Lunedì, 22 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 14:55

It was a couple of days before you were due. We had been counting down the minutes for nine months. We had just celebrated our second year of marriage. There was a drop of champagne and I remember very rich chocolate cake.

During the night, your mother came into labour.

That chocolate cake had come from Sven's around the corner. It was his specialty.

We rushed to the hospital. Through your mother's huffing and puffing every two and a half minutes, we made it to Saint Jerome's with time to spare.

The cake was built up with layers of chocolate sponge. In between each was a soft layer of chocolate creme mixed with sweetened ricotta cheese. The outer was then coated with more chocolate that had been melted and blended together with crushed almonds. It formed a hard, crunchy crust.

As your mother got out of the car - I have to be thankful for this as it could have happened in the new Volvo - her waters broke. Right there in the street. I heard the splash on the pavement. I though it was raining. I looked up to a clear, night sky. It was full of twinkling stars. The look of horror on Silvia's face told me exactly what had happened. I wasn't going to say a thing.

When you cut into Sven's chocolate cake, you first had to break through the outer crust. If you succeeded, you then carefully sliced through the soft layers, trying to make sure that all the creamy ricotta didn't sqish itself away.

The doctor was already there. He was prepped and waiting. They gave me a gown. "I don't think I'm in any condition to deliver the baby tonight", I joked. No one laughed.

"Me, deliver the baby, ... you know, you've given me a gown ... like a doctor...Ha, Ha, Ha ..." No one laughed. I was in no condition to make jokes.

Silvia looked at me. And I didn't say another word all night.

Eating Sven's famous Chocolate cake, is like having angels making love on your tongue. It's like sex with a perfect stranger. It's like ...

Silvia was looking at me. She knew what I was thinking. And I didn't think another thought all night.

The labour pains where now very frequent. Only seconds apart. Silvia had her legs up and parted like a bad haircut. It must be the most unflattering position for a woman. I decided to stay at the head, while the doctor and his assistants crouched down like they were about to participate in a rugby scrum.

"I can see the head", said the doctor delighted. "Mr Gerkin, would you like to come over and take some photographs of this?"

Really? Who was I going to show 'this' to?

I had visions of nights in front of the fire with Silvia's parents, or Uncle Jozef, looking through photographs of this moment. "And this is the placenta coming out". Maybe we could save them for her boss, Mr Savone. That would be a pleasant evening.

I declined humbly. The doctor insisted I see this. "Come along Lionel, this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience." You'll be able to tell your child about this day.

I moved toward the business end of the bed. The doctor pulled me down and I came face to face with the "opening". There was your head, now poking out quite a bit. You were covered in a thick goo that looked like a very thin layer of Sven's famous chocolate cake.

I swallowed hard. That hard outer crust with its crunchy, crushed almond texture, those smooth layers of rich ricotta, the chocolate recipe that had been handed down from Danish ancestors to Danish heirs was about to make its way into the world.

I looked up and the doctor was dragging you out. First one shoulder popped out, then the other. Just as you cried your first sound, Sven's famous chocolate cake coated the pull-on paper boots that covered the assistant's feet. They went from a clinical white to a mission brown. I could see the specs of almond rushing around of the floor.

We christened you Marie Sven Gerkin. Now you know why your middle name is Sven. We never figured that your initials would read MSG.

Sorry about that.

I still dream about that cake, even though I have never tried it again since.

Venerdì, 26 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 05:48

My name is Marie Sven Gerkin. Don't ask about Sven, okay. These are issues that I deal with everyday. They include the fact that my father is Lionel Gerkin.

And my mother was a bitch. Her name was Silvia Rose.

Don't get me wrong, she was a great dancer and in Rhumbaland that's what's important. People loved her.

Ever since I was a baby, I remember being taken to her exhibitions. Dressed up in lace and silk petticoats up to your arsehole. I watched like everyone else glued to the freedom in her movement. Like every step, every gesture, every dramatic pause, every look had been planned in heaven.

"Oh, you're Silvia Rose's daughter, you're so lucky."

Sure I am.

I sat there putting up with this shit while she flirted with the male dancers. Luckily it was dancing that she was good at and not welding. At least here 90% of the men were gay and she was safe. Well, kind of. They would look up her with their stupid gawky expression and shrill at the things she would say.

She was still a bitch.

I remember the night she took me aside, Lionel was at the table. She had just finished dancing and the atmosphere had calmed down. She was hot and sweaty and she had that look in her eye. The look of sex. It's the last thing you want to see in your parents.

