I, I think that you make

the commonplace magical and
the magical seem real and...

Brinnan!

This young lady seems to be
in love with me, I think.

Um, if I might
have a word with you?

Not now, Brinnan.
Who are these, Carlos?

- Your fans.
- Fans? I don't need fans,

I need idolaters,
those who love me.

What are your names?

- Alexi.
- Penelope.

Lexi and Penelope,

you're making those up,
aren't you?

No.

Nom du plume.

What are you,
pith-helmeted hunters,

searching for some wildebeest

or some super-annuated
literary figure?

They are our real names.

My God.

I must insist, Dylan,

that we have this
conversation, please.

- A drink, Mr. Brinnan?
- Well, Lexi and Penelope...

Penelope and Alexi,
tell me,

did your parents
think themselves...

unusual?

Meet my dear, dear friend,
the prosaically named Brinnan,

and this is Carlos, and this is
my drinking partners,

Mr. Rosencrantz
and Mr. Guildenstern.

Mr. Rosencrantz,
Mr. Guildenstern,

please meet my new friends,
Penelope and Alexi.

- Oh, you're from abroad.
- No, they're not.

- Oh.
- Oh, exactly.

Those your real names?

Because our names really
aren't Rosencrantz and...

I found this, Dylan.

- Do you recognize this?
- What is it?

It's a muddied page
from my book,

I found it on the streets.

- Extraordinary.
- Yes.

Yes, this is just
extraordinary.

Where is it?
Where is it?

Don't become
agitated, Brinnan,

it doesn't suit you.

A page must've
blown away, that's all.

Mm-mm, it's not just a page,
Dylan, you know that.

Perhaps someone wrote exactly
the same thing as you did

and by some strange coincidence
left it in the street

and you thought
it was yours.

Dylan, this is the title page
of my book, that's my name,

John Malcolm Brinnan,
do you see that?

Ah. Yes, yes,
yes, yes, there is...

that is too much
of a coincidence.

But when, when we'll see

Brinnan,
when we'll see Gautier,

Brinnan, hmm?
When, when?

I won't tell you until
you tell me where my book is.

Don't you bully me,
you dog's cock!

You may remember the great
explorer, Captain Oates,

tried to discover
the South Pole.

There was no food, his men
were getting hungry and...

before he stepped out into
the blizzard he turned to them

and said in the most
quintessential of British

fashions and I say this
with some pride, he said,

"I'm going outside now,
I may be some time."

Unfortunately,
my wicked witch arrives soon,

and my love for her makes our
inevitable conversions

impossible, but we may share
our imaginings, Penelope.

Lexi.

Penelope, I'm confused,

should I be anticipating
Tolstoy or Greek?

Pardon?

Mmm, of course, in your case,
with your name, Tolstoy!

Melancholy Alexi... young,
handsome, somewhat impetuous,

dissolute soldier return
from the Front, lovingly,

adoring his beautiful but vain
cousin Penelope Ivanovich.

It's getting late,
and he's fucking drunk.

- Lexi.
- Do you propose to judge me

on your vast life experience,
Alexi Ivanovich?

Fuck you.

Look, Alexi Ivanovich,
chaste Penelope,

waiting for her Ulysses
to return

from the treacherous Aegean.

Imagine her chagrin
on discovering

that you are just
another sailor.

Not Ulysses,
just someone

with the impossible
name of Alexi.

If only names could make us
unusual, but would Ulysses

to present himself to her

like the mighty king
he truly is?

You know nothing about us.

Oh, but I do,
Alexi Ivanovich, I'm a poet,

I speak for us all.

He is pathetic.
Penny, let's go.

No, I'm staying, Alexi.

Witness now,
Alexi Ivanovich,

the vagaries of
the female sensibility.

Dylan.

Dylan?

Before you utter
another word, Brinnan,

I have no wish, nor will,

please, a single
syllable of your book.

I have no interest
whatsoever,

I have no prosaic
personality when I meet it.

I'm sure your pages, each
and everyone of them,

is filled and full
of your banalities.

