Sick: The Life And Death Of Bob Flanagan Supermasochist Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Sick: The Life And Death Of Bob Flanagan Supermasochist script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the documentary movie.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Sick: The Life And Death Of Bob Flanagan Supermasochist. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Sick: The Life And Death Of Bob Flanagan Supermasochist Script


  

  

 

                   

Bob Flanagan, artist, masochist



 

                   

and one of the longest living surv--



 

                   

Bob Flanagan, artist, masochist



 

                   

and one of the longest-living survivors

of Cystic Fibrosis



 

                   

lost his battle this week

with the killer disease,



 

                   

a genetic disorder

of the lungs and pancreas,



 

                   

that both plagued and empowered

the provocative performer



 

                   

throughout his difficult

but productive life.



 

                   

Born in New York City

in December        



  

                   

Flanagan was in and out of hospitals

most of his life.



  

                   

Doctors gave him

little chance of survival



  

                   

past the age of six or seven years,



  

                   

but survive he did,

well beyond anyone's expectations.



  

                   

The difficulties of being sick



  

                   

became subject for much of his work.



  

                   

All the articles about me

start that way,



  

                   

" Bob Flanagan should be dead by now."



  

                   

"But he isn't",

that's what they always say.



  

                   

Instead he nails his dick to a board.



  

                   

The word "supermasochist"

is going through my head,



  

                   

and I started humming this little ditty.



  

                   

Started humming

to the tune "Supercalifragilistic",



  

                   

so I wrote this song.



  

                   

I know that any Disney people here,



  

                   

they'll probably tell me

to cease and desist,



  

                   

and believe me, I will...



  

                   

but not yet.



  

                   

In my own time.



  

                   

Supermasochistic Bob has Cystic Fibrosis



  

                   

He should've died young

but he was too precocious



  

                   

How much longer

he will live is anyone's prognosis



  

                   

Supermasochistic Bob is Cystic Fibrosis



  

                   

I'm dili-dili, I'm gonna die



  

                   

I'm dili-dili, I'm gonna die



  

                   

When he was born the doctors said he had

this bad disease



  

                   

That gave him awful stomachaches

and made him cough and wheeze



  

                   

Any normal person

would've buckled from the pain



  

                   

But SuperBob got twisted now,

he's into whips and chains



  

                   

I'm dili-dili, I'm gonna die...



  

                   

You get the idea before I kill myself.



  

                   

I'm dili-dili, I'm gonna die



  

                   

   years have come and gone

and Bob is still around



  

                   

He's tied up by his ankles

and he's hanging upside down



  

                   

A lifetime of infection

and his lungs all filled with phlegm



  

                   

The CF would've killed him

if it weren't for S & M



  

                   

Supermasochistic Bob has Cystic Fibrosis



  

                   

Supermasochistic Bob has Cystic Fibrosis



  

                   

Supermasochistic Bob has Cystic Fibrosis.



  

                   

Thank you.



  

                   

From the time

he came over from the hospital



  

                   

he was literally in pain.



  

                   

When he was    months old,



  

                   

they discovered that he had pus



  

                   

between the chest,

all over the lung.



  

                   

And every day for a week



  

                   

they took this baby

into the surgery room



  

                   

and they would put needles

into his chest,



  

                   

draw out the pus,



  

                   

Was he under anesthesia?



  

                   

- Local anesthesia.

- Local.



  

                   

Enough that he knew--



  

                   

because his biggest thing at the time--



  

                   

was the scream--

I remember the screaming in pain.



  

                   

There's a youngster out there

who's willing to trade



  

                   

a work of art for a salami.



  

                   

Would that young man stand up, please?



  

                   

I guess we'll need the houselights again



  

                   

and the camera pointing out

in that direction. There he is.



  

                   

There's John with the microphone.



  

                   

- What's your name, young man?

- Robert Flanagan.



  

                   

- What is it again?

- Robert Flanagan.



  

                   

Robert,

nice to have you with us tonight.



  

                   

- How old are you?

-   .



  

                   

-   ?

- Going on   .



  

                   

Where are you from, Robert?



  

                   

Azusa, California.



  

                   

Where do you go to school up there?



  

                   

I don't go to school right now,



  

                   

I just got out of the hospital.



  

                   

We are glad that you're out

and you look very well.



  

                   

Now, you created that yourself,

did you, Robert?



  

                   

Yes.



  

                   

Oh, it's a little television set--



  

                   

sort of in relief, isn't it?



  

                   

Raised out of the background.



  

                   

Are you interested

in becoming an artist, Robert?



  

                   

No.



  

                   

Well, you do seem to have talent.

If other things fail,



  

                   

you may be able to fall back

on that in future years.



  

                   

What are your interests,

professionally speaking?



  

                   

To be a doctor.



  

                   

I wanted to--

a couple of years ago, for a show,



  

                   

make an autobiographical version

of "The visible Man"



  

                   

that was pertinent

to my particular interests and problems.



  

                   

So I decided my visible Man,

to mirror me,



  

                   

would have green mucus

coming out of the mouth,



  

                   

and of course sperm,

'cause coming and coughing



  

                   

is about the only two things I do

on a consistent basis.



  

                   

And also shitting--



   

                   

with Cystic Fibrosis, shit--



   

                   

bad digestion has been with me

all my life,



   

                   

and bad runny bowels

is a constant thing,



   

                   

so I figure my visible Man

should shit all the time.



   

                   

The next question was,

"What should I use for the fluids? "



   

                   

So I start with the sperm,

that's the easiest thing to do,



   

                   

it just comes right out of the bottle.



   

                   

What better thing for sperm

than White Rain Hair Conditioner?



   

                   

Let's see.

Just look at it.



   

                   

That is great come.



   

                   

I don't come like this,

by the way.



   

                   

This is wishful thinking on my part.



   

                   

'Cause when I come,

it's like--



   

                   

I could masturbate for hours and hours,



   

                   

and then ejaculate, I think--



   

                   

I would have an orgasm

and nothing happens.



   

                   

But then slowly,

an hour later, that's it.



   

                   

That's the extent of my come.



   

                   

So I'm a very neat sexy person.



   

                   

Some guys are like that--

but not me.



   

                   

So the visible Man

is my wishful other self.



   

                   

This a come cup and the come pump.



   

                   

If this was a real cooking show,



   

                   

I'd have one

already prepared in the oven.



   

                   

Okay. Let's see him come.

He's gonna pee first.



   

                   

Don't we all sometimes

make a pee before we come?



   

                   

It's a constant turn-on-



   

                   

it's gonna make

some visible Woman very happy someday.



   

                   

You've got to remember

that the visible Man



   

                   

is a very sick person,



   

                   

he's coughing just like me--

he's filled with phlegm--



   

                   

Now the next step

is the most fun of all.



   

                   

It took me a year to figure out

how to do this right.



   

                   

Shit. I want him

to be able to go plop, plop,



   

                   

all day long, real slowly.



   

                   

Finally, I came up

with the idea of good old Alberto VO 



   

                   

and just went back

to the old tempera paint.



   

                   

Powdered tempera.



   

                   

Once this--

gets gooey--



   

                   

great brown-shit-looking stuff.



   

                   

That first one's always the hardest,

isn't it?



   

                   

I could watch that for hours.

It's better than a fish tank.



   

                   

This is the fish tank of the '  s.



   

                   

This is called a "portacath",



   

                   

it's under my skin.

It's always there.



   

                   

And when I have to go on antibiotics

they access it with a needle



   

                   

into this little portacath up here.



   

                   

So I have a central line

which basically goes



   

                   

into my vein right to the heart.



   

                   

When we were in  th grade,

I used to like--



   

                   

I don't how graphic

I'm gonna get on this--



   

                   

I would be going at it in the bedroom



   

                   

and the bed would be squeaking,

by myself.



   

                   

The door would be open

and he's sleeping in the bedroom



   

                   

across the hall.



   

                   

And suddenly I'd hear,

"Tim, I know what you're doing."



   

                   

I'm gonna tell Mom.

You better stop!"



   

                   

I don't remember that at all.



   

                   

So to me he was this moral cop.



