He went to see the oldboy in the hospital.
It was his job to check in on all the oldboys
and oldgirls that they assigned to him.  
He liked his job very much
the oldboys and/or girls had some of the best stories
or sometimes it was good just to visit with them
and watch the boredom or sadness leave them for a bit,
while they were visiting or chatting.

This particular oldboy was one of his favorites.
The oldboy reminded Jay of both himself and his father in an odd way.
For one, the oldboy had a lot of tattoos
and was always mad about something.
The oldboy had the proverbial soapbox
and wasn’t afraid to stand on it.
Also, the oldboy cussed a lot.
The oldboy was short/fat/bald too,
like Jay’s Pop was and Jay liked,
honestly to see this particular oldboy because
he felt like it gave him a glimpse into his own future.
It didn’t help though that the oldboy liked to smoke
those little blue cigars
and drink a lot of coffee
and whiskey,
because Jay liked, in moderation/sort of,
***** and smoke and cheeseburger sandwiches
and doughnuts
and bacon
and all that stuff that was surely shortening his life.
Jay didn’t like to think about that,
but he liked the look-forward that the oldboy afforded him.

Anyway, the hospital visit came about
and Jay made his way to the third floor
turning left and right scanning the signs
for the right room number.
He found it pretty fast
and made his way to the oldboy’s room.
The room was sad straightaway.
The little closet with the shelves just had a ratty pair of shorts
and a holey tshirt on it.  
The bed was made up tight and clean.
It looked like no one had slept in there the night before.        
There was the oldboy asleep in the hospital room recliner-chair.
He was in his hospital gown and drawers
with ratty old sandals on his feet. His chin was tucked in between his ***** and his gut
and he was snoring loudly.
Hey, Oldboy!
ZZZZzzzz
Hey, Oldboy, ya’wake?
ZZZzzzz
Hey!!  Ya’in here!!??
MMmmhmm?!
Hey, ya okay? Why ya in’here? Whatsamatter? Ya’needsomethin’?
Oh, hiya Jay.
Thanks fer comin’round.
His leftside looks a little hangdog.
They’s tellsa me I’da has had a stroke.
Oh, that’s a ****** shame, Oldboy!  
What the hell’ya gonna do now?
Oh, I’sa don’t right know, Jay.  
I’ma sad shape,
an’ I’ma miss my dog.
Lookit, Oldboy…
I’m calling The State.
I’m telling that they cannot send you
to the house without some extra time for someone to
lookout for you.
They’ve gotta keep someone
keeping  an eyeball on you.
They can’t send you home
with nobody keeping tabs on you.

Hey, that’s a good plan.
In this life ya gotta hava pal
and that pal’s gotta lookowt for ya.
Thanks fer comin’ by, Jay…
MMMhmmmZZZzz.

The Oldboy fell asleep
and Jay talked to some nurses
asking them not to send the oldboy home
until they’d talked to The State
and gotten him some extra help
and they said that they would do that
and they asked Jay to sign a release
and they woke the oldboy up
to ask him if it was okay that they talk to Jay
and the oldboy scribbled his name
on the paper and zonked out
and the nurses talked to Jay
and Jay made ‘em promise to do the good stuff
they said they would
and then he left
and went down the elevator
to the parking lot
and lit a cigarette
and felt sad and sorry
for the oldboy.
*

-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications

'Today, The Jay...'*

I open my eyes to see its a new day.
Today, What's the day?
Is it Saturday or Sunday?
The only thing of which I'm certain
Is that its not a weekday.

So, What can I do today?
Without delay,
The first thing I do is get my tray
Light a blunt to take the pain away.
Inhale and exhale,
Through the passageways.
Chill. . . Then, light another, just because its today.
I'm still in bed, but it's already a good day.

I push the sheets and pillows out the way
Then I get up to empty last night's fluids away.
Then to the kitchen, wondering what I can eat today
What can I do, to keep the hunger at bay?
Maybe some rice and filet?
A little something to kickstart the day.

While the food preps, I go back to my tray.
I smile and giggle as I sculpt my one true love, the Jay
With me at any time, anywhere, in any form, on any day.
Even though I'm already high; 'Hooray'.
I still want another hit of the Jay

The Jay,
Hits, Without delay.
Stays,
When everyone goes away.
Fades,
All the pain away.

My worries, It allays.
My happiness, it brings to the fray.
Keeps my mind, from going astray.
Literally, takes my breath away.

Causes, no form of decay
Keeps me, from getting 'ire'
Doesn't negotiate, doesn't parlay.
Just good vibes, all the way.

The love of the Jay;
Isn't just a single foray.
Its a constant exchange,
Everyday.

It's a feeling, that once attained,
Nothing, will ever take its place.
And there goes the tale of my day,
Spent with my true love, the Jay.

The Solar System, Van Gogh and Headlights.               a short play by anni cameron


Amelia: A noise plays from my side –
But I still sleep, I still dream.
It takes me a moment to realise
That it sounds in reality.

