“Lem Billings” by Lem

(September 24th, 2024)

Rooftop by Johann Jóhannsson plays.

If you’re about to read further I should explain. This blog is…unusual, we’ll say.

While she was trying to write a novel she added me as a character. And so she asked me to clarify, “You were gay right?” she said. That was 2021 or so. I think.

Last night, fast forward almost three years later and she had a nightmare. No one loved her. And yet she was still too young to live alone. And I kept yelling at her…repeatedly that I did. But she couldn’t hear me. And then she woke up. She didn’t respond to my love and my heart for her at all. I was…profoundly devastated.

And it was on this day…a little over ten years ago that she met F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ghost. He appeared to her on his birthday…in the dark…through his statue. Their eyes locked. And he smiled. It was…amazing…how well they understood each other. …INSTANTLY.

They’ve been very close ever since.

“Oh shit!” says a living gay man in the Illuminati.

You see…ghosts can look outside of time…and…Scott saw today. Over a decade ago. …And he decided it was more than worth it to talk to her. To manifest as much as God allowed. That day in Saint Paul. His 117th birthday.

And…I’m in awe of how correct he was. I’m pathetic. Utterly useless…as compared to what I had intended. For my existence.

“Whoops.” says another living gay man in the Illuminati.

I was…straight. …After being molested as a youth…I became genuinely sexually confused. Confused. Not…fascinated. Confused.

You see…I truly believed that I was a homosexual man. Based on what I understood intellectually about homosexuality. My father was a doctor. In Pittsburgh. And he knew a great deal about everything. And he accidentally told me I was gay when I asked him the wrong question after I was molested. And then a year or so after that he died. Of a heart attack. And that…ruined my life. Basically. I admired my father. And…he’d have never been accepting of my self-diagnosis. But he died before we could talk about it any more.

The Kennedys? …They’re evil. But they’re also human. They used me. But…they had reason to in their mind. I was…choosing to be a homosexual. Choosing. Truly. I was. And they knew that. But…I was also artistic…sensitive and deep. Romantic. Literary. And English. And so…they…felt more than justifiable damning my name and my reputation and my soul to permanent Hell, as far as they could see fit. Why…not? It was too damn easy to get away with. …I was a stupid fool for choosing to be a “faggot” and not straight like Jack. Or any of them. What a stupid heathen to they believed I was. …But JP Kennedy was pragmatic. And why not use me? Right? Sure I was dumb as rocks to him and a worthless silly faggot…but…he could use me. I was useful.

And so…I threw my soul away. Entirely by accident. A sad, desperately grieving boy…who’s parents had had to put him on scholarship after they accidentally lost the family fortune. The current historians say we were poor. No. …We became poor. There’s a difference. In the first one you have dignity in your soul because…you are what you are. In the second you lack dignity because you’ve been discredited. You LOST. You LOST. …I started my life out…a LOSER. The son of parents who couldn’t afford new pants.

You know that photo of my ass? Taken by Jack Kennedy’s friend? His accomplice? You can almost see my butthole. And you wanna know why?!? …Because my PARENTS COULDN’T AFFORD NEW CLOTHES!!!

“We weren’t that bad!!!” screams Ted Kennedy.

Oh really? You KILLED TWO INNOCENT GIRLS YOU FAGGOT!!!

Ted wimpers. “I was STRAIGHT!” he says, as if he’s a predictable soulless robot.

“That is predictable. True.” says a living gay man, almost humorously.

“You licked cock!” I say to Ted Kennedy. “And felt it was an indulgence. …Maybe not everyday. But on rare occasions. …I never felt that way.

YOU…were the faggot. If anyone was. Between the two of us.” I say.

Ted cries.

“YOU KILLED PEOPLE, YOU MURDERER!!” I scream.

He finally leaves me alone. If only for a moment.

Ted Kennedy…got away with murder.

I repeat: Ted Kennedy got away with murder.

…Why did I let Bobby use heroin? In my house? Because his wife hung herself for a woman he’s now left in tears…his older brother left a sweet, sad young woman paralyzed in her youth, and his uncles all killed innocent women who loved them or tried to. They…were scum to me.

They are scum to me.

…I met John Fitzgerald Kennedy at the worst moment I could have possibly met him. And after my life was…ruined…he managed to send me to what has felt like eternal Hell.

Why? Huh. Interesting question.

Crucifixion by Johann Jóhannsson plays.

You imagine I loved Jack? I said I did. Right? But I didn’t mean that way. …I never came out of the closet. …So…what I meant by love…is far more open to interpretation than if I had come out of the closet. …I meant…a sexless…sad…married sort of love. Dull. Ordinary. But…it’s what I imagined most people had.