   

                   

I know, that's what's so hysterical.



   

                   

By the time we got into

early adolescence and early puberty



   

                   

it was like, no,

he was this absolute Puritan-



   

                   

the first one

that told my parents I was doing drugs;



   

                   

the first one to, you know, to sort of



   

                   

rat on me about everything

that I was doing wrong.



   

                   

I thought that

he was just extremely religious



   

                   

and spiritual and moral.



   

                   

I felt like this decadent,

horrible human being.



   

                   

Every Friday night-- since I didn't

have to go to school the next day,



   

                   

Friday was my big night.

I'd wait till everybody went to sleep,



   

                   

about  :  

and I'd wake up and I'd start to play.



   

                   

Started off simple.

Things like--



   

                   

I loved the feeling of being

totally naked all night long,



   

                   

waiting for the sun to come up, feeling

the cold air, come in the window.



   

                   

I'd lie naked in high school,

on the floor at  :   in the morning,



   

                   

and pourwhite glue over my body.

Why? I don't know.



   

                   

It was a sensation.



   

                   

And in the morning,

a lot of the glue dried,



   

                   

you had to pick it off your testicles.

That was fun.



   

                   

I'd be trussed up by  :   in the morning

by these plant hooks.



   

                   

I used to get off the chair

for a while and swing.



   

                   

The scary thing is I'm sitting

with these ropes in the ceiling



   

                   

and I hear my parents wake up,

walk down the hall



   

                   

to the kitchen and walk back--

what are you gonna say?



   

                   

"A burglar was in here."



   

                   

So I ruined almost every door

at my parents' house



   

                   

by tying belts to my wrists



   

                   

and suspending myself from the door

as I was lifting my feet off.



   

                   

So the hinges would just pull--



   

                   

nobody could understand

why the doors never closed.



   

                   

I used to draw blood.

I used to put pins in a belt,



   

                   

and whip myself with the belt.

This is in high school.



   

                   

I didn't realize--

I looked back,



   

                   

there was blood

all over the bathroom tiles.



   

                   

There's a knock on the door--



   

                   

"Bob, my cat just got hit by a car."



   

                   

Even then, in high school,

I had this Catholic guilt.



   

                   

I'm thinking, "See?

You do this and things go wrong.



   

                   

You do these things

and something happens.



   

                   

Put everything away,

don't ever do this again."



   

                   

And it lasted a month.



   

                   

To me he was the most normal,

the most--



   

                   

he had a weird sense of humor,

I knew that.



   

                   

But I didn't know

there was another side to him,



   

                   

that he kept very well hidden from us.



   

                   

- You had no idea?

- I had no--



   

                   

Absolutely not.



   

                   

And I'm still stunned by it,

because I sometimes



   

                   

go to bed at night thinking,

"Where was I?



   

                   

What was I doing that I did not know? "



   

                   

Because I thought I knew him.

I knew him better than anybody.



   

                   

And the strange part about it, is--



   

                   

we were probably the most

closely-knit family there could be.



   

                   

- And we didn't know--

- We always ate together,



   

                   

watched the same Tv shows together,

we were always very close.



   

                   

I started to read his book and I-

where was I?



   

                   

But he was very smart.



   

                   

And as I say, he is very disciplined.



   

                   

"Dear Mom,

I've got great news to tell you.



   

                   

Something wonderful

and exciting has happened.



   

                   

I fell in love. That's right, love.



   

                   

I'm bursting at the seams

to tell you all about her.



   

                   

First of all, her name is Rose.



   

                   

And my world certainly seems

to have blossomed since meeting her.



   

                   

She's a wonderful girl, Mom.

I mean, woman.



   

                   

I love her and so would you.



   

                   

In someways

she sort of reminds me of you.



   

                   

I almost forgot, she can even cook.

Boy, can she cook.



   

                   

What she does to a piece of meat

would make a grown man cry.



   

                   

I don't know

whether it was the clothes she wore,



   

                   

the sound of her voice,

or the look in her eye,



   

                   

but I knew right then and there,

I was hooked for life.



   

                   

I wanted to fall to my knees

and beg for her hand.



   

                   

Sounds pretty severe?

But it's all true.



   

                   

I was immediately struck by this woman

at first sight.



   

                   

I guess you could say she connected

with me too-- right off the bat.



   

                   

You'd hardly recognize me these days.



   

                   

I'm like an entirely different person,

thanks to Rose.



   

                   

You know what they say-

'Behind every good man,



   

                   

there stands a woman

to guide and inspire him.'



   

                   

I don't know how good I am,

but with the loving hand of Rose



   

                   

to prod me along

I know I'm bound to get better.



   

                   

I know you're busy,

so I won't tie you up any longer.



   

                   

Rose is truly a remarkable woman, Mom.



   

                   

It looks like I'll be hanging

around here for a long time.



   

                   

At least for as long as she'll keep me,

anyway.



   

                   

Well, I guess I better be going now.



   

                   

It's almost dinner time.



   

                   

Rose is just finishing her meal

as I write this,



   

                   

and she tells me

that she's cooked up something



   

                   

extra special and delicious just for me.



   

                   

I can't hardly wait."



   

                   

For a submissive man,

he's real lucky to have found me.



   

                   

Because there are so many out there

who have--



   

                   

maybe not as highly evolved thoughts

about it as Bob did,



   

                   

but certainly

who have the same kind of yearnings.



   

                   

Right off the bat,

I showed her I had a pierce in my penis,



   

                   

and I said I wanted to be

a full-time slave to a woman,



   

                   

to do everything

she wanted and to wait on her



   

                   

and have sex in whatever way

she wanted or didn't want.



   

                   

Sheree thought that was pretty exciting.



   

                   

She likes the idea--

she's always trying new things.



   

                   

I would really have to be

very disciplined with him.



   

                   

If he wasn't allowed

to sit on the furniture--



   

                   

he was only allowed to sit on the floor-



   

                   

if he sat on the furniture,

I had to stop and discipline him.



   

                   

That got to be a chore,

and that's why I don't have dogs.



   

                   

I don't get turned on

by slamming my hand in a car door.



   

                   

I don't get turned on

by being treated badly.



   

                   

But, with the right relationship

and the right context,



   

                   

I'm turned on

by being treated in a very mean-



   

                   

I'd ask Sheree to be mean to me.

That's a turn-on.



   

                   

If Sheree were mean to me,

that would be very exciting.



   

                   

A lot of the skills

in dealing with a submissive



   

                   

are motherly skills.

You have to be a very strict mother.



   

                   

You can't

let them get away with anything.



   

                   

And if they break the rules

there has to be consequences.



   

                   

All these things are consensual.



   

                   

Non-consensual pain,

non-consensual humiliation,



   

                   

non-consensual power over somebody,



   

                   

that, I have no interest in.



   

                   

Of my own free will, I, Bob Flanagan,



   

                   

grant you, Sheree Rose, full ownership



   

                   

and use of my mind and body.



   

                   

I will obey you at all times

and seek your pleasure



   

                   

and well being

above all other considerations.



   

                   

I renounce my own pleasure,

comfort or gratification,



   

                   

except insofar as you desire

or permit them.



   

                   

I renounce all rights to privacy

or concealment from you.



   

                   

I will answer truthfully

to the best of my knowledge



   

                   

any and all questions you may ask.



   

                   

I understand and agree

that any failure by me to comply fully



   

                   

with your desires

shall be regarded as sufficient cause



   

                   

for severe punishment.



   

                   

I otherwise unconditionally accept

as your prerogative,



   

                   

anything you may choose to do with me,



   

                   

whether as punishment

for your amusement, or whatever purpose,



   

                   

no matter how painful

or humiliating to myself.



   

                   

"March. A day of punishment,



   

                   

for my distant

and shitty attitude on Monday.



   

                   

The pain is not as bad as promised.



   

                   

I'm relieved,

and at the same time disappointed.



   

                   

The suffering ends

with a beautiful blindfolded,



   

                   

tied, spreadeagled fuck in

which I'm beaten, bit,



   

                   

choked and pinched

into a wonderful come.



   

                   

Another fuck. We can't get out

of the house for all the fucking.



