If These 'Dolls' Could Talk, No.2

                              IF THESE 'DOLLS' COULD TALK
                                              Number Two

                                         Dramatis Personae

               JESUS H. CHRIST, Messianic Cult of Personality Icon
                    SIGMUND FREUD, Infamous Psychoanalyst

                
                                     "Hallo!"                   "Wassup?!"


                                       Subject: JESUS H. CHRIST


JESUS H. CHRIST (sighs): Figures it'd be about me. Again.

SIGMUND FREUD: What, is that a bad thing?

JHC: Well, sometimes, sometimes not. The thing, Sig, for me, is that when you're Jesus Christ, 'Messianic Cult of Personality Icon', apparently, you really can't be anyone else, right? It can get tedious sometimes.

SF: Who else would you want to be?

JHC: Just a regular slob, I guess. Just a stranger on a bus trying to make his way home.

SF: Ach, I love that song!

JHC: Yeah, yeah, so do I! It's awesome, right? (sighs again) But certain people...

SF: Oh, don't sweat 'em, Jay.

JHC: No, no, I don't. So what makes you so "infamous", Sig?

SF: My Penis Envy theory, for one thing. Women don't have 'em but really really want 'em.

JHC: Uhh, you sure about that?

SF: Absolutely ja.

JHC (snarkily): So do men have Breast Envy?

SF: No idea. We could discuss it further but should we perhaps begin the session now?

JHC: Yeah, I guess so.

SF: First I really need to ask, what was that back at Weihnachtszeit? That thing you said?

JHC: What?

SF: "Totes wrong-o, dudes." Remember that?

JHC: Of course, I remember everything. But hey, that was just my way of tryin' to connect with the young shorties, knowwhumsayin'? For shizzle, Big Sig!

SF: Oh, ja, uh, Cray Jay. I'm hep to your jive, mein Mann. Really. Just please don't do it ever again.

JHC: I won't if you won't. "Cray Jay"? What the hell?

SF: Can we just sit now? Or try to?

JHC: I'll lie down on this sofa, though I barely-oof!-can in all my gloriously robed bulkiness here, but you should probably stand.

SF: Why would you say-(examines his body)-ach, that's right. Can't bend my limbs.

JHC: My condolences, Sig. Shall we begin the talking cure? (coughs)

SF: Ja, ja. So what is the starting point here? The Bible?

JHC (excitedly): Hey, yeah! That book is something else, isn't it?

SF: It is? I mean, of course.

JHC: Yeah! It's concise, intelligible, readable, oh, so fascinating, and hey, I know who actually wrote it!

SF: Those are some quite, um, interesting adjectives to describe the Holy Bible.

JHC: The Holy B-? Oh, I thought you meant-oohh...n-no, uh, no, forget I mentioned it.

SF (pause): O-kay. Hmm. (to himself) Wish I had a verdammt notebook!

JHC: It'll all be on the record, Sig, trust me.

SF: But if you didn't mean that book then-

JHC: Just move on for now. Please.

SF: All right. Your mother-

JHC (with sudden melodramatic vehemence): HOW DARE YOU, SIR!!! MY MOTHER WAS A SAINT!!!

SF (slightly taken aback): Uh, I didn't-

JHC (chuckling): I know. Sorry about that. But no, she was great. Joseph, too. Poor guy doesn't get enough credit. Should've made him an honorary disciple.

SF: Very nice. You were a good son. But if I may return to the Bible for a moment-

JHC: I think, at most, all you need to know or study from that book, in order to lead a goodly, pious, peaceful, sucking up, I mean God-pleasing, anal-tight sort of life is to abide by what's written in the Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount. At most. And mean it. If that's your thing, that is. Most everything else is just stories. That may not be what many, or even you, Sig, want to hear from me, but that's my own belief.

SF: So-

JHC: Simplify, simplify: my motto. Bread without the circuses, no bells and whistles...signs and wonders.

SF: Interesting. So what's your simpler version of the most popular and widely read, interpreted and, oh yes, bloodily battled over book in the Western hemisphere?

JHC: Simple. Be excellent to each other, and party on, dudes. That's it.

SF: Wow.

JHC: That was mine before Bill and Ted's, y'know.

SF: No, it wasn't.

JHC: No, it wasn't. But shall I go on even though you may be shocked by what I may say, Sig?

SF (chuckles): You never shock me, Jay. Only surprise. But if I may ask, and I should have before, how deep down into the well of your psyche do you want to plumb today? About the pleasures and pains of demigod-hood? Torture? Crucifixion? Resurrection?

JHC: No. (pause) None of that really happened to me, by the way.

SF: It-really?