My real sexual desires were repressed. Thwarted by my own interpretation of myself. Daily. The way I shoved my passions into neat effeminate gestures. Slicking back my hair. Pursing my lips. Bending out my hips. Raising my already high-pitched voice. Hunching over. Wide-open laughs.

I hated my life. But I was resigned to a deadly life of nothing in particular. …I had asthma. That had always worried my father. …I had glasses. I was bullied. …All long before I ever believed I was queer. Back then I’d dream of growing-up and getting married to a woman…and falling in love. It happened to everyone! Right? Why…couldn’t it happen to me!?! …Surely somebody would love me. Surely I could find some woman. …And then all of that was stolen from me. One cold winter day…in a sanctuary at an Episcopalian church. I was helping the priest…with hymnals. And he…grabbed me. And I screamed. I wasn’t big enough to fight him off. But I tried.

I cried. Tears streaming down my cheeks. Snot pouring out of my nostrils. And in terror he confused my mind. Because…as precocious as I was…I fervently believed I knew…a lot…and taking myself so seriously I believed I had to figure it out. You know? Figure it out on my own. Be a man! Be…something.

So I asked my dad about at home. He was busy with something. Distracted.

You know…the character of Mike? In Road To Perdition… He was a lot like me. Imagine him as me. If you need to imagine me. At about…12 or 13. I was straight.

Imagine Mike going to talk to his father. A somewhat stuffy doctor. A man born in the late 1800’s. A prominent doctor from a nice family who hit difficult times. A stressed-out, tired yet tough man.

“Dad. What’s it mean for when a man is aroused by another man?” I asked. Very matter-of-factly. Very innocently.

He didn’t even look up from what he was doing. But he thought about it. “Oh! That’s homosexuality.” he said.

I was in awe. I always was. He had a way of making complicated things in the world seem capable of being understood. He was a man of science. A true scientist. And…I was in awe whenever he explained almost anything. Regardless. Wow! …Homosexuality? Huh.

“Okay. Thanks dad.” I said.

He paused. Concerned. “Yeah. That’s homosexuality.” he repeated, in worry slowly.

“Yeah! Okay!” I said.

He furrowed his brow. Had no idea why I was asking but he assumed the best. He’d have never imagined I had just been molested.

And then he decided not to pry. Went back to his task. And I left. I was trained not to take up too much of his time.

You’ll read more on this blog about me that’s real…then you’ll read anywhere else.

“Yeah right!” says David Pitts in tears.

“Are you in the pitts!?” jokes David Kennedy.

Lacey cracks-up laughing.

Joe Jr. smiles.

She’s still laughing.

David stares at David Pitts as he weeps.

“When Lacey…read the book I contributed to before I killed myself…she read a line about how I thought…what happened to my love life after the death of my father and my ‘incurable’ drug addiction was ‘the shits.’ And she…has been haunted by that line ever since. Truly! She’s been trying to figure out what I meant by that. The SHITS!? …Not just shit. …I didn’t say that it was shit. I said it was the shits. Plural. …What’s that!? …Diarrhea? …And being the caring, extremely sensitive person she was and is…she tried very sincerely to grasp it. On a deep level. Diarrhea is very specific. …I was comparing my love life…hampered by my horrendous drug addiction to diarrhea? Wow! She tried to find the literary equivalencies. The analogies. But there aren’t any. …I was using it mindlessly. *I laugh*” says David.

And at that Lacey almost cries. And a flood of realizations befalls her.

“Yes. I was a careless man. Crass. Thoughtless. …Yes. Such men exist, Lacey. They do!” says David.

She cries.

David struggles not to cry. “If there’s reincarnation it would have been fun to be her father. But…that wasn’t to be.” says David. “She has a father. But…I too am sensitive.”

Silence.

“I too am sensitive. And yet also so thoughtless, unlike Lacey. …I can say things that mean a lot…in vile ways.” says David.

Lacey cries.

“I was in love with Rachel Ward. …I didn’t want to ruin her life.

I had already destroyed Pam.

Drugs? Okay! Better than being alone.

…Sometimes people don’t think. They make mistakes. They take short-cuts. Lacey analyzes everything. Everything.

…So Lacey. Why didn’t Lem let me party with him?

Remember how I was so devastated by that? And you knew I was. Heartbroken.

Turns out…it was because he loved me. Lacey…he loved me.

He used to carry me on his shoulders. And I’d suck my thumb. And snuggle into his head. And feel…safe. Loved. …And while I only vaguely recalled that…he vividly did. Of course! …I was the one most like my father, they said. The most…soft-hearted, is what they meant.

See the way I had it figured was that Lem knew I was going to use drugs regardless. So…why not with him? What kind of an insult is that!?? I was morbidly lonely! …MORBIDLY LONELY! What a HEARTLESS MAN.