   

                   

She whips my ass

with a studded strap until blood comes.



   

                   

Wild spontaneous fuck

on the black vinyl couch



   

                   

while watching "Network" on Tv.

What a come.



   

                   

'I'm mad as hell

and I'm not going to come anymore.'



   

                   

First fuck

after a long distant and horrible week.



   

                   

It feels good

to have my dick inside her.



   

                   

I come, pleading to be her slave.

And she says, "Yes, oh, yes."



   

                   

I suck her nipple.

My tongue is in her ass.



   

                   

My cock in her cunt.



   

                   

Bondage all day.

I drink her piss from a baby bottle.



   

                   

I lick her nipple and clitoris.



   

                   

She gets hot and wet,

unlocks my penis.



   

                   

We fucked with slaps,

biting and choking.



   

                   

We fuck even though she says



   

                   

she didn't want to give me

the pleasure of fucking too much.



   

                   

And even though I was an insensitive

crazy bastard last night,



   

                   

she's on her period

and I come out all bloody.



   

                   

She gets out of the shower

to watch the space shuttle land.



   

                   

It does and we fuck on the black couch."



   

                   

"I'm in so much pain.



   

                   

All my joints are stiff.



   

                   

Excruciatingly painful.



   

                   

I don't know how long I've been here.



   

                   

I'm afraid

it hasn't been as long as I think.



   

                   

I'm shivering.



   

                   

I'm lying in a cold pool of my own piss.



   

                   

I want to be released now.



   

                   

Oh, I have to wait.



   

                   

I have to wait and endure this.



   

                   

I will endure it.



   

                   

Oh God, it hurts."



   

                   

As a very young child



   

                   

I was always considered bossy.



   

                   

I liked to boss everybody around.



   

                   

I would tell everybody else what to do.

I was very strong-willed.



   

                   

I wouldn't even let my parents

tell me what to do.



   

                   

I wanted to tell them what to do.



   

                   

I played the normal sex games.

I didn't play "slave and master."



   

                   

I remember very early

on playing games where--



   

                   

actually it was with a little girl

down the block,



   

                   

she would lay down on her bed

and take off all of her clothes



   

                   

and just lie there with her eyes closed.



   

                   

I would touch her and do things to her.



   

                   

Never reversed. I was always

the one who did that to her.



   

                   

I didn't think about that

for many years until I realized--



   

                   

that's sort of S & M.

I guess you might call it that.



   

                   

Did your sex play always stay private



   

                   

or were you ever discovered?



   

                   

I think I was discovered by my mother.



   

                   

Several times

I undressed little boys in the back yard



   

                   

and stuff like that.

I got yelled at.



   

                   

I certainly didn't have

a sex positive upbringing.



   

                   

- No?

- No, not at all.



   

                   

Very sex negative.

Very strange actually.



   

                   

My family life was very dysfunctional.



   

                   

I have more mental cruelty with him.



   

                   

- Don't side with him.

- Why?



   

                   

I'm disappointed in my marriage.

I stuck it out.



   

                   

I made a home for him.

He doesn't deserve a lot of things.



   

                   

He is a selfish man.

His sister told me when I married him.



   

                   

She said,

"He's a very peculiar, eccentric man."



   

                   

And you're not peculiar and eccentric?



   

                   

No, I'm not.

I'm a loudmouth, not eccentric.



   

                   

Where is the dish?



   

                   

- How do you feel?

- Don't you come near me.



   

                   

- What you did is unforgivable.

- Strong like an ox.



   

                   

She's stubborn,

that's what keeps her going.



   

                   

How would you like it

if I'd broken your legs?



   

                   

I didn't break your leg.

You didn't fall.



   

                   

- I just barely touched you.

- That's a lie.



   

                   

My parents weren't alcoholic

or drug addicts.



   

                   

I never had those kind of experiences,



   

                   

but as far as emotional dysfunction



   

                   

it was highly emotionally dysfunctional.



   

                   

- In what sort of way?

- My parents didn't love each other.



   

                   

My mother probably hated my father,

very early on.



   

                   

She treats me like a slave in here.

She orders me around.



   

                   

You treat me worse.



   

                   

- That must be Jenny.

- It's Jennifer.



   

                   

You don't give me a chance

to be nice to you.



   

                   

The day I got married to you

you were not nice.



   

                   

Why did you stay married to her

all these years?



   

                   

Why didn't you get up and leave?



   

                   

My father was very aloof.

Sort of like the "shadow father."



   

                   

I don't have

a lot of early memories of him.



   

                   

Certainly

he was not affectionate with me.



   

                   

He was not telling me I was the

most wonderful little girl in the world.



   

                   

I never heard that

at all from my family.



   

                   

I always felt sort of left out.



   

                   

My family was very-



   

                   

they didn't know

how to show any love or affection.



   

                   

At least at me, they didn't.



   

                   

I thought

there must be something wrong with me,



   

                   

because they wouldn't

or couldn't show me love.



   

                   

Look at that face.



   

                   

I fell in love with that face

the first time I saw him.



   

                   

He made me an offer

that I never have had before.



   

                   

He wanted to be my slave.



   

                   

He wanted

to give his whole body to me completely.



   

                   

I never had an offer like that before.



   

                   

I thought,

"Well, it's not that much of a body



   

                   

but I'll do the best I can with it."



   

                   

And I've done a lot over the years,

we both have.



   

                   

When I first met him he was so skinny,



   

                   

his face was just like, just all bones.



   

                   

Back when my father first met him,

he said,



   

                   

" Sheree, he looks like he's dead."



   

                   

I said, "I know, Dad,

that's what makes him so appealing."



   

                   

I've seen lot of movies

where the women slapped the men.



   

                   

I always thought that was neat.

I never slapped anybody before,



   

                   

just seen it in movies,

but with Bob, that's what we got into.



   

                   

So it was sort of fun

to start to slap him.



   

                   

Didn't want to go by the eye,

didn't want to go too low,



   

                   

just right here,

in the nice fatty part of the cheek.



   

                   

Even before I met Bob

I had seen a Japanese movie



   

                   

called "The Realm of the Senses."



   

                   

In that movie this woman

gets very turned on with this guy.



   

                   

They fuck all the time in the movie.



   

                   

One of the things they do

is she chokes him--



   

                   

she gets on top of him

and she chokes him with this cord.



   

                   

I always wanted

to do that to somebody,



   

                   

never had an opportunity to do that--



   

                   

but then again, here came Bob.



   

                   

He'd seen the movie,

we went home that night,



   

                   

got out the old bathrobe cord,

and we discovered...



   

                   

that wasn't fake in the movie at all.



   

                   

Very, very hot thing to do.



   

                   

Now they call it

things like "breath control"



   

                   

and stuff like that.



   

                   

When we were doing it,

it was just good old strangulation.



   

                   

And the erection that would cause

was amazing,



   

                   

just unbelievable.



   

                   

And his orgasms--

even though he didn't come very much,



   

                   

which was fine with me--

he had incredible orgasms.



   

                   

To get the idea

of just how far you could go--



   

                   

not to kill them.



   

                   

I never wanted to kill him.

That was never my intention.



   

                   

Bob was always

a wonderful person to experiment with.



   

                   

He just likes

having all these things done to him.



   

                   

I learned that piercing is not something

that you just do randomly.



   

                   

You have to put some thought into it.



   

                   

You have

to have a little care about sterility.



   

                   

This is what we call "play piercing"



   

                   

which means

it's not gonna be a permanent piercing.



   

                   

I'm gonna pierce right through the skin

underneath the dick.



   

                   

If he's ready,

I'll see if he has a reaction



   

                   

when it goes through.



   

                   

One, two, three...



   

                   

Oh, yes.

He had a reaction to that.



   

                   

Yes.



   

                   

One of the presents

that Bob gave me was this knife.



   

                   

I really liked it.



   

                   

The idea of using a knife like this



   

                   

is not to kill a person

or maim a person.



   

                   

But the idea

is to scare them a little bit.



   

                   

Sort of give them a little scare,



   

                   

and also

to create certain body sensations.



   

                   

Take this off a little bit faster.



   

                   

Hurts a lot more if you do that.