I don’t want to wake.

I can toy with consciousness, and
My duvet can tease me.
I don’t want to wake.
I can linger in a fantasy, and
My pillow can tempt me.
I don’t want to wake –
But I must.

Jay: Each and every morning,
I raise my eyes to the sky. And,
For whichever reason, I can’t help but think:
Isn’t the sun incredible?
It rises daily, without exception.
We should learn from the sun.

Amelia: My head rises,
Though I wish it wouldn’t.
My eyes open,
But they long to close.
How long did I sleep?
Minutes or hours?

Elizabeth: Here, we begin again.
I must meet with the lawyer in an hour.
Amelia will refuse to attend school, again.
And I won’t argue – I am done arguing,
And I need my daughter. She cannot hate me.
Because, if she does, what am I left with?
A failed marriage. Hatred from my one creation?

Everything I used to know is crumbling
Like old clay. But, I spent so much time moulding
The perfect sculpture. Now, the clay is a mess,
Sprawled upon a pottery wheel which spins too fast.
Too fast. Too fast. Stop.

Amelia: The sun meets my window
As daylight graces me with its presence.
My duvet is the roof to my mattress
And it beckons me to linger in its attic.

September 4th, a question awaits:
Do I, or don’t I?

But you’ll see, it depends,
It depends on only one thing.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Are the size of my flaws,
Big or small?

Jay: I try to understand her – each day is an
Investigation into her mind, her thoughts.
I think I can make sense of why she hates school.
There is this elephant in the room, this question:
“Do you think you’re happy?”
We realise that a good life relies upon happiness,
This illusive concept of peace of mind.
Euphoria is what we are all in pursuit of,
But it is more of a witch hunt.

I am lucky. I am happy. I am the optimist.

However, my dear friend is the pessimist.
It is engraved deeply into her bones, and it is
The oxygen that flows through her brain.
We are not of the same blood type,
We are two different types of paint.
These are things that refuse to change.

Amelia: The glass acknowledges me, yet
My reflection insults me.
There’s a new flaw on my face,
And there is only so much
The Artist can cover in paint.
And yet, I am no masterpiece –
The Louvre wouldn’t display
A face Van Gogh
Would refuse to portray.

Real art is true
True art is real –
I think I am somewhere inbetween.
A white lie.
A dressed up version of the truth.
I am not art.

Elizabeth: James stops by, like he does every morning,
And it takes some strength to send him away,
Again. I breathe some excuse on Amelia’s behalf.
She won’t be attending school, she has a migraine.
I know that the divorce is taking its toll on her,
On me, and her father too – though, he refuses
To acknowledge any emotions that come with separation.

He is a man too full of pride – or, at least, he was.

It is difficult to tell. He has not seen I, nor has he
His daughter. It has been six months.

How can I watch my once sparkling daughter,
Become something more dull?

I am guilty for refusing blame, but John
Supplies me with more excuses than I need.

John: I am the big bad wolf of fathers.
Ungrateful. Selfish. Unkind.
I was never an Artist, unlike the women in my life.
They understand delicacy and softness.
I am harsh, and can’t handle fragility.
I push those in my life to breaking point –
The personification of a supernova.
Exploding – shedding light on every possible flaw,
Leaving only swirls of debris in my wake.

Amelia: I am coaxed into slumber:
A gentle tide swallows up my consciousness,
And relief washes over me like a wave.
I find comfort in sleep, like how
Van Gogh found comfort in the colour yellow.
But, a boat cannot stay in the middle
Of the ocean forever. The sailor
Must reach shore, or risk becoming
Another shipwreck.

I cannot sleep forever.
It takes my every strength to admit,
And I don’t want to be weak anymore.

Jay: We are surrounded by purple flowers,
And I am glad that she is breathing fresh air.

I had almost forgotten
How she looks with the sun behind her back.

She has opened the door to her mind,
To her thoughts and to her feelings,
For me, and maybe only me.

This is how I understand her,
Subtly and gently –
I understand her inner loneliness, and
How she feels insignificant.
I have noticed how her expression changes
When she sees a man of forty-something,
Because, no matter how much she dislikes her father,
She craves his acceptance,
And wishes to see him once more.

I think this is the true reason for her insecurity.
If an Artist cannot find beauty in his own painting,
The painting wouldn’t care
That it had admirers in galleries all over the world,
For its creator was not the one to display it
Above the mantelpiece.
An art dealer found value in the signature inked in the corner,
Not in the way the paint was layered –

The artist is dead now.
The painting ceases to care about where it stands.

Amelia: As the sky becomes more obsidian,
The universe reveals something to us,
Something that feels like a secret.
I notice that Jay has a different presence
When he is below the stars,
A presence I’m sure I’ve never witnessed before.


I feel like you see something in the stars
That I don’t, Jay.

Jay: I think you need to have some appreciation
For the world you live in, Ame.

