“Old discoveries belong less to their original inventors than to those who put them to use.”
            Marquis de Vauvenargues

What follows is an evil script of three scenes, with two characters, a kid and a man. This script is inspired by the anti-protocols of Situationist détournement, plagiarising Jonathan Glazer’s 2004 film Birth, starring Nicole Kidman.




Scene 1:

A group of homosexuals crowd around a birthday cake with 40 candles. A man leans over the cake and blows them out. The homosexuals make dirty innuendos about his birthday wish, but the man has made a wish for something very pure. The man kisses his fiancé Keith on the lips and the homosexuals coo. The men are going to get gay married very soon and all the homosexuals at the birthday party are excited to drink for free and fuck one-another when they are drunk enough to forgive themselves for being homosexuals.

A kid enters the room and everything goes quiet.

            KID: I’m here to see you.

The kid is looking at the man who blew out the candles.

            MAN: Who are you?
            KID: Let’s go into the kitchen, I’ll tell you there. MAN: Are you going to play a trick on me?
            KID: No.
            MAN: Okay.
            MAN: He wants to talk to me in private?

The man gestures to the room waving his limp wrists. The homosexuals sip on their wines. Some of them laugh unconvincingly as the kid and the man walk into the kitchen.

            MAN: What do you want?

            KID: You.
            MAN: You want me is that what you’re saying?
            KID: Yes.
            MAN: I don’t even know you.
            KID: Yes, you do, you just don’t recognise me. I’m the man you love the most. The first man you ever loved.
            MAN: You’re not even a man, and you want me to believe that you’re my lover?
            KID: Yes.
            MAN: Wow! I’m getting married to Keith, he’s a little bit older than you, we have a little bit more in common. If the timing was a little bit different, who knows, you’re a handsome little boy but I’m getting married to someone else.
            KID: It’s me, I’m the one you buried all those years ago.
            MAN: What are you saying? You don’t even know him, he’s been dead for many years now. This is wrong.
            KID: I don’t care if it’s wrong.
            MAN: Alright, I think it's time for you to go. This is no longer funny to me. I don’t know who put you up to this but this is not funny.

The man grabs the kid by the arm and drags him out of the room. It feels good for him to be in control again. The man hates children and their tricks and its finally time for this one to fuck off and go play with somebody his own age. This birthday party is no place for children, some of the homosexuals are doing blow, not that the man would partake in any these days. Blow is a thing of the past for the man.

            KID: You’ll be making a big mistake if you marry Keith. I know what you want and it's not him.
            MAN: I have nothing to say to you, you are a child and we’re done here.
            KID: You have to listen to me. Meet me at the park tomorrow at 10, you know where.




Scene 2:

The man and the kid sit next to each-other on a park bench.

            KID: I died of AIDS.
            MAN: You are a child.
            KID: Children die of AIDS all the time.
            MAN: But you’re not dead, you’re sitting here with me.
            KID: Some things can’t be explained. Why don’t you trust me? You used to trust me.
            MAN: I want you to tell me right now, that you’ll never see me or bother me ever again.
            KID: I can’t do that.
            MAN: You’ll never see me or bother me again.

            KID: No. I can’t.
            MAN: Why did you come to my birthday party? Why couldn’t you just leave me alone. Can’t you see that I’m happy, that I’ve finally moved on. I’m with Keith now.
            KID: I needed to talk to you. I can see that you’re not happy. Who is this good homosexual that you’ve become? What of the pederasts and criminals you used to admire? We used to fantasise about setting the world on fire together. We used to fuck like rabid dogs on this park bench in the broad daylight. And now look at you, planning a wedding, getting married to a homosexual. He looks like Stanley Tucci.
            MAN: You’re hurting me.
            KID: You’re hurting yourself. There is nothing inspired about this life your living. It’s a commercial for sobriety. Do you even feel anything down there anymore?

The man buries his head in his hands. He hasn’t had a hard-on in weeks and he has one right now.

            KID: You’re a pervert! What are you doing sleeping in a bed with a homosexual? You used to hate homosexuals... used to make fun of them. You are not a good homosexual. You killed me with your fucking homosexual disease because you couldn’t help but fuck like a rabid dog with the whole litter and all the fleas. And I’ve forgiven you. I had to learn how to walk again so that I could walk back to you and I had to learn how to speak again so that I could tell you all this. The thought of you used to make me wet the bed but now I just feel sorry for you.

            MAN: I don’t want you to bother me again.
            KID: I want to help you.




Scene 3:

The man and the kid sit across from one another in a bath tub.

            MAN: What are you doing?
            KID: I’m looking at my man.

The kid smirks.

            MAN: From now on we’re going to tell the truth. No more lying.




THE END

Charles Carrall is a writer, critic and raconteur from so-called Sydney, Australia, living on unceded Gadigal land. With a media-arts background, Charles is interested in subtext, fantasy, dress and undress, stains, actresses, confessions, and obsessions. Charles makes up one-half of podcast Vanity Project, which began during his two year stint living, working and studying in Paris, France. The podcast investigates a variety of cultural studies and hyper-local phenomena in Sydney’s arts scene. Like Isabelle Huppert, Charles has been accused of having a passion for perversion.