   

                   

Bob is always accusing me

of being too too nice.



   

                   

I'm too nice to him, he says.

I should be meaner.



   

                   

I'm not a very mean person, actually.



   

                   

I just like to do this stuff

to people's bodies.



   

                   

If they like to have it done to them,

I love to do it to them.



   

                   

Actually, masochists

are really cool people. Definitely.



   

                   

My favorite people are masochists.



   

                   

One more.



   

                   

It's so beautiful.



   

                   

What's nice is these marks

will last maybe a day or so.



   

                   

They may even hurt a little bit.



   

                   

And every time he thinks about them



   

                   

he'll remember--

he'll look at bruises that I gave him.



   

                   

We'll talk about that

and get very hot and all excited.



   

                   

There's a lot of memory

involved with S & M.



   

                   

That's a good one.



   

                   

Not quite so good.



   

                   

This is a ball.



   

                   

Let's see if he can take it.

I don't know if he can or not.



   

                   

He has to help me a little bit.



   

                   

He has to loosen up

those sphincter muscles.



   

                   

Bob?

I don't know if he can or not.



   

                   

We'll see.



   

                   

Oh, I don't know.



   

                   

This may not go in.

May have to cut the tape right here.



   

                   

I'm moving the table.



   

                   

Success.



   

                   

Hopefully he'll remember some of this.

I know I certainly will.



   

                   

One thing about Bob,

you can't ever forget



   

                   

having someone like this in your life.

That's for sure.



   

                   

SAMs--

"Smart-Ass Masochists."



   

                   

Those are masochists

who can take anything--



   

                   

can take anything they tell you to do.



   

                   

Anything I tell you to do



   

                   

I'll do it just for you



   

                   

Tie my balls to ared-hotpoker



   

                   

I'll do it--



   

                   

Don't tie it too tight

because my balls are kind of funny--



   

                   

one ball sucks up that way,

and the other one--



   

                   

and I talk kind of funny, but...



   

                   

Anything you want me to do



   

                   

I'll do it just for you.



   

                   

Even with him too?



   

                   

Put heavy clamps on my nipples...



   

                   

But take them off,

because if you take them off real slow--



   

                   

Take them off, no, no, wait, wait.



   

                   

Oh, okay, anything, yeah--



   

                   

Anything you want me to do



   

                   

I'll do it just for you



   

                   

Oh please, punish me when I'm bad



   

                   

Hit me harder, hit me harder

because I was really bad...



   

                   

Oh, hit me real hard,

oh, not that hard!



   

                   

Anything, anything for you.



   

                   

very early on in our relationship

I would give him assignments



   

                   

and he would have to do

particular writing things for me,



   

                   

not for anybody else.



   

                   

I was ordered to write that script.

I didn't want to do it.



   

                   

I hated video.



   

                   

The most famous one

is every time that we had sex,



   

                   

not necessarily S & M,

but actual intercourse,



   

                   

I would tell him,

"You have to write about it."



   

                   

That was for a year.

That journal was kept.



   

                   

After three hours of writing

I asked for permission



   

                   

to come back to bed where we slapped

and licked each others' assholes.



   

                   

And I get spanked and bleed a little



   

                   

and we fucked, boy,

we did fuck.



   

                   

Every time Bob would get into

some kind of position--



   

                   

I would have him in the closet,

in the bed or wherever--



   

                   

I ran for my camera

and started photographing it.



   

                   

Again it was my urge

to document what was going on.



   

                   

He had told me a fantasy

he had of being hit



   

                   

with a lot of different implements

and photographing that.



   

                   

So we set up this whole elaborate set-up

with camera and bulb release.



   

                   

We had a backdrop

and I had him in bondage.



   

                   

Sometimes I had the bulb in one hand

and the whip in the other.



   

                   

Sometimes Bob had the bulb



   

                   

and each time he got hit

that's when we snapped it.



   

                   

Overall I think

we did    different implements--



   

                   

   shots each.



   

                   

I find that I don't have

that power over him anymore.



   

                   

He is now sort of coming to his own

as a visual artist.



   

                   

My influence over him in that way



   

                   

is not nearly as much as it was

in the early beginning stages of it.



   

                   

Don't you collaborate

in his performances?



   

                   

We totally collaborate.

It's a real interesting process.



   

                   

- All right Bob, enough?

- Keep going.



   

                   

Don't make it phony, just do it.



   

                   

Up higher. Tighter.



   

                   

Head up a little bit.



   

                   

Don't do it anymore.

Oh, stop.



   

                   

Okay, a smooth zoom out.



   

                   

- Not yet?

- Not yet.



   

                   

Sheree, I want a lot of time in here.



   

                   

- Not yet?

- Not yet.



   

                   

and a little up... and bind.



   

                   

- How's it look?

- Looks good.



   

                   

I'll punch you in the stomach now.



   

                   

Wait, stop, stop.

You can't just keep doing that.



   

                   

Who the hell do you think you are?



   

                   

- Amazing.

- Shut that off.



   

                   

- What off?

- You got plenty for your thing.



   

                   

That's it. I said stop, stop.

You just hit the nipple.



   

                   

You hit it four times in a row

when you say you're not gonna do it.



   

                   

Ready for a cupcake?



   

                   

In the video scaffold

we shot hours of footage



   

                   

of each part of Bob's body,

and assembled the footage



   

                   

into continuous loops that played over

the seven hanging monitors.



   

                   

Bob added various audio clips from film,



   

                   

television and commercial video

gathered over the years.



   

                   

"...this long disease, my life,



   

                   

well, it's coming to an end."



   

                   

"You make me puke."



   

                   

"I'm going to be sick."



   

                   

"That's true actually.

She does throw up a lot."



   

                   

"What's the matter with you?

Aren't you feeling well? "



   

                   

"No, I feel fine.

Well, I mean, for me I feel fine."



   

                   

"That's not what

you'd really call feeling fine."



   

                   

"There's not

a single thing wrong with me."



   

                   

"I'll tell you something.

I'm well. Absolutely well.



   

                   

I'm young and strong

and nothing can touch me."



   

                   

He always felt that if he had a choice



   

                   

between a mistress and an art career



   

                   

he would have given up the art career

for the mistress



   

                   

if she would've wanted that.

But he said he felt lucky



   

                   

that he found someone

who was interested in his art career.



   

                   

But he said if I wasn't,

if I didn't want him to,



   

                   

he would've been glad

to spend the whole life



   

                   

in my dungeon, underneath my house,



   

                   

in the basement with the dead cats.



   

                   

It would have been shaved head,

shaved body,



   

                   

living underneath the cellar,

coming out at night



   

                   

and cleaning everything.

He would've been thrilled.



   

                   

"It was her house

I fell in love with first,



   

                   

from the dungeon-like darkness

of its basement to the grungy bathroom,



   

                   

the kitchen,

with its mile-high dishes,



   

                   

and to top it off,

two spoiled brats for me to wait on,



   

                   

chauffeur and pick up after.



   

                   

The perfect wicked stepchildren

in my Cinderella fantasy come true.



   

                   

Poor Cinderella,

how I pitied and envied her



   

                   

and wished that I could be her.



   

                   

Before the ball,

and before the fairy godmother



   

                   

who ruined everything

with her hocus-pocus



   

                   

and 'happily ever after.'



   

                   

This is what makes me happy :



   

                   

Fantastik, Snuggle, Cheer, Joy, Pledge,



   

                   

and all the other

janitorial aphrodisiacs--



   

                   

keep up-- that not only clean and shine,



   

                   

but also declare my eternal servitude



   

                   

and dedication to the one I love.



   

                   

But as in all fairy tales,

midnight comes,



   

                   

hard-ons go flaccid

and everything gets dirty again.



   

                   

And this time she says,

'I think I'd rather have a maid.'"



   

                   

Hi, I'm Derivative.



   

                   

Come to see my work?



   

                   

I've got

this medical paraphernalia here,



   

                   

which I've made into little objects.



   

                   

Butt-plug stool--

some people say it's like Nayland Blake.



   

                   

No, it's mine, Mr. Derivative.

I made it.