Amelia: How can you see such beauty in the stars,
When they are merely burning gas?
They will cease to burn one day, you know.

Jay: Isn’t that the wonder of it?
Don’t you think that the stars are a metaphor for people?

We depart with unspoken thoughts,
That are sure to be shared one day.
I think that this world has so much to offer –
Is that not why we reside here,
Instead of Mars?

There is wonder in untruths and in secrets,
And I am happy. I see euphoria behind the clouds,
It just takes a little extra concentration to make it out.

The sky is enough to distract me from the ground.

I see stars.
I see headlights.



Amelia: Jay, flowers grow where we last spoke,
And I still don’t feel like I understand the stars.
I have found comfort in new things, since your passing,
Things that are closer to home.
I understand why Van Gogh painted sunflowers,
Yellow is a hopeful colour.

Jay, I visit the place where we last spoke,
Every single night.
The grass is a soft green pillow,
Much more comforting than the snowy fabric
In my bedroom. I understand flowers,
The other night I concluded that
They are Earth’s stars – so maybe I understand
Heavenly bodies better than I first thought.

Jay, my parents went through with their divorce,
And I’m beginning to accept
That I don’t need validation from any other
To complete me. I have begun to see
That I am part of a bigger picture, which cannot fully
Be seen from my bedroom. I may only be one
Star to a constellation, but without that one star,
You have an incomplete cluster.

Jay, I am starting to become the optimist.
Without you, it is an empty position, but it is
A valued one. A world without your optimism,
Is like our universe without the sun.
We survive on its light, and its presence –
It rises daily, without exception.
We should learn from the sun.

Sweet-faced Jay
just-want-to-help-the-girls-Jay,
call you before the sun comes up,
still half-drunk
fancies-himself-a-****, Jay
take-a-fat-****-rip-like-the-girls-do Jay,
then falls asleep
and asks questions ten times
but never listens for the answer,
white-mexican **** from the hippie suburbs
his own name tattooed on his forearms
who's in it for the biz-ness
You-can-do-anything-you-want-Jay,
but still,
you're beautiful,
and if your boyfriend don't tell you that
ten times a day
you'd better dump his *** – Jay
cause I'm not in it for the money, says Jay
this-isn't-the-easy-way-out,
but do you think you could?

I woke up and went outside
to bathe in the winter weather.
Sitting in a wooden chair, hidden behind
some firewood I see a bird appear
The bird was startled to see me there.


My heart skipped like a rock across water.
We made eye contact and the bird flipped
and retreated to the pine trees.
It was a blue jay--
I could see the speckled array of blue patterned
on its elegant down coat.

It started digging through
the blanket of dead needles
and my curiosity led me to question
the blue jay’s curiosity;
because curiosity killed the cat,
or in this case, startled the blue jay.
Does the blue jay
have a family to feed?
A flock to fly with? Or is the
blue jay on its own?

I feel human because
the blue jay and I are not the same—
just pieces of natures puzzle.
The blue jay thrives on nature,
I thrive on the
evolution of humanity.
The blue jay spends a lifetime
in the sky--
I spend mine trying to find my wings.

I had my own little circle of Hell.
Demons prodded me with needles.
****** souls invited me to their homes
filled with smoke and treason.

I was sitting in a burning throne of lies and addiction.
With piles of broken glass pieces and hypodermic syringes as a foot rest.
Then one day a hole opened in the sky above
and a single blue jay flew down
and rested upon my boot tip.

He said "Why do you choose to live here, so washed out and broken?"
"Because it is the only place I feel at home, Blue Jay" I replied.
"There is sunshine just beyond your fingertips!" He countered.
"The only light that beckons me is the hellfire surrounding us, bird" I retorted.

"Come with me" he sighed.
Suddenly the blue jay grew ten times his size and sprouted incredible wings.
He made me climb upon his back and soar out of the pit I had become so accustomed to.
"Look at what the sun has to offer," said the blue jay.
there were green fields and rushing rivers,
Playing children I had forgotten existed.

In my place, my personal hell,
I had forgotten about the sun.
the skies were smudged black
And the painted clouds rolled down in grey
Like oil on canvas.

When you're in hell, it's so easy to forget
About the world above.
Seeing past yourself and into the setting sun
Becomes an impossibility.


" Do you see?" said the bird.
"I do see, but what is it I am looking past?" Said I.
"The little things." blue jay replied.
"The little things that used to please you, before you became a monster."
"The rivers used to make you feel whole as you skipped stones across their uneven expanse.
The children reminded you of your innocence before you became what you are. The fields were your home, where you would catch sun and ponder things before you became this."

Suddenly all my cravings vanished.
The black cloud that hung over me stopped pouring rain
And started beaming light.
The portal from whence we came had closed.
I had come home.

The blue jay flew to the ground and let me off his back.
"Now you see," he said, "You see what you had been missing."
He shrank, and flew away into the trees
Leaving me at home,
in my fields,
again.