JHC: Why would it? It's horrible and cruel! A new covenant! Pah! And just for tabula rasa's sake! What's called 'sin' is really just human nature, by the way. What would it have been for? The chance to be a so-called good and faithful servant-good lord, to do what?-sing? worship me 24/7? wash my feet? iron my robes? polish my nimbi? (don't got none!) or all the angels' nimbi or some crazy shit like that?-in some blissful, gauzy, Edenic paradise, and that's how it happens?! No! Wondrous eternal life where there apparently hadn't been before, even though a loving, merciful God could have created it that way from the very fucking beginning of the Universe, without the stark fear of hell to contend with?! Ucchh!  No, Sig, I'm not that, I'm not the naked, stricken, tortured Christ of that ugly symbol. Don't believe the hype. Also I lied about Mary and Joseph earlier.

SF: I see. So what did happen to you?

JHC: Oh, I was created with plastic and paint in a toy factory, just like you were, Sig. Just like all of our Box friends. We're DOLLS, dude, parent-less dolls! Didn't you know that about us?

SF: Aahh, ja. Ich hab' dass vergisst. Don't know how I'm speaking German, though.

JCH: Neither do I, to tell the truth.

SF: And it's 'dolls', Jay. (a bit sadly) 'Dolls.'

JHC: Or inaction action figures.

SF: Yeah, better. So your omnipotence is-

JHC: Nada.

SF: Wait, didn't you know about Dickens' mistress? What's her name, uhh, Ternan?

JHC (chortles): Sig, that's got nothing to do with omnipotence, that's just general knowledge. It probably wasn't, of course, once upon a time, but thanks to the caches of special history books I found under the desk it's one more tidbit I know that I hadn't before. Isn't that how you knew about it, Sig?

SF: Well, ja, but I didn't know that's how you knew!

JHC: It's true.

SF: So I guess that's how everyone else found out, ja? Other than ol' Boz, that is?

JHC: Mm-hmm. I still can't believe he didn't know.

SF: We ought to tell tell him. There's some really cool stuff under that desk.

JHC: Later. (whispering in a hushed voice, a la an 1800s prospector) But y'know, Siggy, I hear tell thar's a whole 'nother stash o' forbidden books secluded waaayy on top o' a mountain not far from hyere.

SF (incredulous): A mountain? Forbidden books?

                                           LO! THE MOUNTAIN!

JHC: Wull, no, tain't really a mountain, more'a really tall bookshelf that'd be like a mountain to us, y'see? But yeah, way up yonder, right up at the vurry top thar's a whole passel o' books that some folks'd, wull, probably burn all t' ashes long time ago.

SF (intrigued, plays along ): What'choo talkin' 'bout, Jesus?!

JHC (in normal voice, flatly): Uhh, no, Sig. Try again.

SF: Huh? Oh, right, right. Whut in th' Sam Hill gol danged blue blazes 'r' yew referrin' to, Jay? Books by who?

JHC: Much better. First, tho', yew gotta know thar's a big' ol' bronze Marty Luther ('cuz that's his name, y'see) head jest a-settin' dead center in th' middle o' them books. And wheee-ooooh, he shore is a big feller, tell yew what!

SF: Oh, good golly Molly sweet Mary Moses, Jay! Whut do he do?

JHC: Do? DO?! Why, Sig, he jest...he jest...well, he jest set there, really. Don't talk 'r move 'r nothin'.

SF: Oh. Aww. (suddenly suspicious) Wait jest a dern fool minnit here, Jay! How you even know that?

JHC (MLK): Because I've beeeen to the mountaintop, and I've seeeen...it...him...and I seen the books, too. I've seeen the Promised Land!

                                    BEHOLD! THE MOUNTAINTOP!

Music: 'Lo and Behold!' by Bob Dylan & The Band.
(No, don't listen to it now! Keep reading!)



SF: Mein Gott, Jay, are you trying to get people pissed at us?!

JHC (innocently): No. Why?

SF: It's just...ach, forget it. (back to the Old West) So who wrote them books, Jay?

JHC: Oh, ol' Tommy Paine, Bobby Ingersoll, Neale Donny Walsch, Julian the Apostate (if you can believe it!) and even Miss Hypatia of Alexandria!

SF: Wait, Hypatia? Thar warn't...dammit, none of her writings survived, Jay, as far as I know.

JHC (sadly): Yeahh, I'm actual fibbin' 'bout that, Jay. Sorry.

SF: They got destroyed in the Library, ja? (pause) And she was...

JHC: Yeah. (muttering darkly) Goddamned murdering Parabolani!!

SF: Ja, der verdammter scheisskopfen! Arschlochen! (takes a long pull on the fake plastic cigar wedged in his hand, sighs) Ja. (long pause) So...those books really exist?

JHC (still muttering): Yeah, they do.

SF: Amazing. (long pause) Umm, I hate to say this, Jay, but, um, I think...I think your hour's about up.