   

                   

Here you have scaffolded video

representing my face



   

                   

in six monitors.

Some people say Nam June Paik



   

                   

some people say Bruce Nauman,

no, I made it-- Derivative.



   

                   

I like to lie in bed, as long as I can,



   

                   

let people in the gallery

come and see me.



   

                   

Nothing like the Chris Burden

on the shelf thing,



   

                   

it's a Derivative extravaganza.

I invented it. I made it.



   

                   

People come to the museum and say,

"Hey, there is a Derivative."



   

                   

And I want to begin by

asking Bob Flanagan, "How do you feel? "



   

                   

- A logical hospital question?

- A logical hospital question.



   

                   

As an art question, I'm exhausted,



   

                   

medically

I'm doing pretty well right now.



   

                   

- For how long--?

- Two months.



   

                   

- Two months? Oh, la.

- I go home at night.



   

                   

Your are here as an art object,

are you not?



   

                   

Right.

That's-- yeah.



   

                   

I'll tell you one thing.



   

                   

I don't like this.



   

                   

The impression he gets from your work



   

                   

is that you're trying to subvert--

to turn around--



   

                   

Exactly.

Because it does reverse that,



   

                   

especially with religions

like the Catholic religion say,



   

                   

"Don't touch your body,

don't think about your body,



   

                   

think of the body of Christ."



   

                   

Do you find, Bob Flanagan,

that your genitalia



   

                   

has acquired sort of a calloused feeling



   

                   

and your level of pain experience

has grown higher



   

                   

over the years with this kind of work?



   

                   

No, that's sort of a myth, I think.



   

                   

What happens

is it becomes more sensitized



   

                   

but it doesn't require

more and more intensity



   

                   

to keep it sensitized,

it becomes actually



   

                   

much more sensitive to its environment.



   

                   

Certainly, Christ is the very first

or the most famous masochist.



   

                   

Do you feel like you're a guinea pig?



   

                   

Oh, no,

because I'm in control of the situation.



   

                   

I invented this,

so I'm more the mad scientist



   

                   

than the guinea pig.



   

                   

With all my heart and soul,

all I ever wanted



   

                   

was to be strung up,

spanked, splayed, saddled,



   

                   

stuck, strangled,

split open, spreadeagled, shit on,



   

                   

spat at, sewn up, shoved, shackled,



   

                   

shaved, shocked, sucked,

sapped, soaked, screwed,



   

                   

stripped, scratched,

suffocated, sacrificed,



   

                   

strait-jacketed, squelched, stifled,



   

                   

scorched, straddled,

stoned, smothered, smashed,



   

                   

screamed at, shouted at,

snapped in two, sawed in half,



   

                   

stamped on, sat on,

sodomized, stuffed, starved,



   

                   

strapped, stretched,

submerged,surrounded, slugged,



   

                   

socked, scarred,

skewered, slaughtered, stung,



   

                   

struck, slapped,

slammed, sutured, swept up,



   

                   

saturated, savaged,

seduced, stroked and spent.



   

                   

People don't think of the masochist

as being a strong person.



   

                   

The stereotype

that the masochist is sniveling and weak



   

                   

is actually not true.



   

                   

The masochist has to know

his or her own body perfectly well



   

                   

and be in full control of their body,



   

                   

in order to give control

to somebody else



   

                   

or to give control to pain.



   

                   

So the masochist

is actually a very strong person.



   

                   

I think some of that strength is

what I use to combat the illness.



   

                   

Me too?



   

                   

Wait, stick your head out.



   

                   

Bob, stick your head out.



   

                   

Now's your chance, Bob.



   

                   

What? Oh, Bob.



   

                   

Kill me...



   

                   

kill me, kill me, please...



   

                   

kill... kill me.



   

                   

Kill me.



   

                   

I read this quote

about how biographers are vampires.



   

                   

In a sense,

I'm one of your biographers.



   

                   

- What is your--?

- I don't think of it that way.



   

                   

This is more of a collaboration.

I feel that way.



   

                   

But I don't get that sense at all.



   

                   

If for some reason, the film



   

                   

isn't finished until after you die,



   

                   

- Sheree's still involved.

- Right.



   

                   

- It's still a collaboration but--

- Sure.



   

                   

Maybe more of a vulture than a vampire.



   

                   

That's more like it.

Just waiting for me to kick off.



   

                   

Yeah, you're a vulture.

I see you circling around.



   

                   

What do you think about that?



   

                   

It's funny, it doesn't bother me.

We've talked about it beforehand.



   

                   

It's no different

from what I'm already doing myself.



   

                   

Would you look at me?



   

                   

You have a few things to say.



   

                   

- What are you talking about?

- It's your birthday.



   

                   

You have to have some comments,

or something you want to say



   

                   

on the occasion of your   nd birthday.



   

                   

It stinks, it's fucked.



   

                   

- You're not happy to be in NY?

- I'm not happy to be alive.



   

                   

- Why aren't you happy to be alive?

- Because that is what l feel.



   

                   

Why are you depressed?

We are here in New York. You're alive.



   

                   

One has nothing to do with the other.



   

                   

- You're the hit of New York.

- Momentary.



   

                   

So what?

Momentary is better than nothing.



   

                   

I like you to talk about yourself

for four minutes.



   

                   

I don't have anything to say.

I told you.



   

                   

How are you?

What do you feel for the future?



   

                   

- I don't have a future.

- What do you mean you don't have--



   

                   

- will you be alive tomorrow?

- I don't know



   

                   

I feel lousy.



   

                   

Do you feel like you're dying?

Is that the problem?



   

                   

What do you think?



   

                   

You think now is the time

you're gonna die?



   

                   

- I have no idea.

- The next week?



   

                   

- You know what would make me happy?

- What?



   

                   

If I can give you    spanks--



   

                   

I know, that's fine.

What I'm feeling like--



   

                   

It's your birthday,

that's why I wanna do it.



   

                   

- Hours of my birthday mean nothing.

- Just little hand spanks.



   

                   

It doesn't mean--

when I feel like it, yes--



   

                   

When I feel up to it, yeah.

I don't feel up to it this second.



   

                   

I'll be happy--

the offer stands.



   

                   

Any time you feel

you want to celebrate your birthday



   

                   

by me giving you    of anything,

I 'd be more than happy to do it.



   

                   

- All right?

- Fine.



   

                   

Boy.



   

                   

Thank you so much for everything.



   

                   

Yes, yes.

May God bless you and make you do well.



   

                   

I'm working on it.



   

                   

- I want to say a prayer right now.

- All right.



   

                   

- Thank you very much.

- Close your eyes and bow your head.



   

                   

In the name of Jesus I thank You

for this day that we have made.



   

                   

And Bob is not so well, Lord,

so I put him in Your hands.



   

                   

I'm asking You to touch him, Lord,

from the crown of his head



   

                   

to the sole of his feet.

And You do what pleases You, Lord,



   

                   

- in the name of Jesus. Amen.

-Thank you, it does help.



   

                   

Praise God.

I believe God is able. He is able.



   

                   

Ask Him to help you.

Cry out to Him.



   

                   

- He is able to help you.

- Okay.



   

                   

- People like you help too.

- Yes.



   

                   

Hopefully we'll see you again.

We'll come back to see you soon.



   

                   

- We'll talk to you, Dorothy.

- Okay, Bob, take care and get rest.



   

                   

I don't know many maids in hotel rooms



   

                   

who sort of take that kind of care.



   

                   

Unfortunately, I think she is praying



   

                   

to somebody who doesn't exist,

other than that...



   

                   

No, there's energy there.



   

                   

Enough already, enough.



   

                   

So, I'm in the hospital-- again.



   

                   

Called Sheree a couple of times.



   

                   

She's bored.



   

                   

She's depressed because I'm sick.



   

                   

Talking about all the losses

in her life...



   

                   

I guess,

'cause she thinks she's losing me.



   

                   

I don't know--

I keep coming in the hospital



   

                   

and everybody says I look okay,

everybody says I sound great,



   

                   

and I come into the hospital

and I feel like shit,



   

                   

and I think I'm dying.

