1

Our Lady of the Charts Is Hiding Under The Desk in Her Psychiatrists Office

When you dropped me into the ocean, I expected the water to just explode, like
someoned detonated a hydrogen bomb. Bikini Atoll, 1945. Exploding clams. Shoot the
clams out of a cannon, and if youre lucky theyll hit the circus man whos cracking a
whip over the back of a cockroach--a cockroach the size of Bikini Atoll, 1945.
I just hit
my head on the underside of a desk. This carpet under the heel of my hand must be
made of knobby wool because its making imprintations in my skin.
I can kill people
with my brain. Have you ever killed anyone? Whats it like? Is there room in the freezer
for me? My brain wont fit. I feel it swollen with rain. The rain in Spain stays mainly on
the train, looking out the window at all the cars and mountains going by. Its abuse if
you dont let the rain out every once in a while.
A train is passing right outside under
the window and the room is shaking.
White is looking at me like he may be scared of

me. Me? Am I scary?

I would never hurt anyone.

Ive killed a lot of people, but its

usually when youre asleep. Youve probably killed a lot of people too. All the bad
people have to die because they wont take the rain out for air. They want to arrest
me.
Hes going to tell me to take more Navane. Im not taking more Navane, fuck you,
White.
Youd better watch out. Theyre almost here. Theres a chance you could get
away if you run now. The fire escape is a good option. I think they want you. They
mostly want me, but if you get in the way who knows what could happen. You better
leave while you still can! Im telling you, youll thank me later. The ice cream truck is
waiting. Ice cream, lice, magic rice. If you put two grains into the bowl, you get three
out. That way, we can solve world hunger.

2
Our Lady of the Charts, Now a Child, Walks Down Bungalow Row and Has A
Psychotic Episode

There is a concrete street in Miami lined with bungalows and youre walking right in
the center of this street. Fat stumpy front porches, which are probably drunken men,
slouch against the legs of the stumpy homes. Spreads of large-lobed leaves droop over
the sidewalk and the slate-slant roofs and the rotted-wood mailboxes. The suns in
your eyes and in the eyes of the homes and they squint against the light at you as you
pass by. Youre wearing white Keds and your bookbag is slapping your beanpole
ten-year-old leg that Mommy and Daddy told you with flattened lips was too skinny.
You better eat more of those scrambled eggs before they notice youre sliding them
under the lip of your single-ply paper plate. It doesnt have to be a lot, just enough so
they think youre eating. They look at you slant-eyed, just to make sure. The bungalows
look at you slant-eyed. Just to make sure. Elyn, they say to you with a regretful sigh
as you as you pass by. Youre an awful, awful person. Why do you even want to keep
living? You try to plug your ears as if you were sailing past the Sirens, but the homes
arent outside of you. They are inside of you. You know they are the truth: You
shouldnt try, you know. You deserve to die. You are fat, you are ugly, and you
shouldnt be alive. Why bother? Its easier to be dead. Then no one will have to look
at you anymore. You walk faster, you try to run past, but like I said before, the
bungalows are inside of you, and they know the truth. They are the truth. Theyve
found you out. Honestly, you might as well stop trying. Do us all a favor, Elyn. Stop
being alive.

3
When You Make Word Salad, It Comes Out Something Like This
Roma tomato, on the vine
Lettuce, spring mix
Baby spinach
Carefully morgue me
Garlic croutons
Arugula, freshly washed
The weatherman tells Wallace
Which day it sprains Elles trench
Red onion, thinly sliced
Cucumber, thinly slapped
Bean sprouts, fresh
Avocado,
Leave the skin on
Tie the skin on
Bacon bites
Lapse into
Fractured tastic
Somnambulation of the crowd
Creamy caesar,
Two tablespoons
Cheese, shredded
Spicy buffalo chicken wings
Are not for the salad
Theyre for me
Its the Ides of Salad!
Hail Caesar,
Full of grace
Swept-grass floors of
Artichoke hearts are
With thee.

4
Vanessa Lovelace and Her Three Alters Undergo A Trauma

Vanessa, Age 35, Wakes Up and Is Confused About What Time It Is

I thought why is it light outside, is it morning? But it wasnt morning it was dusk. Dusk
was just coming on. I sat up from where Id been lying on the kitchen floor but my arm
was sort of stuck to the floor. It was pretty painful when I tried to pull it off, but I did,
and it turned out to be blood, all over my arm. It was all crusted there and all sticky.
The other arm was like that too. No of course Ive fucking never done anything like
this! It wasnt me. I know who it was but it wasnt me. Youve got to believe me. Ill be
fine if youd just let me stay here. I dont need to go to the hospital.

Kacey, Age 14, Makes A Kitchen Floor Decision

When its beautiful and blue outside I get angry because it makes me think of twenty
years ago when I was little and it was sunny in the back garden and we all played on
those plastic swings with those chains that always snagged our t-shirts. Is that good
enough for you? Lets run to 7-11. Lets skip school today. Ive got some rum under the
kitchen sink. You can sit with me if you want. But like, dont if you dont want to, I wont
be lonely without you.

Karl, Age 16, Slashes Vanessas Arms

Its just to make it go away for a little bit. Dont worry. Remember (he slowly dragged
the razor blade across his forearm, the meaty part near the crook of his elbow) how
(he wiped away a little of the stream with his thumb) the edge of your dress felt (he
dug a little harder into his skin) pulling against the backs of your knees? Remember the
cadaverous wedding ring on Dads finger (he skimmed the razor blade across the
linoleum floor) and how his skin bulged around it and kept him from being able to
take it off? He ate too much salt. I remember. Its just to make it go away for a little bit.
Dont cry.