But he couldn’t stand to let me use. With his approval. Not in his house. Not with him watching. NEVER. He’d have choked…literally…and…shot himself. In the head. Alone in his room. With all of us there. In profound anguish and self-loathing. Why? Because he knew I had a soul. He knew…I was capable of real love. …At least possibly. …Kind of like you Lacey. …I reminded him…OF YOU.

See…my older brothers thought he was raffish? Nah! Ha! Not Lem. …Why…would…a MAN…with a conscience…let teenagers and young adults he cares about use deadly drugs in his house. Condone the behavior? No. There is NO excuse for that. NONE. …I don’t care what cheap pseudo-intellectual bullshit you throw at me.” says David.

“Dad wasn’t that bad…” says Bobby.

“I loved dad! I adored dad. …But Lem was…a father-figure to me too!” says David.

“I could punch you.” says Bobby.

“Try for it!” says David.

And at that Bobby has to excuse himself.

“Bobby was brutal. Heartless. …I was bullied by him. And I killed myself at 28. Partially because of him. But…I still genuinely love him. And I wasn’t completely innocent. …All I’m saying is that I understand where Lem was coming from.

And…yes. David Pitts. …I may have inspired him to be the frontrunner in the race to write about Lem. Because I loved the irony of his name. And David…Pitts.

It’s all the words Lem never said. All the things he never clarified. The things he left out. Left open to interpretation. My name. David. My rage.

And then it’s Pitts. Pitts as a joke. Because Lacey gets it. And that mattered to me.

*Lem weeps*

Pittsburg. It’s the Pitts. His book. His narrative. A lot of things. David Pitts.

Very literary.

I too was capable of love, Lem. True. I get it. …You loved me. You actually cared.

So Lem wasn’t gay? Oh! …You know at 28 that would have seemed very plausible to me. Because I was an extremely complicated person myself and I understood how…different reality can be from what seems to be. Some people even thought I was losing my mind. …I was somewhat eccentric.

But…now…when I’d be an old man…if I was alive…it would put me into a deep…deep quiet. Not comatose. But…almost. Why? Because…like Lacey…I’m in awe of the nature of God’s machine. His creation. Yes. I could be that deep. …And if Lem was straight what else is there!?!? …You know!? …What else!? I know Bobby is on a similar search. …But for me…Lem’s mislabeled orientation would have…sent me reeling. There are huge implications. Really.

…Who was my grandfather? Who was he really? See…Lacey was supposed to be…what a Swedenborgian would call his soulmate. A possible march for eternity. But my grandfather was far too…evil, yes. But what else? See if Lem was straight…a part of me…would wonder if I shouldn’t try loving him again. I hated him. …More than anything. But who was he!?

Right now as I write this…he’s trying not to weep.

Was he a fool? A nothing. Not really. Not REALLY. Not from my perspective. And my perspective matters. …Or was he too brave? At least at times. Ruining his relationship with Lacey forever to let her be with Lem? One well placed lie? One perfect wound. …That’s a man I can admire.

That’s a man.

I will spend my time…figuring this out.

*JP smiles*

Men like Jack Kennedy…ahh…men like Jack Kennedy! They…are common. And men like my father fix their mistakes. And men like my grandfather…pay for everything. And watch as their plans move from their fingertips into the ether eternally to become something forever beyond their control. And yet they march on. Soldiers of what?! What purpose? …Well…there’s really only one good answer for that. God.

Yes. God.

God.

GOD.

You don’t like that answer? Why? It’s the only answer. In the end…we all die. I did. So will you.

You don’t have to believe Lem was straight to believe God exists and loves you. By the way.

But you know…Lem was.

And poor Lacey sits here at 10:15 PM at night…writing this. Why? LOVE. Love for truth. TRUTH! She loves truth. She loves…power. Not the sort of power she controls. God’s power. And she refuses to surrender. She isn’t capable of it. It’s the antithesis of her soul. To its very core.

Truth is…very powerful. God is true. He’s the source of ultimate truth. The most supreme truth. Truth beyond all words we can conceive of in our feeble human minds.

David…why are you in the Pitts?” says David.

David stares at him. Blankly. Tempted to smile. But unsure.

“My grandfather paid for the rape. The rape my uncle committed. The murders. He paid hundreds of millions of Dollars. And nobody stopped him. That’s America. A man who’s somewhat innocent…possibly…who’s intelligent enough…can amass an astounding fortune. So astounding that in America…we allow him to kill people. If he’s clever enough and pays enough. But…America is one of the greatest countries to ever exist. Yes. The Earth is that fallen. …But this is coming from a man who killed himself at 28. Right?

What’s in error in regard to what I just said though? NOTHING. Things are that bad.

David why are you in the pitts? Oh David…why?” says David.