Then I come into the hospital



   

                   

and I feel okay and I wonder

what I'm doing in the hospital.



   

                   

Then I go out of the hospital

and I feel like shit.



   

                   

On and on and on.



   

                   

"Dear, Mr. Flanagan,



   

                   

I'm a wish-granter

for the Make-A-Wish Foundation



   

                   

of Ontario, Canada.



   

                   

I am presently

in the process of granting awish



   

                   

for   -year-old Sara.



   

                   

Sara has CF with serious lung disease.



   

                   

Her prognosis is not very good.



   

                   

The hospital where she is being treated

has referred her



   

                   

to our foundation for a wish.



   

                   

When I contacted Sara about a wish,



   

                   

she knew immediately what she wanted--



   

                   

it is something she has always wanted--

it is to meet you."



   

                   

The book, "Supermasochist," kind of--



   

                   

that's the only thing I had of him--



   

                   

was almost like my Bible.



   

                   

I couldn't go through a page

without crying.



   

                   

And everybody thought

that was completely warped--



   

                   

looking at some guy with

all these pierces through his penis,



   

                   

and I start crying,



   

                   

- "Oh God, I can't believe it!"

- She did.



   

                   

Everyone was like, "What do you see

when you look at this man?



   

                   

What do you see?"

I carried it with me everywhere.



   

                   

Then I got really sick in--

what was it, July?



   

                   

- The end of April.

- The end of April.



   

                   

- Then I went in the hospital.

- She was on    % oxygen,



   

                   

and wasn't getting enough oxygen.



   

                   

Her lips were blue.

Her hands and feet were blue.



   

                   

She really was... very, very sick.



   

                   

And I thought I was gonna die,

and I kept telling everybody.



   

                   

And they were saying, "No, no, no,"



   

                   

'cause no one had told them

that I was dying.



   

                   

And I have a social worker

through the clinic,



   

                   

so I was talking to her a lot,

and told her all about Bob,



   

                   

and how I'd really like to meet him.



   

                   

Not thinking anything--

I just said it.



   

                   

And then when I was in the hospital,



   

                   

she approached me and she said,



   

                   

"If you still

really want to meet this guy,



   

                   

we can go through The Wish Foundation."



   

                   

I was dreading it.

I was telling everybody--



   

                   

"And we're going to LA.



   

                   

We're going to see this man who has CF.



   

                   

And I'm so worried about Sara,

because if she sees him, then--"



   

                   

And I guess I worried

that she might be disappointed.



   

                   

What is your involvement

with their kind of sexuality?



   

                   

That's a really tough question.



   

                   

I don't know,

because like I said before...



   

                   

bondage is, to me, that's--

I don't know what you'd call it,



   

                   

but I can relate to that.



   

                   

I guess-- it's the same thing,

I think, with Bob--



   

                   

being able

to control your body for a change,



   

                   

and being able to control something.



   

                   

But it wasn't the S & M that...



   

                   

- It certainly was part of it.

- ...attracted her.



   

                   

Because it does interest me.



   

                   

And I'll go out of the house



   

                   

with collars wrapped

around my neck and stuff,



   

                   

but not to the extreme.



   

                   

But it certainly attracted me,

because, you know,



   

                   

you don't hear about people

with diseases being like that.



   

                   

You always think of them

being sick and feeble



   

                   

and they don't really do anything.



   

                   

I keep telling everybody,

and everyone will say,



   

                   

"Oh, I can see--

you're going to outlive us all. "



   

                   

And I keep saying, "No, I'm not."



   

                   

I'm like, "Once I'm   

I'm not going to be around."



   

                   

And I believed that

and I almost wanted it,



   

                   

'cause what can you do after   ?



   

                   

I mean, that's a long time!



   

                   

To me, I couldn't think that far.



   

                   

But now, especially seeing



   

                   

everything

that Bob and Sheree have done,



   

                   

now I'm looking more towards--

I want to go into journalism.



   

                   

And I want to write--



   

                   

not just about CF,

but I want definitely to get more known.



   

                   

Death's never bothered me, really.



   

                   

There will be days

I'm always thinking about it.



   

                   

And then I can go on and on

and never think about it.



   

                   

But despite what everybody says,

I know it's gonna kill me.



   

                   

Everyone says,

"Well, you could die in a car accident."



   

                   

Yeah, but you don't think

about that every day.



   

                   

This is my life.

This will kill me eventually.



   

                   

And I know that.

A lot of people think it's morbid,



   

                   

but I deal with it.

It's no big deal to me.



   

                   

It doesn't depress me.

That's what I'm here for.



   

                   

I'm here,

I live to show people what's going on,



   

                   

and then showing them

that my life is about death.



   

                   

And, I guess, to reverse it,



   

                   

my death will be about life as well,



   

                   

because of how I'm dying.



   

                   

Pretty self-assured for   .



   

                   

Not awkward or self-conscious--

just a lovely child.



   

                   

Definitely.



   

                   

I'm a little disappointed

that she's so nice, you know?



   

                   

No, no. Just kidding!



   

                   

She dressed particularly for me--



   

                   

the collar and the boots.



   

                   

Cut that.



   

                   

She bought me a riding crop.



   

                   

That's what I'm saying.



   

                   

He's making it out

like I think this is something--



   

                   

I'm not saying you think anything.



   

                   

I'm saying don't think about it.



   

                   

I don't think

that she wants to do anything sexual



   

                   

behind the riding crop.

She knows I'm into that.



   

                   

I think if she has these fantasies,



   

                   

it might be fun

to fulfill her fantasies.



   

                   

You're saying--

when you say, Sheree--



   

                   

"If she has these fantasies--"

that's an assumption.



   

                   

- I started with "if."

- Yeah, that's an assum-



   

                   

I'm not saying

I know she has these fantasies.



   

                   

I'm saying if she does,

it would be nice to fulfill them.



   

                   

I don't know--



   

                   

I wasn't thinking about intercourse.



   

                   

I was thinking about a little bondage,

a little spanking.



   

                   

I'm projecting that if I was dying



   

                   

and there was somebody

that I wanted to meet,



   

                   

and there he was, or she was, whatever,



   

                   

I would want to explore

as much as I could.



   

                   

All she wanted to do really was meet me,



   

                   

and say to her friends,

"Look, I got to meet Bob Flanagan."



   

                   

Fuckin' "Make a Wish."



   

                   

Fuck.



   

                   

Sick fuckin' pussy over here,

God damn it!



   

                   

Stop coughin'. Fuckin'--

I'm sicker than you are.



   

                   

Get over here!



   

                   

You look real good, Sara.



   

                   

You'd make the little man really happy.



   

                   

May, shut up!



   

                   

Start tellin' your mother

to shut the fuck up



   

                   

or I'll ram this fuckin' bottle up her--



   

                   

Stop crying.

I told you to stop crying, damn it.



   

                   

You don't cough down there, do ya?



   

                   

I love you, Sara.



   

                   

I'm a supermasochist, Sara,



   

                   

and I want to see if we can

make you a supermasochist, too--



   

                   

make you Mrs. Supermasochist.

How about that?



   

                   

Sheree, God damn it,

put the nipple clips on her!



   

                   

That was me acting out Sheree's fantasy



   

                   

of our visit with her--

the sexy Toronto girl.



   

                   

- Oh, God, Bobby.

- Pat on my back.



   

                   

Oh, man.



   

                   

How are you doing?



   

                   

Did we only give him love

when he was in pain?



   

                   

- No.

- I don't know.



   

                   

But then, it was his life--



   

                   

maybe he saw it that way.



   

                   

But he was in pain so much at the time,

of course,



   

                   

maybe that is the way he would see it.



   

                   

I told him when I read the book, I said,



   

                   

"You could have killed yourself

with the things you did."



   

                   

And all these years

we've tried to keep you alive,



   

                   

and you could have killed yourself.



   

                   

That's the part that amazes me.



   

                   

But I see, underneath it all, I see...



   

                   

a young man, who's...



   

                   

who hates his body for what it did--



   

                   

I agree with you on one thing--

he's fighting back.



   

                   

But I see him

fighting back in a different way.