"I want to show you your father," she said. Just like that.

I looked over at Lionel sitting alone at the table, sipping on a Midori. He was probably thinking about how he could make the popping mechanism on a toaster faster or something.

Her hand pointed toward him and then moved away across the room. I followed it like the camera in a movie. Bodies flashed by in a blur. It came to rest on a table at the other end of the room. A large man stood next to it. His head was draped with a bandana. His shirt clung to his skin and was held there via a thin film of sweat. He drank hard and long. He laughed loud. He was like the centre of attention without even trying.

"That's your real father" she whispered in my ear.

"His name is Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. He is a real dancer. Did you see him tonight? Weren't we great together, baby?."

My name is Marie Sven Gerkin. My father is Lionel Gerkin. And my mother was a bitch.

Mercoledì, 31 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 22:47

I hear the crunch of bone as Jesus (my biological father), hits Lionel Gerkin in the face (the father that raised me since a child). It's a bit strange watching my father fight my father.

"Didnth hurth a bith, shihtead." That's Lionel sounding very unconvincing. I hate it when men do this rubbish. They think they are fighting for a woman's honor or something. As if women care. I don't. And Silvia isn't even here.

The only thing that I know about these two is this:

1) Lionel Gerkin brought me up. If someone said describe him, I wouldn't know how. Although I might tell them about his big overcoat. We would often go to a friend's house on winter evenings. We never had a television for some stupid reason. At the end of the night, I would normally go home with Lionel. Silvia would stay behind. By then, she had drunk a few wines and was ready to rhumba. And what ever else she did. I don't want to go there.

Jesus stirkes again. Blood pours from a cut above Lionel's eye. Poor bastard. Why doesn't he just fall over and stay down. Stay down. He swings and hits the side of a barn, but misses the huge jackass inside - I mean Jesus.

1) On those winter nights, Lionel would wrap me inside his warm overcoat. I could look out at the world from in there. I was safe. Nothing could hurt me then. Nothing could get to me. He would sing me songs as we walked. He couldn't sing for shit, but I didn't know that then.

Lionel tries to hit Jesus again. He has just found out that Jesus has been sleeping with Silvia. He has just found out that I am not his daughter. "Come on, Jesthus. Christh I am going to kill you!" As it states in those "Jesus Saves" posters, we know what Jesus has been saving. He cocks an arm and fires and scores. "BANG". Good night Lionel. "I woucha, winda, winoe ..."

2) Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez had a fling or two with my mother. I was the outcome of one of those flings. Well, at least she thinks I'm one of his. He came up to me once and grabbed my breasts. "You are developing very nicely" he smirked as he squeezed.

Lionel is packaged meat on the floor. "You call yourself a man? You call yourself a MAN? You are nothing. You have nothing to provide. And no one to provide it to."

I walk up behind Jesus and hit him hard with the baseball bat that I have always kept in my room. He shuts up as I hear the pleasurable sound of wood on bone. And then a thump on the floor.

Martedì, 06 Aprile, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 10:21

My life is like a hole filled with noise and sound
Always stress and tension heartache and frown
Never quiet and silence
Never no more
The hole keeps going on never to an end
Never to a bright spot and never to a friend

The hole keeps getting deeper
With twisting and turns
Trying to find a purpose, trying to find the cause
The cause is why it all began, it's why I'm here today
When I find the cause the bottom's very near

Sabato, 01 Maggio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 15:14

i don't know why it happen or how it happened or when it happened. there was a loud bang. a noise. an explosion near my head. one minute they were there and the next there was blood every where. it splashed across my face. it's splattered on my dress. oh christ will i ever be able to get that out? i just blacked out. it was like a nightmare. i swear. the police sirens screamed in my head. i don't know why it happened. i just know it did. i don't know who to blame. i just know that it happened. and the sound of that gun shot is still exploding in my head. exploding like a cannon. but it was such a small gun. it barely fitted into your hand. i don't know why it happened. i just know i was there. i didn't want to be there. i wanted to be far away. under a blanket. in a warm bed. being hugged by someone. someone who cared about me. i don't know why it happened. that's what i told the police. that's what i told that detective guy. what's his name? detective inspector stevens or something. i don't know why it happened. i just know i was there.

Mercoledì, 05 Maggio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 21:32

There are a lot of things that I remember about my father. (I hope you understand that I am talking about Lionel Gerkin here) At least I can say that I am one of the lucky ones.