It is your métier.

- Back again.
- Yes.

I thought you were just
a figment of his imagination.

Well, I am, but I'm not going
in there, it's disgusting.

My God!

Oh, good.

Severe, and such velocity.

Projectile vomiting,
probably caused

by pyloric muscle spasms.

Everyone's pretending...
you, me, him.

I mean, he doesn't
seem to care much.

About what?

About you.

No, someone, please,
I really can't ruin this jacket.

Someone, please?

Thank you.

- And?
- What?

His sickness, the color
and the consistency.

Red and runny, mainly.

You know, you can't
trust your feelings with him.

I'm sorry... what?

I mean, we are, all of us,
drunk most of the time.

- No, no, I'm not drunk.
- I mean intoxicated.

Any time any of us
can feel something,

some unreasoned emotion.

- Do you know what?
- What?

Just because we feel something
doesn't mean it's real.

You should meet my husband.

- But it could be.
- No.

If I may demonstrate.

Don't be so easy to be fooled
by the words or the world...

it's all a lie.

Everyone's a liar.

You don't speak any of
the Slavic languages, do you?

Why do you ask?

Out of curiosity.

Oh, well,
how's it look?

Brown and watery now.

Oh, that's bad.

- Really?
- Mm-hmm, fecal vomiting.

Oh, God. Fecal?
It's really not.

Oh, I'm quite certain.

Some duodenal contractions
causing the bile to...

Do you mean
he's vomiting shit?

- Oh, my God.
- Exactly.

Now, look what
you've done.

I'm off.

Phone me if...
phone me.

Blood.

Blood, bloody blood!

Blood.

Is it bloody blood...

God. Heh.

I don't envy the poor soldier
who has to clean that up.

Oh, well, we mustn't
dwell on these things.

Another drink, Carlos.

For God's sake,
let us sit on the ground

and tell sad stories of
the sad deaths of kings,

...for you have but
mistook me all this while...

I live with bread
like you, feel want,

taste grief, need friends.

Subjected thus.

How can you say to me...
I am a king?

- You fuck.
- Pardon?

You, you fucking fuck.

Uh, M-mister Thomas?

If you're feeling better...

He needs to go
to the hospital.

I'm fine, Brinnan!

Just... the strangest
odd taste in my mouth...

If you're not feeling
well enough, your health is

the most important,
of course, if you're...

up to it, we should really,
we should go.

You are pure.

W-what?

No, I mean that, I...

I am jaded and...

a monster of sorts,
predatory, evil, lost.

You have a kindness
about you.

Thank you.

It is something about
the primal nature of man

that wants to destroy
innocence and kindness.

Why do you think
that is, Carlos?

I think you should
leave her alone.

Why do you think
that is, Penelope?

- Stop it!
- You bastard, Thomas!

Leave her alone.

Oh, my God, Dylan,
this is beneath you.

- I have no beneath.
- She's just a girl!

And what do you care
what I think or say?

It's a bad show,
old man, really bad.

You know all the tricks,
don't you, Mr. Thomas?

As do you,
Carlos, as do you.

I thought we were friends.

Did you?

Which college, then?

Columbia.

A fine institution.

Yeah, it was pretty good.

Writer?

You have something to say
to me, I think, Dylan!

Yes.

And my work, what do you
think of my work?

If I walk out of this bar,
Dylan, you're on your own.

Another drink, then?

Yes, another drink,
please, Carlos.

Happy to accommodate,
Dylan.

"Dylan" is it now?

Here you go.

Sixteen.

Sixteen is the small wisdom

we have acquired from
all the sound and fury.

Wisdom which comes only just
to provide peritectic service.

Small reward for all
that we have witnessed,

suffered and survived.

My work, man to man, writer
to writer, what do you think?

I can't imagine you would
care what I would think.

Oh, I care what
everyone thinks, Carlos.

Everyone...

Except for those of who
I've seduced,

whose judgement
I cannot trust.

John Malcolm?

Where is she?

Brinnan, look at the time.