   

                   

A trapeze--

a man on the trapeze--



   

                   

he does this twisting and turning



   

                   

and he does a tumblesault on the trapeze



   

                   

and he lands just perfect on his feet.



   

                   

And when I see him turning,

I get excited.



   

                   

And I really can feel--

I get scared.



   

                   

I get that fear that he's gonna fall--



   

                   

Saying, with which,

when he sticks the needles in himself,



   

                   

I feel the pain.



   

                   

Then he lands on his feet and I'm proud



   

                   

because

all of a sudden everybody's applauding,



   

                   

and, I think, because of what he's done.



   

                   

And I think he's doing this



   

                   

to say to God,

or whoever there is out there,



   

                   

"You son of a bitch,

what you've done to me--



   

                   

Iet me show you. I'll do my tumblesault



   

                   

and I'm coming back at you.



   

                   

This is my way of telling you

to go fuck yourself."



   

                   

I have to apologize--

my body is kind of thin



   

                   

and there isn't much to work with.



   

                   

That's one of Rose's biggest complaints.



   

                   

I should work out more,

lift weights or something.



   

                   

I'm certainly no Arnold Schwarzenegger.



   

                   

But can Arnold do this?



   

                   

C'mon, Mr. Terminator Man, I doubt...



   

                   

This is my body.



   

                   

And I learned to say,

"Well, I'm not gonna get another one.



   

                   

So I'm gonna use this one

until it's all used up."



   

                   

One of the things I'm gonna try and do

is a posthumous piece



   

                   

where I want to be buried

with a videocamera just like this,



   

                   

encased in a tomb or something.



   

                   

And someplace in the museum,



   

                   

or one of my crazy collectors

that I'm gathering--



   

                   

this is a good way

to make money beforehand, you say,



   

                   

"lf you'll pay me

a certain amount of money now, you can



   

                   

have the pleasure

of having a monitor in your house..."



   

                   

"...and the piece is called 'The Viewing.'"



   

                   

I'll have to spend money

to have a satellite, I guess--



   

                   

connection to the video monitor.



   

                   

And every now and then,

whoever wants to walk in this room-



   

                   

turn on a switch--

they can see how I'm progressing...



   

                   

...or decomposing.



   

                   

Will you say on video that when you die,



   

                   

what happens to all your stuff?



   

                   

It all goes to Sheree.



   

                   

All my stuff goes to Sheree

when I'm dead.



   

                   

- Everything?

- Everything.



   

                   

- All your writing?

- All my writing, everything.



   

                   

- All the art?

- All my art.



   

                   

- Your clothes?

- All my t-shirts.



   

                   

How about for your mother?



   

                   

You want to be able

to give her something.



   

                   

- I 'll give her my stuff.

- Like what?



   

                   

Like what, for example?



   

                   

No! No, no, no.

She doesn't get the whips.



   

                   

- Sex books.

- No-- I get all the books, too?



   

                   

- Sheree gets...

- Just say it.



   

                   

-Yes.

- Say "Sheree..."



   

                   

Sheree gets the books.



   

                   

I wonder

if this would hold up in a court of law.



   

                   

It doesn't have to.



   

                   

Am I coercing you in any way?



   

                   

I don't know-- I'm tied up.

You got me by the balls.



   

                   

No, over. This way.



    

                   

This whole row--

this is the   -inch row.



    

                   

I can just pull this down to here,

can't I?



    

                   

No, just make yourself comfortable.



    

                   

You don't have to take it off.



    

                   

 Do, do, do, do, do... 



    

                   

I'm shier than you are.



    

                   

Bare-chested and tassled.



    

                   

I made a wish and look what happened.



    

                   

That would be very funny.



    

                   

How I spent my wish--



    

                   

This is my Make-A-Wish documentation.



    

                   

You're    aren't you? #NAME?



    

                   

Count of three-- one, two, three.



    

                   

Look at that.



    

                   

Oh, that's nice.



    

                   

The right one's gonna hurt more though,

for some reason.



    

                   

Really?



    

                   

I've always noticed

some people have different--



    

                   

Really?



    

                   

Oh, I didn't--

if this comes out it'll be great.



    

                   

Happiness in slavery



    

                   

Happiness in slavery



    

                   

Happiness in slavery



    

                   

Happiness...



    

                   

When it first started to come out,

I was appalled.



    

                   

Because, even though I was gay,

and I had my own secret life,



    

                   

S & M, to me, was always

something I just did not comprehend...



    

                   

...at all-like most people.



    

                   

I just didn't get it.



    

                   

And again, it was sort of--

I had this secret sexual life



    

                   

that was all my own--

it was sort of what set me apart



    

                   

from the Orange County family.



    

                   

And you usurped it.



    

                   

You had a much more interesting



    

                   

and decadent secret life

that I could ever hope to have.



    

                   

I was very normal in my--

I didn't even buttfuck.



    

                   

I wasn't even a good homosexual.



    

                   

So I just felt always

a little inadequate.



    

                   

I called her Ivy.



    

                   

Not 'cause her name was Ivy--



    

                   

'cause she was on Iv.



    

                   

She was my medicine.



    

                   

She was a farmer--



    

                   

well, pharmaceutical.



    

                   

How are you doing?

Exhausted?



    

                   

May your postural drainage be productive



    

                   

And may your cough always be clear



    

                   

And may yours

not always come out your nose



    

                   

And not come out your ear...



    

                   

And may your mucus always be thin



    

                   

And may you always cough it up



    

                   

And if you don't have a paper towel



    

                   

Get yourself a paper cup



    

                   

May you take your Pulmo Aide



    

                   

And put it in your cabin



    

                   

And put your medicines in there

every night



    

                   

So you won' tbe slackin'

on your coughin'



    

                   

And may you stay



    

                   

Forever lung



    

                   

Forever lung



    

                   

Forever lung



    

                   

And may you stay forever lung.



    

                   

"And just now I had an accident.



    

                   

I nailed the head of my cock to a board



    

                   

the way I saw in a magazine

the other day.



    

                   

I got so excited by it

that I had to try it.



    

                   

While trying to drive the nail in..."



    

                   

I'm gonna stand up for this.



    

                   

"While trying to drive the nail

in a little further,



    

                   

I missed...



    

                   

and just, I thought,

tapped the tip of my poor cock.



    

                   

It didn't hurt.



    

                   

The nail was handling it--



    

                   

it didn't hurt--

the nail was handling that job.



    

                   

But, shit,

it started swelling up immediately.



    

                   

I thought it would never stop

and imagined it bursting.



    

                   

And seeing that being the end of me

and sex the way I know it.



    

                   

I pulled the nail out

as quick as I could,



    

                   

using alcohol swabs

to stop the bleeding.



    

                   

The penis bleeds an enormous amount.



    

                   

Just one little pinprick



    

                   

and it looks like

a murder had taken place.



    

                   

Imagine what a nail hole was like.



    

                   

So now there's a big,

black knot on the end of my dick.



    

                   

All I can do is hope it goes away.



    

                   

I'm amazingly calm.



    

                   

I've had accidents before.



    

                   

And they always

seem to turn out all right.



    

                   

After extracting the nail,

and stopping the blood,



    

                   

and putting ice on the throbbing knot,



    

                   

I tied myself up on my stomach,



    

                   

wrists attached to my ankles--



    

                   

don't ask how, it's too complicated--



    

                   

I got excited and jacked off.



    

                   

When I looked down, shit,

the whole towel and mattress



    

                   

were soaked with blood.



    

                   

I stayed calm, though,



    

                   

and methodically cleaned everything up



    

                   

just like Tony Perkins."



    

                   

Well, we built this house

with a hammer of love



    

                   

And the doors are mighty wide



    

                   

We hammered and we hammered

and we built it up



    

                   

And my brothers came inside



    

                   

I built this life with a hammer of love



    

                   

And it's here for all to see



    

                   

I hammered and I hammered

and I built it up



    

                   

And the Lord watches over me



    

                   

We built this land

with a hammer of love



    

                   

But there's still so much to do



    

                   

We hammered and we hammered

and we built it up



    

                   

Why don't you hammer, too?



    

                   

I hammered and I hammered

and I built it up



    

                   

And now it's up to you.



