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The Fishman Rules
A YSOV Journal by Mye

by Steve Craig
copyright 1990

it’s it’s it’s it’s

it’s

it’s it’s

it’s it’s it’s it’s

how did we start

when the dead
don’t listen.

“dog dog” will never leave me, I
wouldn’t want it this way
<101 dalmations>

shhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

the dead don’t listen!

see the clothes 2 the —horizon—

the laundry
will never be done

and they lie
there
and they don’t listen
to me.

to you.

to the men on the red truck.

it’s, it cannot be me
who does not listen

listen
listen listen
listen
listen

listen
listen

listen
listen listen
listen

listen
listen
listen

SHUT YR. MOUTH
and LISTEN

and nothing is said

the rags
say nothing, and they do not listen

and the red truck cannot listen
over the roar of it’s engine.
dog dog, dog dog can he listen
we don’t know.
and the horizon comes no closer
you were there with me

and then i was there by myself

dog dog
dog dog
dog dog

dog dog
dog dog, dog dog
dog dog
dog dog

the unlikely clouds covering the skyline.
i should probably wait here longer

for them.
but they call for me.
and i MUST go.

she has a familiar face,
one that i’ve known before

i wanted to give you
flowers for your
birthday : )

the smallest of smiles was left on
her face

what could she be thinking.

anyone who knows me will know this

i’ll stay here longer
and pretend that i know her

a polite conversation.
and when the sun goes down i build
a fire to highlight her face
and the light

dancing off of her is only a
compliment/she is as beautiful as ever

her hair is longer than i remember
and i stare and
when the sun comes i take
a lock with me.

as i step away i wait...

...wait is the only word she says
the night had come and it had gone

and i told her nothing

and i return.

and

i will

spend the

thre3

days with

HER

and i tell her everything.

EVERYTHING

every vicious lie

every darkest secret
and wishes
thoughts
jokes
and sometimes nothing
LISTEN

she responds well.

when the red truck

returns you start
to understand

DOG DOG is gone

the horizon is closer then
it was four days
ago.

as i lost the days

the red truck returned
a hundred times, and each time the

horizon was closer
and then it disappeared

me and an unfamiliar skyline
the clouds wake
with me, wait with me

lay on the ground
sleep
movement does not exist between me

the red truck must return for
me. there
is nothing else

and the red truck returns for me, and the men they see
me move,

they are afraid of me

little square door

opened
the crosses
pour out, all over the floor

this is for me...
and my breath
and there is
nothing more

forever me and
my breath are like
this
with ourselves

and the red truck man
drives

this little box
the red truck man
keeps me
little box
it’s dark too

what should one do?

keeps pushing me closer
together
tighter

i truly hate this,
or
should i say
it scares me.
yes me

when i spoke
this to her
she understood

vertical

being put in
this box so long

stretch

cold

these metal fixtures
from floor to ceiling
still enclosed
hold me in this
vertical plane

you
know, the
red truck man
he brought
me
here.

the drive was over.
box of
crosses opened
and now, the
vertical
place.

he looks...
like a freak.
but assigns me
this name.

FREAK
FREAK
FREAK
FREAK
FREAK FREAK
FREAK FREAK FREAK

i decide,
by myself,
that, i do not
care what
the red
truck man
calls me.

he speaks,
seems confused,
listen

“as the dead lie there, among their
dirty clothes this FREAK converses
amongst them of intercourse and of
a plastic relationship and all the dead
things that make his heart go pitter-pat.”

can’t
quite follow, can you?

the crosses have
been turned inside-out
upside down, black and white
void of all meaning, and given
all false images
make me believe
in nothing, and in everything

and the red
truck man, and crosses
stuck to me as a
second skin
and will not pull from my flesh

all efforts are
void.
my second flesh, scard
for life, labeled, i.d. badge

FREAK

red truck man shows absolutely
no emotion, but we know, once he is
gone from this place

he laughs, throws fits
he knows what he does
WHAT ELSE IS THERE

take,
a deep breath
in
inhale
take,
a deep breath
out
exhale

i must have grown
so skinny
in the time that i’ve been here
urinated on myself......and
other things, second flesh
has grown old and wrinkled,
waiting for what?

i don’t know.

squeak squeak
squeak
squeak squeak
squeak squeak squeak
squeak squeak
squeak squeak
squeak squeak squeak
squeak
squeak squeak
squeak squeak
squeak

i guess at this point you, the viewer would not quite
understand what is going on.
well let me explain

squeak

pipe twisted
pushed down

got it?

squeak
squeak
squeak
squeak
squeak

and there we go,
with this one pipe
free, this one arm is given
the freedom
of movement:

this is how the red
truck man really calls me,
abstractly.
i cannot answer, it’s all
there; however, i cannot
recognize the speech
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

someone must be enjoying
this. surely it’s not me

with the fire and other
objects...

