Amnon’s Lust (2 Samuel 13:1-6)

(David watches from his upper room – could this all be told from an “upper room” by a dead David recounting before he enters heaven?)

(scene in Garden; Tamar walks by humming song of innocence – maybe connect certain songs with ideals. Innocence is chosen.)

Amnon:
I am in love.
It rises in me like dough.

Jonadab:
My friend, it only rises
because you knead
it in your mind.

Amnon:
But I am in love.

I want her
like a drunk
yearns to suck wine.

I want her perfume
mixed with passion
to float into my lungs
as our bodies entwine
and become tangled like vines.

Jonadab:
My friend, your mind's eye
has obviously covered her body
like vines that move through
every crack and nook.
You are drunk.

Amnon:
Can an alcoholic control
his lusts? Is it his fault
that he needs the warmth
of another to flow through him,
become one with him?

I need to drink from reality
because my dough is done rising.

Jonadab:
I understand my friend,
my love for you is a down pour,
so I will share my plan...

(scene flip – quick – to Tamar making bread with Amnon playing sick)

Weeping Separation

To hear weeping fall
like music
from a father’s lips –
“O Absolam, my son.”
To search to understand
in vertigo
to run across a barren mind
with a fading purple sky
to your own river
separating

North from South;
a divided kingdom.

Sobs sound across boarders
like the bellows
of livestock that bleat
longingly across a pasture.

They lament their own who crossed
over the boundary.
Those taken
by kingship lust
or crocodiles.

Those riding, captured,
hung in trees,
those devoured, put to pieces,
leaving only red rivers behind.

My Son... how I long for you
like the deer that pants for water.
I long to be your shepherd,
your shield, your chariot,
your sandals, your plush bed
you lay your tired body on
to offer up yourself to dreams
in the night.

I am wise like a Shaman
from my age. I can for see
because I watch, I listen,
I perceive the coming of storms
through current wind
and I desperately try to warn
you with bright colors
and cries,
but I am bound by you
like an oxen to his master
because I wait for your ears
to perk like a dog's do
in love of hearing his masters voice.
Why won't you heed to my staff guiding
your side, moving you from the thorn
bush or the cliff's ledge?
Why? ... Why?

Tall Tale #2 - Free Write for David and Absolam

My Son... how I long for you
like the dear that pants for water.
I long to be your shepherd,
your shield, your chariot,
your sandals, your plush bed
you lay your tired body on
to offer up yourself to dreams
in the night.

I am wise like a Shaman
from my age. I can for see
because I watch, I listen,
I perceive the coming of storms
through current wind
and I desperately try to warn
you with bright colors
and cries,
but I am bound by you
like an oxen to his master
because I wait for your ears
to perk like a dog's do
in love of hearing his masters voice
and then heed to my staff pushing
on your side to move you from the thorn
bush or the cliff's ledge.
But, no, you are an obstinate child
spatting on my compassion and love.

Tall Tale #1

This morning at church, I noticed something slightly unusual about the man sitting in front of me. He sat in the middle of the congregation and, at a glance, wouldn't seem to different at all from anyone else. However, upon closer observation something didn't seem right. I couldn't figure out what his coat was made of, but alas, I resolved to worship God and ignore the distractions as a 'pious' Christian should.
In the middle of the sermon though, it dawned upon me what this leathery like coat was... human skin.

After the service, I approached the man. He smelt of whiskey and lost dreams. We had a conversation about our favorite celebrities in the morning sunlight streaming through the overhead windows slicing the air like razors, slicing through our coats, hiding who we were. He enjoys Brittany; personally, I like Prince. We both felt a pop star burn-out/washed-up reunion tour was necessary.

I then asked about the coat. I questioned:

"Why, my friend, is there a toenail stuck to part of your jacket."

"Well, I was clipping my toe nail and one flung up and became embedded in my coat like jewel in the side of a mountain."

"Now, my friend, the look in your tells me that may not be true and comparing a toenail in your coat to a jewel is a tad bit awkward."

"Ok, Ok... you got me...,' he said slowly with a sniffle. "I..."

"Go ahead, you can tell me."

"I... I... I just can't say it."

"It's ok, my friend, we'll wait until you can."

So we waited in that church as the light shifted from morning to afternoon. We waited in silent tears with occasional wailing that overcame us both like birth-pains. Then finally, as the dim half-life glow of twilight began to stream through the windows, he felt ready to speak.

"I..." he said with a sniffle, "I kill people." And the tears flowed like the rain during the days of Noah. He sobbed, "I kill them, and I make coats out of them. I can't help it! I line the in with hair and it feels so... right, but yet so wrong. So right on my skin, and so wrong on my everything else. What can I do?"

"Well," I pondered, "You could not kill someone tonight."

"You mean," he ejaculated, "I can do that?"

"Yes, my friend," I said with a smile, "you can do that."


So, my friends, he decided not to kill that night. I don't know if he didn't, all I know, as I speak in this white haze of clouds, is that he had a choice, and he made a decision and he was empowered for a moment. And that moment, my friend, was a moment like softball sized hail falling on a new car.