I remember as a small girl, how happy he always was to see me. How he would hug me tight. So tight I sometimes couldn't breath. That smell of his after shave that lasted a whole day.

His tickles would cause a rush of delight in me. He was always there. When I had my first Holy communion. My Confirmation. My sports days. He was there. Always there.

It wasn't so much that he made me feel like a grown up and cared for. I think in many ways I helped him feel like a child again. I don't really ever think had much of a childhood. I never really met his parents. Nor did he ever talk about them.

He just enjoyed doing things, being around. He was so much more comfortable around children than he was around adults. Or people his own age.

I think he just saw them as big people. He could never live up to their expectations. Especially not their expectations of what a man should be.

A man. What is that any way? A dick on a stick? A testosterone filled bag of bones? Someone who shouldn't have and can't have any feelings or emotions?

Lionel wasn't like that. I'd go running for him like I did everyday as a little girl. He'd get home. I'd hear the door close and his footstep down the hall.

How old would I have been? Oh, I don't know. Little.

I can remember it like it was yesterday.

I rushed down the hall. So fast. Couldn't wait to get there. To see him.

I rounded the corner. He was there. Standing there. Tall, rough, unshaven and smoking. I couldn't smell the after shave. It was Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez.

"Honey,... baby ... wait ..." it was my mother coming up behind me down the hall. I just kept staring. He kept smoking. His stupid smile beaming contentedly.

"Baby, there's something I need to tell you ... about your father ... " He wasn't there anymore.

What more could she possibly want to tell me?

Giovedì, 20 Maggio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 12:57

i wake often these days. i wake up often in the middle of the night. or it could be the middle of the day. i don't know any more. i just wake up in a sweat. my clothes are drenched. the sweat is dripping off my brow. i sometimes wake screaming. i can see it. i always see it. there it is slowly coming out of the darkness. there is a glint of moonlight that makes it seem almost inviting. just for a moment. you almost want to touch it. to caress it.

then it fires with an explosion and releases all its evil with a noise that's frightening. it still frightens me. i can still hear it. exploding in my ears. the sound smashing into my brain. the reverberations lasted for what seemed like hours. in fact i can still hear them. they may last a lifetime.

it was Jesus's gun. a small, chromed piece of metal that i saw fire in someone's hand. i don't know whose hand it was. i just remember there were screams. female screams. among them were thumps of something hitting lumps of meat. i remember nothing else. i'm scared to remember anything else. and then the gun. it comes out slowly. it comes out into the moonlight. it makes itself heard. demanding to be heard. unmistakable. loud. agressive. violent.

i remember something jesus would always sing. the words were something about:

Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun, momma
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun, momma
Happiness is a warm gun

i don't want to remember any more.

Domenica, 06 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 19:58

The world is made up of crazy people. I'm sure of it. I know as I work in a crazy place. They have given me a job here in this mad house, to see if I can help people. I have told them I will have no effect. I can't help anyone. Not after what I have seen and what I have heard.

But they still placed me here.

Okay, so what's crazy? Most people will probably think it's someone who has lost their marbles. It's not. We don't really have marbles, so how can we lose them? That would indicate and inability to think straight. I have to tell you everyone in this place thinks straight. They know why they are here. Julia keeps telling me that she has an itch. She has had an itch for 30 years. It's just above her knee. She knows this, she is not crazy.

The dictionary says crazy means:

Possessed by enthusiasm or excitement: The crowd at the game went crazy.
Immoderately fond; infatuated: was crazy about boys.
Intensely involved or preoccupied: is crazy about cars and racing.
Foolish or impractical; senseless: a crazy scheme for making quick money.

This all says to me someone with an intensity for life. That's me. My intensity for life has become so great that I can see the blood on my hands. It's there every morning. I try to hide it, but can't. It just won't wash off. I wash and wash most days up to 100 times a day, but it just won't go away.

I don't want the other crazy people to see this, so I wear gloves all the time. It makes it very hard to eat and wiping your bum can prove to be a real nightmare. But there you have it. I have tried everything.

It's even hard to type this with gloves. It takes a long time to make every entry, and those crazy people in this place just won't let me be. I can feel my hands itching. I need to wash my hands. I need to stop.

Mercoledì, 16 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 07:31

I met a girl who wasn't there
She wasn't there again, today

I wish she'd go away.

I met a girl who wasn't there
She wasn't there again, today

I wish she'd go away.

I wish ...