JHC (a bit surly): Oh? Were you counting the time?

SF: No, no, I only said "I think". But do you have anything more to say?

JHC: I do. (clears throat) I'm not Jesus Christ, obviously. No more than you're Sigmund Freud. I know Christ, whether he was a real or perhaps not really real person, is utilized in at least two ways by his believers - as a wide open hand of love, grace and charity, or a white-knuckled fist of hostility, scorn and judgment. I so prefer the former. (pause) Damn it, why, why can't it always be that way, Sig? Why hasn't it been? Not just for the Galileans but for every religion? Help the poor and sick, all the least of my brothers and sisters. Teach the world to sing in perfect harmony! Let the sunshine in! Smile on your brother, everybody get together! Try to love one another right now! And all that jazz.

SF (chuckles): Be excellent to each other!

JHC: Yeah, Sig! Let it be. Live in the now. Don't worry about heaven or hell. And just like Candide I say, dig your own garden. As far as I'm concerned there's no right or wrong path for anyone, so long as no one gets hurt. I especially mean that last part! First do no motherfucking harm! So yeah, believe what you want! Do as thou wilt! Indulge in the finer things in Life, but simplify, simplify, simplify!

SF (jubilant): Ja, moderation! Tell it, tell it! Amen! (suddenly remembers something) But wait, Jay..."Do as thou wilt?" Wasn't that-

JHC: So that, I think, is it for now, Sig. (lifts himself off of the sofa) Oof! Not any easier gettin' up!

SF: Good thing I just stood here, then.

JHC: I actually have a confession to make, Sig.

SF: Oh?

JHC: I never needed this session to unburden myself, to "plumb the well of my psyche" as you so aptly put it earlier.

SF: Again, oh?

JHC: I just wanted to spend some time with you, Sig. I like you.

SF: Well, I like you too, Jay. We harmonize pretty well, like an old vaudeville team.

JHC: Sure. And I like talking to you even in the Box.

SF: Well, that's never easy. No privacy there. But yeah, when it's possible, and when that fucking toad Innocent isn't groveling at your feet-

JHC (shudders): Eww, don't remind me.

SF: Sorry. (pause) So what happens now?

JHC: How about a friendly hug before we go?

SF: Not much of a hugger but sure, why not?

JHC: No homo.

SF: No homo.

JHC: There are disciples for that.

SF (half-scandalized): Hooboy!

JHC: C'mere you! (they embrace)

SF: Mmm, you smell nice, Jay. Frankincense? Myrrh? Does gold have an aroma?

JHC (genuinely confused): Uhh, no. It's plastic, probably. Just like you.

SF (whispers): Oh, I know. Play along.

JHC: Ah, okay. Aannd...whew! you oughta lay off those Trabbucos, Jay. I mean, woof, those are strong! Pee-yew! Totally stinko!

SF: I think we can break now. (they separate)

JHC: Bad for your health too!

SF: Natch.

JHC: And your mouth.

SF: Yess, got it. Well I, li'l fake Siggy, get it, at least. So now what?

JHC (strangely jocular): Well, Sig, let's say it's a good thing we just unhugged.

SF: Oh so? How's that?

JHC: I wouldn't want either of us to (aside) CATCH A CODA!!!!

SF: Aw, Gott!

SF: Ahem. Say, Jay, what's that behind your back?

JHC: Huh?

SF: You heard me, Mister I Am.

JHC: I'm actually not I Am, Mister Egomaniac. I am what I am but it's not I Am. Also I have no idea what you're talking about. Cough.

SF: "Mister Egomaniac," not bad. Got that book from your "mountain,"
didn't ya?

JHC: Gosh, Jay, I have no idea-

SF (a sudden realization): Wait! Is that the...bible you...were...hum!

JHC: Ahem. Say, Sig, if we're going to be noticing things behind our backs that most likely aren't really there then what do you call that thing behind yours, huh?!

SF freezes.

JHC: Well?

SF (wildly): FUCK YOU, JAY!!! FUCK YOU!!! I CAN QUIT ANY GODDAMNED TIME ANY I WANT TO!!! ANY TIME, MAN!!! MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BIZNESS, BRO!!! JUST...just mind...your...(brief hammy sobbing) Oh, uh, and there's nothing behind my back either.

JHC: Whatever you say, mountain man!

SF: So how was that? I emotive enough?

JHC: Oh, sure! Real Oscar-worthy!

SF: Box now?

JHC: Box.

SF: What do we do with these awesome books and tasteful doll furniture?

JHC: Dunno. Hell, I didn't take 'em out.

SF: Two word question for you: "Basement Tapes"?

JHC: Oh, yeah! (they exit)


Okay, now you can listen to it.


DB/6.2017