...water, yes water, sewage
and waste and bites
open wounds, stinging objects
metal fragments
sticking to
my flesh, pulling from
me, tighter.
the red truck man
again comes
to me, remember the white square.
over the crosses
upon the cheek he places
the white square.

quiet

remember the white square
you were there, and others, placed it
on my left cheek, in the sewage,
left me for dead. i lay there for years, and
then the stranger, you were there.
she was there, the other one. she cried
for me and slept, the brass bed,
remember, she pulled my body from
the water, her hand slowly
caressed my skin and wiped the
dust from my cheek and she
kissed me there. remember
it was dark and i was gone.
drifted away into the sewage, rot,
sank through the trash and filth, what was left of my mind.
and when your dead, every breath
is the same, whether there, where
you sit, or here. the sewage and
rot and it is here they tell me
the fishman rules,and place
this rot inside my head, they kiss
my cheek, and they kiss my head
and this is me

quiet

here

the fishman rules

remember the man on the

red truck?

DEAD

as you were gone,
i killed him. it was as simple as that

that

see me speak to him
now. he sits in the corner
paying attention oh so well,
of course he won’t move,
not with that cross through
his head
of course not.
wires keep his hands from
moving.

the televisions are my mind
i’ve programmed them
this way. do what
your told

or be turned
off

this is the way it’s
to be.

if his head moves.

i’ll kill him again
it’s as simple as that. he looks
at me funny, i kill him again. STOP
LAUGHING AT
ME.
and this ax
in - out
in - out
in n’ out of his head
and it starts to disappear.
this big hole, this big cross
covers his head

this makes me sick. lucky for me
i have this option; changing
my mind; i’ll watch something
else. something more romantic.
she is there, her hair is longer then
i remember. i notice this, it looks
as if someone has cut a lock of
your hair, her head falls forward.
i did this? with my past mind?
where do you have to go? a date?
you’ll be back at 11:30 pm?

o.k., i should see you at
11:30 pm. maybe i should
go FISHING

push

stop
this four
rush
jump
screw
work
kiss
love
fish
duck
hate
fear
don’t
push
push
push
push
push
push
push
push
mind
push
body
dead
wait
feel
push

weak
weak
weak
weak weak

weak

a weak mind,

that’s all there is

to it.

what else could you ask
for. sure, last week
we were

laughing, now look at me.
it’s the vertical place,
life flashing before my eyes

EERIE MUSIC HERE

even beyond the grave
controlling my mind!

END MUSIC

is this the
way father would’ve want it?

o.k., i’m sorry.

dead

it’s the way it should be,
it’ll always will be this way.

YAWN

scratch
the lenses

ole’ blurry eyes.
this is me.

back from the dead, she didn’t mean any of it.
my mind wandered, that was the cause, of all of this.

except the red truck man, he killed us all.
sat there one night, playing
cards, got the munchies, later that night,
wanted to try something.

dead

and that was the end of it.
ever since my life has been
flashing through my eyes.

it’s all lies
how can you trust anyone
when everything you’ve
been taught has been
LIES

green + red
blue + red
blue + red
blue + orange...
...it’s all circular now
it’s my vision

2 + 2 = 4
2 + 4 + 6 example
2 + 6 = 8 i HATE this place

wear a bow tie for me.

dog dog
dog dog

click

eyes

red truck man/usually vertical

click

she was there
minus one lock

click

someplace
else
sometimes
i like it, sometimes
i don’t

click

don’t you get it.

click

this begins

the red truck man is a mother fucker
he is my sworn enemy. he stole my dog
he stole my girl, he stole my soul
i shall not rest ‘till he’s dead;

problem,
television,
killed on one program
brought back on another

it’s all circular

click

she is there, her hair is longer than
i remember, someone stole a
lock, i can’t remember, was it me?

i want to tell her about the
red truck man, and about television,
but, i don’t want to drag her into
this, what should i do?
i trust her with everything
i always did in the past,
why not now?

she understands, she always has.

is it possible to never tune in to that
channel? click

maybe i’ll just ask my
fahter. you know he’s always
been smarter than me. not
confronting the red truck man
would be boring, you know
it wouldn’t be good for the
ratings either

click

the vertical place,
you know it’s his home, the
crosses to, damp and cold,
you could smell it to.

freak
freak freak
freak
freak

the breath pours the
hot liquid down my neck
hot liquid down my spine
smell the burning
flesh reminds me of
agony and pains

freak
freak
freak freak
freak freak

pushed me down again
on rusty metals the
ripples running under the flesh
who really needs knees... flesh... caps

click

the stretching of the fishman rules,
you could be there if you
want to.
pulling, stretching tighter
and flesh
and covered wounds w/ these
crosses, this second flesh given
to me personally from the
red truck man, saving my life.

maybe she is right.

click

this is the break,
we all take it, if i take it, you take it.
one week later and everything is well
lit and gone from this
place, alive, spending
the energy that was sitting
for so long, but now
as they say,
the party’s over

click

here the fishman rules
this is me.

its the way she wanted it.
this crazy
obsession.
now even she (and i do mean she) sits back and laughs
at me, throwing the soiled paper
my way. this stains me,
scars me for life.

this crazy obsession

this is the way it is an endless
tape, and endless reel being

played and played and played and played and
over and over and over and over and over and over and over and
again and again,

no it’s the way i wanted
it, i constructed this nightmare.

click

the vertical place

wandering through this dead place,
you know, it really is alive w/ anger and piss and dark and
evil, and you know, hate and fear.

the red truck man is here,
somewhere, praising himself
and worships his cross

pathetic, he sits and smiles
praising his image the reflection of
his past life.

and every time we kill him
another returns with his evil
sad

the red truck man

click