Giovedì, 01 Luglio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 07:00

I can't sleep anymore. i can't get to sleep. it just seems that they just keep coming back. that night just keeps coming back. i can no longer tell if i'm dreaming or awake. i relive it night after night. like watching a movie over and over again.

i don't know why I said "Bye". i don't know why i called him "Dad".

Martedì, 13 Luglio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 08:48

it just keeps coming back. over and over. like a dream. i just know it's not a dream. not a dream. it just continues. i can't stop it.

INTERIOR. EARLY MORNING. THE KITCHEN OF SMALL SUBURBAN HOUSE.
MARIE, lies on the floor, shivering in her night dress. It is torn around the collar. The drop of blood around her bottom lip has now pushed its way through the tiny opening and is sliding down her chin. It drips free flying through the air in slow motion. Marie watches it fall in slow motion. And then it splatters against her knee. The fabric of her night dress sucks it in hungrily.

She tries to move but it feels like her leg is broken. The pain is quite strong, but she does not cry. She barely feels it. Her eyes are heavy. She wants to sleep. Just needs a few hours and she'll be right. It'll all be over.

Through heavy lids she looks up and sees her mother, SILVIA fly across the room. She can't take her eyes off the vision. It's not graceful. Her mother is a graceful dancer and she notices that this is not graceful.

The arc of her flight reaches its apex and she returns to earth with an enormous thud. Her mother crashes into the table Marie is lying next to. A chair smashes from the impact of Silvia's body. Shards of wood explode across the room. One enters Silvia's shoulder and blood slowly gushes out. She looks across at her daughter and smiles. Her eyes close. Her face is battered and blue. The clean, symmetrical lines of her mother's face all shattered.

Silvia always had a beautiful body. Marie can see parts of it now. The red dress that once covered her shapely lines has been torn. She can see bruises across the bare skin.

Marie, in her state, can't remember how they both got here. How they both ended up under a table in the early morning of a day she can no longer remember. What happened.

A shadow appears in front of her. A large shadow that grows. It creeps up her leg, past the blood spot that fell earlier, up her torso until it blocks out the light. Marie hears a laugh from the shadow. She looks up. It is just a black shape, enveloped by the light. It speaks gently and softly reassuringly. Yet there is a sharp razor blade hidden in every word. It slices through the air. It slices through her heart. Someone will soon feast on the pieces.

Marie looks over at her mother. She lies still as if trying to hide. The dark shape crouches down. It can no longer obstuct the light and it reveals features that Marie would rather not see. It is Jesus Miguel Luis Rodriguez. A huge smile on his face. He licks his lips.

JESUS
Hello, my lovely.

MARIE
What have you done to my muffer?

JESUS
My poor child, can't you see, she's just sleeping. Now come to daddy.

SFX: EXTERIOR. THE SOUND OF A CAR'S TYRES SCREECHING TO A STOP. A CAR DOOR OPENS QUICKLY. FOOTSTEPS, AT FIRST SLOW, THEN RUNNING. SOMEONE AT THE DOOR KNOCKING, THEN TAPPING LOUDLY AT THE WINDOW.

will they ever go away? will they eventually stop, doctor? doctor? are you there, doctor, can you hear me?

Lunedì, 19 Luglio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 22:37

what's going on? I can hear this music. i don't know what it is, but the tune sounds really familiar. the words are not words that are normally heard. the first verse is left out. but it's the song that i heard on that night. i remember it. oh god, it's all rushing back.

When all the world is a hopeless jumble, and the raindrops tumble all around, heaven opens a magic lane.
When all the clouds darken up the skyway,
there's a rainbow highway to be found,
leading from your window pane, to a place behind the sun,
just a step beyond the rain.

why is everyone smiling. why are they smiling. don't they know what happened that night. oh, no! i can hear the camera whirring. film rushing through the gate. 24 frames per second. that song.

INTERIOR. EARLY MORNING. THE KITCHEN OF A SMALL SUBURBAN HOUSE.
It is Silvia's house. Silvia is sprawled across the floor. She has not moved. Marie, is next to her. Her leg probably broken. Her body heaving with tears that are falling down her face uncontrollably.

SFX: THERE IS A LOUD RAPPING ON THE WINDOW
A man, LIONEL, stands at the window shouting, asking for someone to open the door. He is calling out someone's name. Marie cannot make out the name. She looks at the loud knocking. She sees Lionel. She hears what he is saying.

LIONEL
Marie! Marie! Open the door. Marie! Marie! Open the door.