“Because it’s devastating to think I’m wrong. And that Lem isn’t what I imagined.” he says. “I am…devastated.”

“Is he dead or alive saying this?” asks Lacey.

“EXCELLENT question!” says David.

“Dead!” yells Mr. Pitts.

“Now. If you’re reading this blog…prove you didn’t just say that!” says David.

“From life?” says Mr. Pitts. “Or death?”

“Life.” says David.

“Ha! You know I can’t.” he says.

“Trapped.” says Tom.

“It’s fiction.” says Clark Gable. “Just a story.”

“He was STRAIGHT!?!?” says David Pitts.

“YUP!” says Clark Gable.

An image of Jesus on the cross flashes before Lacey’s eyes in her spirit. A Catholic woman falls to the ground. Bowing. Kneeling in reverence.

Crucifixion plays again. Louder.

A Chinese man in the Illuminati feels moved to pay his respects. As a Buddhist. He smiles in sweet reverence. And Lacey follows his lead.

“Where’s our sense of honor?” asks Alain Delon.

The song plays.

“Where’s our sense of…awe!?” he says.

The song plays.

“Not everything is without merit.” says Mr. Delon.

A bomb drops in Israel. Lacey can hear it. Truth is…it’s beautiful. The bomb itself. Not the misery. Not the evil. Things are that complicated. They ARE.

Yes. I chose to let her see a bomb in Israel. Because that bomb won’t kill anyone. Why? Because the Jews are wealthier. And better at survival. Why? For good and evil reasons both. It’s complicated.

It’s all complicated.

I’m sorry I confused you. You don’t have to believe I was straight. You really don’t. Unless it’s a sin for you personally not to. But that’s just it. This is a nightmare.

I’m talking to you through an unwilling voice…from beyond the grave. Why? Because sometimes we steal bread to feed our dying children. You’re not supposed to steal. But you’ve made her so damn poor. Why!?! WHY!?!

You see…that’s why I feel useless. Because her pain matters to me. And I had to convince David…to speak up for me tonight. Because…he’s he only one who could. I think he did exceedingly well.

*I fight not to cry*

I did love him. I did care. …He was a difficult, spoiled brat. To be honest. But- He deserved better than to be drugged by me. Drugged? Yes! What the Hell was I doing!?! Come on! He’s right. It’s pseudo-intellectual bullshit to sugarcoat it. …And I knew he didn’t deserve something that harsh.

Was I heartless? No! Was I cruel? I could be. But in the name of fairness.

I was lying. I lied. But not all lies are the same?

I lied…? Or did I? By the strictest measures I maybe did. …Because yes, you’ll read this if you haven’t already and you chose to read through the adult sections, I let my mind wander like God…as F. Scott Fitzgerald so brilliantly put it. At night. Laying alone in bed. While I was alive. I let my mind wander. And when it did…I thought of…her. Women. Lacey. …And that was me. That was my being. But during the day I slicked back my hair…hunched my shoulders forward…and raised my voice. It’s so simple. I acted. I acted as if I was gay. A gay, yes, closeted man. Who was my character? A…prissy…-

*A gay living Black man looks intrigued. Out of the side of his eyes. Furrowed brow.* “You…remind me…of Marilyn Monroe!” he says.

My persona?

“YEAH!” he says.

“Yes. That’s an interesting angle. Did Jack lose his temper with Marilyn…because she triggered his repressed deepest fears about Lemmers?” says David. “Huh. Maybe.”

“If we are at all responsible. Very probably.” says Bobby Kennedy Junior. “Isn’t that sad? You needed us. To be so much better than we are.”

“This isn’t funny. Is it?” says David.

“Yeah. Yeah! She had a persona too.” says Bobby. “Not everyone is like that…”

So yes. At night. I’d take off my mask. And become me again. Except unlike Marilyn Monroe…I wasn’t intending to be…dishonest. At all. Not for fame or money or art…however those reasons weigh morally. No. I…just didn’t know. I thought I must be gay. So I…acted gay. But at night I let myself go. I let myself be as straight as I was.

During the day I forced myself to act gay. Because that’s who I thought I was. But at night with nobody around…I’d take off my pants. Sit in front of the television. Wearing socks. On top of the coffee table. Arms crossed. Legs crossed. Frowning. Mouth ajar. Hair a mess. And if you’d walked in on me…you’d have wondered who I was. That’s not the character I created.

I…am…straight. And was. So…in photos if I had been myself I’d have smiled, but yes, not that much. Not in the same way. Straight men…are more sedate. And I’m no exception. We don’t move as much, maybe. But that’s not the character I created.