Where is she?

Et tu, Felix?

You're cruel to watch,
old man.

But I'm rather fond of you.

Then don't
you want to save me?

No, not particularly.

I'm rather
in my own trouble.

See ya.

See you, then.

See you, Dylan,
knock 'em dead.

Thank you, Teddy.

I will... knock them dead.

Well, Carlos,
that was quite a day.

- For whom?
- For whom? For whom?

Very posh.

I meant, Dylan, whether you
were only thinking of what a day

it was for you, or what
it was for the others.

Pardon?

Oh, no, don't
look to me for pardon.

Speechless now, are we?

No audience roaring
their meadow brow approval

of what they don't understand
but thinks sounds nice.

Like a replica painting they
bought at the five and dime,

mistaken for art.

Forgive me for seeming
self-pitying, Carlos, I...

I believe
I milked it all well.

You're not well,
you're right.

You're a walking ruin.

But you and I have our secret,
don't we, Dylan?

Do we, Carlos?

I would very much like
to know what that secret is,

but forgive me, like Captain
Oakes, I must be going now.

- Leaving, are we?
- Ahh...

Like the March Hare,
some important rendezvous?

To screw some naive girl who,
like the other lotus eaters,

mistake sound
for substance?

You fooled them all.

Please... you seem
displeased with me, Carlos,

I... I need your help.

Our secret, your secret,
is you know and I know...

there's nothing there.

Just a cadence of the language,
nothing else.

Not Auden, not Yeats.

- You're unkind.
- Unkind?

Tell that to that young girl,
that boy, your children,

and your friend
who finds you work.

Your wife, tell that
to your wife!

You think your self-destruction
is grand theater.

It's not, it's simply sad.

You're just a performer in your
own pathetic vaudeville show

with nothing of
importance to say.

- I write of life!
- You write of life?

You write of nothing.

The world you mourn
hasn't passed.

It never existed.

You should have looked at
and written about what is

actually here, around you,
oblique, stinking, rotting,

corrupt, pernicious, soulless
world on a darkling plain.

Our own ill-begotten monsters
slouching towards Bethlehem,

waiting to be born.

This is what poets
should write about.

You don't like my work,
then, I presume?

Perhaps yours is different,
I should... read it.

You'll forgive me if I don't
give you the only copy.

- Why do you work here, Carlos?
- Why?

- For you, Mr. Thomas.
- For me?

Oh, yes, Mr. Thomas.

For you, to help you
in the naming of drinks.

Here's one you
will not drink.

But I'll leave you
the bottle.

Ah, I must be going.

Close the door when
you leave, would you?

You know what tells
the whole story about you?

All this naming of drinks.

Each one of them
sounded so grand

and so thought out,
so clever.

But I can't remember
a single one.

Or could anyone
who was listening.

Nor can you.

That's what I mean.

We were remembering
parts of stuff,

the rest, is just noise.

They really are quite
easy to remember,

because there's
nothing to remember

except the experience
of a lived life.

First, and always first
is innocence,

which may last
a day or a lifetime.

And it's not a virtue
because it cannot be chosen.

Then enthusiasm, bright promise,
hope, recalcitrance, faith.

The mystical, the contemplation
of death, the crossing

of thresholds, the resurrection,
memory, regret...

...mere excess is eleven,

which is after ten...

is disappointment.

Twelve is the great sadness.

Thirteen is bravado,
titling Quixotically

at the failure of our lives.

Fourteen is the mere
servicing of our observers,

servicing our children
and our audiences,

contorting our hands
into shapes that throw

shadows on the wall, as if it
were a living thing.

Fifteen is the uncertainty
of what awaits us

when what awaits us
is not far off.

Sixteen, sixteen is
the small wisdom we've acquired

from all the sound and fury,
but late in peritectic service.

And 17...

Seventeen... is what we offer
ourselves in the absence

of enthusiasm, hope, faith,
recalcitrance, bravado,

wisdom, resurrection...

Seventeen is intoxication,
the absenting of ourselves

from all the noise
of the world.