OFF SCREEN IN LOUNGE ROOM JUST OFF KITCHEN
Marie hears the sound of a man laughing. It is JESUS. She moves herself, trying to get to the door. She pulls herself across the polished floorboards. A small stream of blood snakes its way behind her.

LIONEL
Good girl, Marie! You can do it.

Why doesn't he just smash a window, she thinks. Why doesn't he do what most men would do. Why doesn't he!

OFF SCREEN IN LOUNGE ROOM JUST OFF KITCHEN
The music starts to play. It is a song that is very familiar. Marie stops. She hasn't ever heard the words of this opening chorus. But the song is so familiar.

LIONEL
Marie! Don't stop. Keep going. Marie!

What is that goddam song? Why can't she recognise it?

LYRICS (from other room)
When all the world is a hopeless jumble, and the raindrops tumble all around, heaven opens a magic lane.
When all the clouds darken up the skyway,
there's a rainbow highway to be found,
leading from your window pane, to a place behind the sun,
just a step beyond the rain.

LIONEL
Marie! Don't stop. Keep going. Marie!

What is that goddam song? Why can't she recognise it?

There is a loud laugh just behind her. A big strong hand picks her up effortlessly, and pulls her back to her starting spot. It pulls her by her broken leg. The pain makes her scream.

LIONEL
Marie! Marie!

JESUS (leaning down over Marie)
What is it baby, don't you recognise this song? Oh, come on, you must. it's a classic. Everyone knows this song. Just wait for the chorus. Here it comes.

LYRICS (from other room)
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high, there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true.

JESUS (leaning down over Marie)
Recognise it now, baby?

SFX: THERE IS THE CRASH OF GLASS.
A rock lands heavily on the floor and rolls up to Marie. He finally did it, she thinks. Why did it take so long?

LIONEL
(To Silvia who hasn't moved)Sorry about the glass, Silvia. I'll pay for it.
(To Jesus) You bastard, get away from her. I'll, ...

MARIE
No, Dadf, ...

Lionel has raced toward Jesus who has risen to his feet. Lionel swings a blow that hits Jesus on the shoulder. Jesus laughs. From below, Marie sees his pony tail bob up and down as the laughter continues. Jesus is enjoying this. He cocks his arm and then releases the trigger. His fist slams into Lionel's face. His nose is crushed. Blood spurts out in a rush to be free. It drips across the floor, red and filled with specs of bone. It entwines with Marie's own to form a slippery sludge.

JESUS
Come to save your little girl have you. She's not your little girl. She's mine.

Jesus's laughter has disappeared. He draws a knife from a holster at the back of his pants. It's a big knife. One you would not like to mess with. He holds it up high and poised over Lionel.

Lionel kicks out. His foot strikes Jesus on the shin. It is not this, but the mixture of blood the floor that makes Jesus tumble. His pants are covered in a film of blood. Marie notices the shining steel gun that is normally strapped to his ankle. The strap has come loose but Jesus has not noticed.

Jesus swings past Marie. He is filled with murderous rage. Bile that is about to spill over as it has done many times before. In an attempt to stop him Marie grabs him by the leg. Jesus, kicks her away violently throwing her across the room and crashing into a chair. He turns to Lionel, who is still clutching his nose.

JESUS
This knife has dealt with men far more worthy than you. Luckily for me it is not choosy who it deals with.

The knife is lifted high. Its shadow races across the wall. It is about to start it descent into mayhem. But, there is a loud explosion in the room from behind Jesus. The sound reverberates around the walls trying to find its escape. Jesus looks down at his chest. His face is in shock. There is a hole in his brand new DKNY Pullover. His blood is spurting out. He falls to the floor. The last thing he sees is the barrel of the gun he normally keeps strapped to his ankle. It is smoking peacefully and contented.

I could never figure out that song.

Lunedì, 26 Luglio, 2004 | Posted by Marie Sven Gerkin at 18:33

i pulled the trigger? did i pull the trigger? was that me? it's a memory that i keep getting. i think i did. i think i did.

he touched me. he had tried to take my top off and touch me. he put his lips to my face. i felt his tongue on my face. mum, don't he'll hurt you. don't hurt her. stop hitting her. no don't touch me there please. get away from me. no, mum. don't hurf her.donf huf her. i couldn't speak properly. i couldn't say what i wanted to say. i couldn't help her. i couldn't help her.

Bang. Bang. why were there two bangs?