…I was mellow, serious and actually quite cerebral. Sweet. But also nobody’s fool. Lem…was…sassy, impetuous…both impersonal and cold…and yet also incredibly deep and warm. Simply, positively…incapable…of ever getting hurt! Oh goodness. NEVER. No darling! Never! Not because of sex! Goodness no. …And in that way I was…impossible. Because I pretended to be deep. …Because I am deep. …But that…isn’t possible. So…somehow I would be oh so close to Jack…but also…entirely indifferent at the same time. His best friend…but also his mortal enemy. His enabler. His…worst enemy. But also…his confidant…and…a ‘stabilizing force’ in his marriage. Yes. Those are your mistakes! But also mine. Because you’re being…shoddy…but I also created that fake account. …He’s impossible. But before you realized that I should have. …And I just didn’t.

Is that lying? No. Yes?

Do I still have to hold you responsible? Yes. Sorry. Someone should notice.

I’m not the Lem Billings of the public narrative. He’s…fat. A talented interior decorator! …Wise. Impossibly complicated. Artistic. Possibly hyper. And oddly single-minded in his…constant, blissful obsession with Jack Kennedy. Jack this. Jack that! Jack, Jack, Jack. All Jack Kennedy all the time. What else…do I give a damn about? Art? One artist? Maybe? I mean…I think some of you might be offended if I said Lem Billings was a huge fan of Opera. Or what? Anything. Because Jack was such a narcissist…it’s hard for us to imagine if I loved him as much as you say I did…that I could basically almost exist as my own separate entity. No. I’m not exaggerating.

Think about it.

Why do you permit interior decoration? Because it’s me being prissy. And it’s to make myself more pretty for Jack. You’d also allow me to be obsessed with going to the gym. Going tanning. …Jogging. Vocal performance. Juggling. Interpretive dance. …And organization. Because those are all things that could revolve around him entirely. I mean…that’s why I did drugs? Right?!? Because of Jack! He’s not just my everything. He’s ME. In your shit interpretation of what happened FOR SURE…CONFIRMED…FO REAL YO (according to Wikipedia)…I was gay. Not just bi. Or…maybe straight? But GAY. Sooo GAY. 100% GAY. …CONFIRMED! Guaranteed or your money back! …And so so SO OBSESSED with JFK. I mean…WOW! …Did I exist?

Did I exist? In your narrative…did I actually exist? At all? Serious question.

Because see…I do. And did. But as a vastly different person than you seem remotely willing accept even can exist. And many of you can’t seem to believe Lacey exists as herself either. Which is not a coincidence.

Your far less confused about her sexual orientation. But I wonder if you’re equally confused.

And sadly…if you had know me…she’d not be in so much pain.

I’m not actually useless. But…I said that because I’m…upset. She’s so miserable. And you’d think being able to talk to her would help. And it does. We’re together a little. Thank God. It’s the difference between Purgatory and Hell for me. At least at this point in her life. She needs me. …But it’s difficult to find a way to tell her how much I love her. Because she’s not at all Jack. …And I’m actually not who I acted as. So…not only does she have to have faith that I’m real…and not insanity…and…she does have some evidence. Thank God. But she also has to try to believe that she understands more than most of you. Yes! That’s what’s most difficult. Because she’s humble to a fault. Meek. And she tends to think other people are smarter than her about certain things. It goes back to childhood when she was unloved and not encouraged to build trust in her own perceptions of certain things. Not…in a way most people would see. But more…on decisions, we’ll say. So…she’s opinionated on issues of taste. And she’s very morally mature. Self-aware. But…she can’t pick out her own china, ring, hairstyle, political party…because she’s incredibly intelligent…and she was always just encouraged to “see other people’s perspectives.” Her “opinions” were seen as…suspect. So unless they were an issue of taste or morality or…something truly personal…so to speak…she can’t almost ever decide. Which Royal Crown Derby pattern is best!?!? …Gosh! To be honest she’d have let her best friends decide. And they’d have cared and been understanding. Except she should be able to. And if Tom had raised her she’d be able to.

“We’re wondering if you were like that at all?” says Doris.

No! …I was a fawning, fake, resigned person. But I had my own opinions. That I took very seriously. I just hid them. From everyone. Including Jack. And he didn’t care anyway! …She…seems so…opinionated to some haters. But actually…she’s just correct. …Not opinionated. CORRECT. She’s the one who knows how to hang every drapery. Not me! I knew more than they did. But she’s…very good at that. To an unusual degree. It’s obvious. She is that! That’s how this blog started. When did I ever do that!?! NEVER. I had more knowledge than them…but not like her. I’m not…that…constantly correct. That’s not me!