And 18...

Eighteen is...

Dylan... Dylan, darling.

Dylan, wake up.

Where are you?

I'm at home.

Home.

That's a long way away.

Dylan, after all this...
after all this...

What is it that you love?

Home.

And me?

Love is a word so often used
it's lost all meaning.

When all the words we exchange
grow heavier with age,

like the stones
in Virginia Woolf's pocket.

The tired body and the heavy
stones dragging the mind

of the weary spirit to
the bottom of a drowning river.

Oh, Dylan.

So, no, I did not
love you, Caitlin.

You didn't?

So what remains
something else.

Vines wrapped around
a tree so tight

they strangle
as they nurture.

But we would not live
without the nurture.

Well, I loved you.

I do love you.

Our time apart would
leave me with an absence

I could not fathom
or quantify.

And your unfaithfulness
would ruin the viscera

of my interior
as a broadsword,

but your kindness was
my only harbor in a tempest

of daily apocalypses,
and the water torture

of the banality
of everyday life.

So what does that mean?

It means that what has passed
between us is a sacrament.

Nature is indifferent to us
and only we know how we matter

to one another, and yet it
cannot be measured

or spoken or quantified.

So I can say nothing else.

It was...
November third, 1953,

and Dylan staggered into
the Chelsea hotel, and he said,

"I've had 18 straight whiskeys,
I think this is a record."

A few hours later
he collapsed, he was taken

to St. Vincent in coma,
they looked in his throat

and saw that he was
drowning in mucus

and performed a tracheotomy.

He was still breathing
when she arrived, and she said

the oddest thing, she said,

"Is the bloody man
dead or alive?"

And, um... on November ninth
Dylan, Dylan died.

Are there any,
are there any questions?

"Do something!" he said.

And we threw all our snowballs
into the smoke...

I think we missed Mr. Prothero...
and ran out of the house

to the telephone box.

"Let's call the police
as well," Jim said.

"And the ambulance.

And Ernie Jenkins,
he likes fires."

But we only called
the fire brigade, and soon

the fire engine came and three
tall men in helmets brought

a hose into the house
and Mr. Prothero got out

just in time, just before
they turned it on.

Nobody could have had
a noisier Christmas Eve.

And when the firemen
turned off the hose

and were standing
in the wet, smoky room,

Jim's Aunt, Miss Prothero,
came downstairs

and peered in at them.

Jim and I waited,
very quietly,

to hear what
she would say to them.

She said the right thing,
always.

She looked at
the three tall firemen

in their shining helmets,
standing among the smoke

and the cinders and the
dissolving snowballs,

and she said...

"Would you like
anything to read?"

I will talk
about him later,

everyone wants
to talk about him,

but I have other stories,
you know.

When I was in
medical school, of course,

we worked very hard,

but we still knew how
to have a good time.

There was a woman in our class,
I think she was the only one,

we were in the second year
doing anatomy, and we used to,

we used to cut the penis off
one of the cadavers

and leave it
in her lab coat.

So, you see, later,

when she would put
the hand in the pocket,

she would pull out a penis.

And the Swiss
are always funny.

Some jokes, after a while,
aren't funny anymore,

but a penis in the pocket,
always funny, always...

...fresh, so we...

I used to do this two
or three times a week.

We were running out of
penises.

What became of her?

She became a urologist,
I would like to think

I contributed
to her career choice.

And a lesbian.

Yes, and I wondered if I might
not have contributed

to that as well.

But later, one of my friends
from medical school

told me that she said it wasn't
the pricks in her pocket,

but the pricks in her class.

That had cleared up any doubts
she may have had.

Apparently, always,
that way inclined still,

pricks in a pocket...
it's funny just saying that.

How reassuring.

Reassuring?

Well, that my husband
is in the caring hands

of a sensitive physician.

Oh, just because
I've a sense of humor

doesn't make me
a bad doctor.

So what does make you
a bad doctor?

Oh, I'm not
certain, really,

either my lack of attention
or my lack of caring.