Adam, Age 10, Vanessas Favorite Alter, Has Never Had an IV

I dont want to be here. Why am I here. Where are my clothes. Why is this thing poking
out of my arm. Its itchy. Will they give me Jell-O like last time. Can you put on Cartoon
Network cause I wanna watch
Teen Titans Go
. Can I go get my Lego. I wanna go home
and get my Lego. Its only gonna take a second. No, I dont want
those,
I want the
Imperial Landing Craft that I JUST GOT. I didnt get to finish it so I put it back in the box

5
so I wouldnt lose it and now its sitting on the kitchen table. No! I wanna go home and
get it. Can you go get it for me. Why is this thing in my arm. Why cant I take it out. Why
am I here. I want to go home.

6
Adam Goes to the Toy Shop Three Blocks Away

Oh no, I dont have a little boy. Ha ha ha. With a sweet, sparkly smile and one gold
tooth. Well, okay for your nephew, then? The red-apron checkout man, name of
Wally, tucked the Lego box carefully into an opaque pink plastic bag, but the box was
too large for the bag, so the corners kept becoming stuck on the edge of the bag and
the man grew only slightly more frustrated. It was really only a slight frustration: Wally
was very patient. But, as he straightened up, he may have snapped the rubber band
back on the bundle of blank receipts a little harshly. Oh no, I dont have brothers or
sisters, either. A sweet, sparkly tooth. One gold smile. Aight, whos the lucky kid? He
said. You cant guess, then? She said. She bounced up and down on her toes. She was
wearing navy Keds, unflattering jeans, and a grey hoodie. But, Wally, who was certain
this was All For Laughs, smiled very customer-service-like and pushed his glasses up
further on his jumbly nose. I dont guess I could, he said. Who is it? ITS ME, the
woman said, and hopped in a circle because she was very excited. Wally felt under the
counter a little. There was a reassuring hump of grey chewing gum there and he dug
his flat nail into it and made a crescent moon he would never see. Thats one
twenty-four eighty-nine, he said.

7
The Author Interviews Doug Rattmann, Aperture Science Programming
Technician, About His Experiences With The Antipsychotic Drug Ziprasidone

No, no, it doesnt have an affect on healthy people. I was simply able to see many
more colors than I had before. Have you ever heard of the Bennett Way? Hes this guy,
real smart guy, who says that you can get better by painting your thoughts instead of
letting them out all over the floor. You get paint on the floor instead, ha ha. So, here I
am with this book in one hand and a full bottle of pills in the other, and I painted her
on the walls using leftover wood stains and the paint they used to coat the steel-pipe
hand rails and cheese grater stair steps to keep them from rusting. Conversion gel is
quite moist. I dont know about the rest of those sonbitches but it made my skin feel
great. Dry skin, youre a thing of the past! But I painted her, and she was so beautiful in
a grey, square, boxy, foxy, vixen kind of way. I think I may need to continue at another
time. I think I may need a Kleenex. I just noticed I have paint on my elbow. A
handkerchief should work, also, if you have one.

8
Doug Rattmann, Who Does Not Need Ziprasidone, Gets Advice from His
Companion Cube

Ive been watching and youve been doing really well. You realize why they prescribed
you this stuff, right--they knew they needed to keep you under so you couldnt tell
what was really going on. Hey Doug, I know youve been feeling a little out of it lately.
Can I suggest my brilliant psychiatrist whos always been able to do wonders for my
anxiety blah blah blah heres her business card. Then, bam, youre suddenly on some
cocktail of whatever thats specifically tailored to keep you from thinking too hard
about pretty much anything or recognizing the signs that
I
recognized while you were
out of it, like the fact that after your co-workers daughter set up her potato battery
experiment for the eighth grade science expos in the front lobby she was pulled
beneath a blue tablecloth and never heard from again. (Here I use the phrase
pulled
beneath a blue tablecloth
as a metaphor for abduction.) If you hadnt been on the
medication, you might have noticed, and you might have possibly saved her life. So. Id
think twice about this if I were you. If you want, I can get someone to incinerate your
locker for you. Then you wont even have the option. You dont have to be there for it,
either. Piece of cake. Honestly, Doug, you need this as much as you need a pan-fried
eel. And what I mean by that is, you dont need it.

9
Dude, Did You See Him? He Was Walking In Circles And Shit

For the purposes of this poem, you are a brown tabby cat. Your name is Luther and
youre not sure why you are having a hard time standing, but you get up from your
warm spot on the arm of the couch. You hit the ground, but not like normal, because
your legs arent under you. You see sharp splashes of yellow and red flying a few
inches from the ground and you follow them into the kitchen. You slide, slowly, like a
generic garden slug on an acid trip, around the corner of the kitchen cabinet and see
the oven door outlined in neon glow tape, but you dont know what glow tape is
because you are a cat so you are confused instead of aware. There is a semantically
confusing roast turkey glistening inside the oven, but it is warbly-looking because the
door is between it and you. Your eyeballs are pulsing with a dry heat. You stop to
upchuck right on the corner of the mat in front of the sink. Tentatively, you sniff your
puke, but then you puke again right on top of that. You continue, almost on your knees
if you had them, as if paying homage to the Buddha, sliding around the corner to
where your bowl of dry food is kept. But before you can get there: someone, likely a
crow with a flat beak but sharp like fabric scissors, snatches your left ear and pulls
your head downward, drags you in a circle, and your ear is stuck to the ground and all
you can do is jerk in a circle, head stuck to the ground, over and over, around and
around, probably forever.