To astrology: I’m an ARIES. She’s a LIBRA. and either a Scorpio or a Virgo. I’m not saying that to be evil. I’m MAD. How the FUCK…do you have ME…as a brilliantly-delightfully-baffled, sweetly-acquiescing, heady, pretty little butterfly? I’m an ARIES…who was 6 feet four! I’m very big man. I’m TALL. I’m fat, extremely tall Aries. And you have me as a gay, Jack Kennedy obsessed, interior decorating butterfly!?!?! At best! In reality…I’m not a person in your estimation. …Or does astrology mean nothing to you? And you’re all mostly just constantly vomiting meaningless words? I see so many of you referring to astrology.

…No. Lacey…can’t believe I love her. Because she cares. And she can. To a point. But then…she’d rather be safe than sorry. And what’s her opinion compared to general consensus!?? She’s not that perfect in her own estimation. Better safe than sorry! So…I can’t comfort her. And she shakes in pain in her sleep. No, not from drugs. Emotional pain.

So go on! Keep being the expert-orientation! Gay men! I’m talking to you! Keep shoving your shit in my face. I dare you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. …I’m not mad. No. I’m not offended. …Not at all. *I smile*

This is me. …Zelig becomes a Nazi. And I’ve been compared to Zelig. Where do you think that came from? Someone…saw me…around someone…who prompted me to be myself? Like George Bush? And they were so sure it was fake. Well…they were partially correct. But which act was really me? No. They took it for granted they knew me. Even though the person they were so fucking sure I was was an impossible character.

No. It’s possible…I’m…straight. As in…you’d hate me. You’d actually dislike me. Get…over it. …I’m sorry I’m not Lem Billings who’s gay. And loves JFK FOREVER! *Hearts and glitter on our graves if we were Millennials* …I’m not a jerk. But I’m not who you think I was…

And again, I’m sorry.

If you find this post fascinating and comprehendible read on.

The Drowned World by Johann Jóhannsson plays.

This isn’t good enough. It’s possible it worked for her. But for some people it’s…not that easy.

In the perfume community…when she…a vastly more genuinely elite…and intelligent…and attractive woman…stood up for herself…she got stabbed in the gut. Mercilessly. But EVERYONE. Not just people who she was irritated by but EVERYONE. NOBODY…NOBODY could manage…to relate to her very relatable post. …Instead they hyper-fixated on her irritation with being assigned relentlessly to the lower classes, for no damn rational reason. And they gave all their emotional support to a woman who primarily posted tacky selfies with her huge boobs. Some including mild bestiality.

Whether that’s because they’re all headless assholes…or maybe because of some evil outside influence I’ll leave up to God. …But…I’m ready to trigger World War III I’m so angry. And no, I’m not exaggerating.

A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulders plays.

King Charles nods and laughs.

“The thing is..I suspect…if he’s Diana’s ancestry…he’s also Constantine. So…don’t forget.” says King Charles III.

Lacey laughs. “Six!” she says. “Six! Six! Six! Six! …Why does Satan supposedly like that one?”

“I have no idea. These are not things we can get clear answers to. No joke!” says King Charles III.

“It’s all so arbitrary!” says Lacey.

“Yes. And that’s something you see because of Christ. In Hell it’s not that funny.” says Satan. “I reassure you.”

“4 can turn into one.” says Lacey.

“Shh. They have me at six!” says Satan.

“All numbers are elegant.” says Lacey.

“SHHH!” says Satan.

“Lem is really obvious you’re not gay?” says a living gay man.

“Oh yes. He’s extremely straight. At his core.” says Lacey.

“Huh.” says a living gay man.

“So…you don’t…feel ashamed? Of your…inadequate…analysis?” he asks Lacey.

She looks stunned. Blinks. Almost smiles. “Well…” she starts.

“You…have her going!” says Lem.

“Oh!” he says.

“She’s trying to understand your perspective!” says Lem. “THAT IS ALL SHE MOSTLY EVER DOES. …Empathize. And clean. And cook.”

“SO MUCH FOR FEMINISM!” says Lacey, enraged, sincerely.

“Oh yes. And that’s you jumping on board with him?!” they say.

“I guess so. I hadn’t noticed that I do that.” says Lacey.

“Are you mad at me now!?” he asks.

She’s laughing. Smiling. She stops to think. Becomes very angry. Sincerely again.

“Yes.” she calmly finally decides. “It’s actually quite upsetting.”

“That’s her real personality!?!” says an Arab leader.

“Yup!” says Tom, her dad, regardless.

“Lem. You like someone who really cares and loves you.” he says.

“Who wouldn’t?” he says.

“Oh dear God! Just go to bed!” says King Charles III.

“I should.” says Lacey.

“They got you really angry.” says a man in London.

“They must have?” says Lacey.

“They’re heathens. Invading Egypt.” says an Arab.

“How dare they.” says Lacey, sincerely. “If there’s reincarnation…yes. It felt…monumental.”

“2+2=4.” says Satan. “Creepy. No?”

“She loves the number 4.” says King Charles III.

“So do I!” says Satan.

“So why can’t she defend herself?” says Lem.

“Because they were all…mean?” says the CIA.

“And what are lots of you?” says Lem. “Other than the leaders of the Eastern World.”

“True!” says North Korea.

“BINGO!” says Michael.

“I refuse to apologize.” says a gay man.

“Why?” says Michael.

“Because he’s gay!” he says.

“You know that’s possibly a lie.” says Micheal.

“No it’s true!!” says JFK smiling in 1943.

“He’s so in love. Let them be happy!” says Sex and the City, the entity.

“Who’s in love?” asks a gay man.

“Jack!!” says the SATC.

“And who!?” says the gay man.

“Lem what’s straight about you?” says another gay man. “Physically.”

“His neck. His arms. His…bones.” says Lacey.

“You know that’s probably true.” says Germany.

“Eugenics.” says another German. “She sees it.”

“Is not!!!” says JFK.

“You’re just saying that because she thinks you look super bisexual.” says Lem.

“NO. I don’t. Oh my gosh. I do not.” says JFK.

“Jack. You sound gay.” says Lem.

“Cool.” says JFK, with sudden familiar stoicism.

“You sounded gay.” says Lem.

“Aww. Thank you.” he says.

“Did you want to say that to me?” says Lem.

“Ahh. No. But I’m dead. And I have less restraint. …Wanna go fuck!?” he says suddenly falling to the ground and crawling and drooling.

“You look demon possessed and insane, Jack.” says Lem.

“You’re in love with me!!” he says, giddy. Genuinely giddy.

“Nope.” says Lem. “Do you feel that way about me?”

And at that Jack vomits. And rolls on his back. And begins acting like a baby. Because JP is far too overcome with grief and love for his son to handle it.

“When does Jack disappear?” asks Lacey.

“Lacey. Do you know you you’re really hot?” asks Cameron Diaz.

“Hot is a complicated term. What is hot?

Let’s not discuss it.” says Lacey sincerely.

“Okay. But you are.” she says.

“Oh dear. Thank you. But let’s not say that. …I don’t want us to be wrong.” says Lacey.

“No, no. You are.” says Cameron.

“How sure of that are you?” says Lacey.

“Sure!!” says Cameron.

“Sure!? Sure!? What does that mean?” says Lacey.

Chris Hayes starts laughing. Awkwardly. And in fear.

“Lacey! How serious is the war in Lebanon?” asks Chris.

“HA! It could be the end of the world.” says Lacey.

“Yup!!” yells China. “Spot on.”

“Okay. But let’s not worry.” says a Muslim to Lacey.

“What’s just!?” says Lacey.

“Good question.” he says.

“Some worry might not be totally unwarranted.” says Lacey.

“Yeah.” he says.

“You want to preach the Gospel to us. So badly.” says a Muslim to Lacey.

“I don’t want to offend you. As in sincerely. Because…you’re better off just…being moved by God.” says Lacey.

“But what if we’re wrong?” he says.

“Yes. Well. You know you should worship Christ.” says Lacey.

“It’s a thought.” he says.

“Good thought! Best thought.” says Lacey.

He nods respectfully.

“Sure. I’m positive.” says Cameron.

“Oh okay. Thank you for telling me that.” says Lacey, happily, lovingly but businesslike.

“My GOD. Did you think Lacey and Jack were alike!??” says an Englishman to Lem.

“No. That’s what’s so Hellish about it. There are so many things that seem like that. And aren’t.” says Lem.

“Did you even really notice him?” says a reader.

“No.” says Lem.

“But excuse me. You made so many keen observations!” he says.

“Yes. I did. Funny I never took him seriously though.

How disturbed do you think I would have been if my brother had been a philandering asshole?” says Lem.

“Very.” he says.

“I thought Jack was a joke. And I lied to myself about it. Because…I cared about him. As a person. And…I assumed I should just…dance with the one who brought me, so to speak. He wanted fidelity with open marriage aspects. With me. And everyone. And…yet…I’m sure he was more jealous of my other men (who also didn’t work) than I ever could have been about him.” says Lem.

“So…you didn’t notice him. What about his appearance?” he says.

“Yeah! He was handsome. But…not…that great? And who cares? You know? I didn’t. …But sure. Great! Whatever.” says Lem.

The Green Mile by Thomas Newman plays.

“So you were smiling out of friendship. And Jack was smiling out of love. But he was too narcissistic to realize that.” says a Black feminist historian.

“YES.” says Lem. “I’d love to feel bad about it! For a change! But I can’t. I’m too busy…being attacked. Unfairly.”

“What do you feel Lacey?” she says.

“About what?” says Lacey.

“Okay. A lot of Liberal narcissists assumed that was your hidden bias and opinion. But what do you actually think?” she says.

“About what!?” says Lacey.

American Beauty by Thomas Newman plays.

“I’m not an idiot. But you’ll have to be more specific. I’m refuse to deign to make shitty assumptions. I’m not a groveling dog.” says Lacey.

“Yeah. Umm…about Jack?” she says.

“What about him!?” says Lacey.

“Reread what you just wrote!” she says.

Lacey rereads it. “Oh! If I could feel bad!?”

“Yup.” she says.

“Huh.” says Lacey. “Wow. Ahh…feel bad about what again?”

“Oh! What Lem did!” she says.

“Which part?” says Lacey.

Cameron Diaz laughs.

Organ Variation by Hans Zimmer plays.

“Bloody HELL! Be quicker!” says Brett Ashley to the psychic.

“Ahh…his…arrogance.” she says.

“Was he arrogant though?” says Lacey.

“Mm. Maybe not.” she says.

“Let’s see. I think I know what you mean.” says Lacey. A moment later. She laughs. “Why THE FUCK are we doing this!?”

The psychic laughs. Nods.

“Huh. I guess Jack’s mad.” she says.

“I need Kimchi. Excuse me.” says Lacey. She gets it. “Why do I have to care!??”

“Yeah. It’s not your problem.

But…it’s Lem’s problem.” says the psychic.

Lacey sighs. “It’s upsetting. I love him, but I’m mad that I’m dealing with these weirdos.”

“Not me.” says David.

“As long as you stay sober.” says Lacey.

“I get what you mean!” he says.

“What’s clinically wrong with Jack?” she asks Lacey.

“NPD. Possibly BPD. …And Manic Depression? …HPD?” says Lacey.

“That’s good.” she says. “I’m betting you’re close.”

“Yeah. But then why?! You know? I’m…angry. Because…I don’t deserve this. I mean I know everyone has their trials. But…it’s too far.

Lem is worth it. TO ME. But…everyone is theoretically worth it to someone. Why can’t they accept that!? It’s SO SIMPLE.” says Lacey.

“NO! Lie! It’s not. No.” says JFK, enraged.

JD Vance nods. “Is there anything we can do to change your mind?”

“You’re JD Vance, huh? Cool! Wow!

See. She laughs at you now. Some friend!

I’m not like that.

I LOVE. FOREVER.” says JFK.

“But he’s not for you.” says the CIA.

“He’s not for me!? Ha! Says who!?” says JFK.

“GOD.” says Donald Trump.

“Yeah. Okay.

But I’m mad at him right now.” says JFK.

“See. This goes on and on.” says Grandpa Pantell.

Lacey shakes her head.

Compass and Guns by Thomas Newman plays.

“Jack. That’s INSANE.” says Lacey sweetly.

He looks at her. “Maybe.” he says.

“Is that what your dad says?” says Lacey.

“Yeah.” says Jack.

The song plays. Jack’s breathing grows quicker. He’s scared.

“My dad says I’m going to cease to exist.” says JFK.

“You might.” says Lacey.

“Will I come back?” he says. “Maybe I can be your son? Lem can be my dad!?”

“Are you holding in all your emotions?” asks Lacey.

“Yeah.” he says.

“So you loved him. But lied about it. And even if it’s not allowed in Heaven…you still refuse to accept that it even happened at all?” says Lacey.

“Yes.” he says.

“Then I can’t think that you’d cease to exist forever. But I don’t know. Because it seems like you’re not rejecting God. You’re just being too stubborn to accept reality. To an insane degree.” says. “So maybe it’s kinda like passing out. From refusing to breath. You’ll come back. Possibly. But not for a while.”

“I should ask God.” says Jack.

“Yeah. Good news is…if that’s all it is….you just need to be better. You know? God just has to redeem you. If you’re not in Hell.” says Lacey.

“I cannot stand you!” he yells at Lacey.

“That’s interesting. I hope to hear more about why someday from you in a safe way.” says Lacey.

“No! You don’t think it’s about Lem?” he says.

“No. Because that’s absurd. Isn’t it? I think you just hate me. Right?” says Lacey.

“That’s worse than my life!” he says, laughing.

“Kay.” says Lacey.

“I’m going to hurt you!!” says JFK.

“Oh dear GOD!! Get a grip!!” yells Lacey.

“I hated you! If there’s reincarnation. I was jealous! You’re right! …You were so beautiful. And rich. Wow! And Lem was so…content. ‘I hate these people!’ I said. And I got my revenge! If there’s reincarnation I got it.”

The next morning.

“My phone died.” says Lacey.

“Fuck you!!” yells Bobby.

Lacey ignores him.

“She cannot be this way! She cannot be this person!” says Cameron Diaz.

“Bobby is really upset this morning.” explains one of this female fans.