    

                   

- This is quicksand I'm on.

- Why?



    

                   

Because there is no reason



    

                   

for a conversation like this to happen.



    

                   

To talk about a person's ideas



    

                   

and end up

with the same ending every time--



    

                   

maybe we should split up.



    

                   

I've heard you enough.



    

                   

Now, listen, I'm hurt by that.



    

                   

And I'm constantly hurt

by that when you're stoned.



    

                   

I'm hurt that you won't submit to me.



    

                   

- I'm very hurt that you won't--

- That wasn't the issue.



    

                   

I can barely breathe half the time--



    

                   

That's all I wanted and you won't do it.



    

                   

Look at how you've changed.

This is not about submission.



    

                   

I've been thinking

about that for a long time.



    

                   

When you're not stoned,

let's talk about it.



    

                   

But that's another issue.



    

                   

I told you

it's been in my mind for a while now.



    

                   

- About the fact that we don't--

- It's been on both our minds.



    

                   

So it wasn't just this evening--



    

                   

- No, but you brought it up now.

- It just reminded me of it.



    

                   

We've discussed it before.

It's been on both our minds.



    

                   

How do we get this back

in a relationship



    

                   

where one of the parties

can barely breathe?



    

                   

And I have lots to think about.

I'm dying.



    

                   

Where is that coming from?



    

                   

If you still love me,

you'd submit to me.



    

                   

- What is the matter with you?

- Well...



    

                   

But I'm saying

I'd like to have that prerogative.



    

                   

You gave it to me    years ago.



    

                   

So what's the problem now?



    

                   

'Cause you're not submissive to me now.



    

                   

I'm not submissive to anybody.

I love you.



    

                   

But I think I need you

to be submissive to me.



    

                   

Why?



    

                   

Psychologically,

I really, really need it.



    

                   

So, why did you decide

to go into a hospital today?



    

                   

He was really scared today.



    

                   

It's really hard to imagine him

actually being dead.



    

                   

Because his dying is so excruciating.



    

                   

I almost want to say-



    

                   

I don't even think

he's a masochist anymore.



    

                   

I think

life has beaten him down too much.



    

                   

The pain he lives with every day

is so intense that there isn't



    

                   

any other kind of pain

that he can even think about right now.



    

                   

So--



    

                   

Bob, can you hear me?



    

                   

Bob? Bob?



    

                   

Can you hear me?



    

                   

Do you hear me, baby?

Can you hear me?



    

                   

Can you wake up a little bit?



    

                   

Bob, can you wake up, honey?



    

                   

Bob, can you wake up?



    

                   

Can you wake up, honey?



    

                   

Can you see me?

Can you see me, honey?



    

                   

Bob, can you hear me?



    

                   

If you're waiting

for someone to tell you, it's okay.



    

                   

I think it's okay.



    

                   

Okay?



    

                   

If it's time for you, it's okay.



    

                   

Sleep, my dear baby.



    

                   

Hi, baby. Hi, baby.



    

                   

You're looking at me.



    

                   

You're not dead.



    

                   

- I love you--

- I will always have.



    

                   

You're dying,

but I don't want you to die.



    

                   

- This is not--

- You don'twanna die.



    

                   

I don't know

what we can do about it.



    

                   

Nobody here--



    

                   

the nurses don't want you to die,

but you're dying.



    

                   

I'm looking into your eyes right now.



    

                   

I know you can see me.



    

                   

I'm only telling you this--

a fraction of how it makes me feel,



    

                   

and a lot more

that I won't be able to tell you.



    

                   

A lot more you can't hear.



    

                   

You'll know, you'll know--



    

                   

Baby, I love you.



    

                   

Don't go away.

Don't go anywhere, 'cause I'll be back.



    

                   

In just a few minutes, okay?

I'll stop crying.



    

                   

I'm gonna stop crying,

I'm gonna stop crying.



    

                   

I will be okay, okay?

I will be okay.



    

                   

Hold on, hold on.

Just a couple of more minutes.



    

                   

Hold on, just a few more minutes

and I'll be right back.



    

                   

Okay? Okay.



    

                   

... God shall make peace,



    

                   

in the high heavens,



    

                   

for all people everywhere.



    

                   

I don't know,

this stuff might be all icky,



    

                   

I'm scared to look at it.

I have no idea what it looks like.



    

                   

It may be

all full of weird bacteria and stuff.



    

                   

I don't how long it's been here.



    

                   

It's been a month since Bob's death.

Just about a month.



    

                   

I haven't touched it

or looked at it since.



    

                   

Do it carefully.



    

                   

I should probably have gloves on.



    

                   

This was in his lungs.



    

                   

What is that?



    

                   

I don't know.



    

                   

Mucus, phlegm, what you wanna call it.



    

                   

All that liquid came out of his lungs?

All that?



    

                   

He was literally drowning.



    

                   

"Why? Because it feels good,



    

                   

because it gives me an erection,



    

                   

because it makes me come,



    

                   

because I'm sick,

because there is so much sickness,



    

                   

because I say "Fuck the sickness."



    

                   

Because I had the attention,



    

                   

because I was a loner a lot,

because I was different.



    

                   

Because kids beat me up

on the way to school,



    

                   

because I was humiliated by nuns,



    

                   

because of Christ and the crucifixion,



    

                   

because of Porky Pig in bondage,



    

                   

force-fed by some sinister creep

in a black cape.



    

                   

Because of stories

about children hanged by their wrists,



    

                   

burned on the stoves, scalded in tubs,



    

                   

because of "Mutiny in the Bounty,"



    

                   

because of cowboys and lndians,



    

                   

because of Houdini,



    

                   

because of my cousin Cliff,



    

                   

because of the forts we built

and the things we did inside them.



    

                   

Because of what's inside me,

because of my genes,



    

                   

because of my parents,



    

                   

because of doctors and nurses,



    

                   

because they tied me to the crib,

so I wouldn't hurt myself,



    

                   

because I had time to think,

because I had time to hold my penis,



    

                   

because I had awful stomachaches



    

                   

and holding my penis

made it feel better.



    

                   

Because I thought

like I was going to die,



    

                   

because it makes me feel invincible,



    

                   

because it makes me feel triumphant,



    

                   

because I'm a Catholic,



    

                   

because I still love Lent

and still love my penis



    

                   

and in spite of it all, I have no guilt.



    

                   

Because my parents said

"Be what you wanna be",



    

                   

and this is what I wanna be.



    

                   

Because I ' m nothing but a big baby,

and I wanna stay that way



    

                   

and I want a mommy forever,

even a mean one,



    

                   

'specially a mean one.



    

                   

Because of all the fairy tale witches,



    

                   

and the wicked stepmother

and the stepsisters,



    

                   

and how sexy Cinderella was,



    

                   

smudged with soot,

doomed to a life of servitude.



    

                   

Because of Hansel,

locked in the witch's cage



    

                   

until he was fat enough to eat.



    

                   

Because of "O",

and how desperately I wanted to be her.



    

                   

Because of my dreams,

because of the games we played,



    

                   

because I've got an active imagination,



    

                   

because my mother bought me Tinker Toys,



    

                   

because hardware stores

give me hard-ons,



    

                   

because of hammers,

nails, clothespins, wood,



    

                   

padlocks, pullies, eyeballs,

thumbtacks, staple guns,



    

                   

sewing needles,

wooden spoons, fishing tackle,



    

                   

chains, metal rulers, rubber tubings,



    

                   

spatulas, rope, twine,

"C" clamps, "S" hooks,



    

                   

razor blades,

scissors, tweezers, knives,



    

                   

push pins,   x  s,

ping-pong paddles,



    

                   

alligator clips,

duct tape, broomsticks,



    

                   

barbecue skewers, bungee cords,

sawhorses, soldering irons.



    

                   

Because of tool sheds,

because of garages,



    

                   

because of basements,

because of dungeons,



    

                   

because of "The Pit and the Pendulum,"



    

                   

because of the Tower of London,



    

                   

because of the lnquisition,



    

                   

because of the rap,

because of the cross,



    

                   

because of Adam's Family playroom,



    

                   

because of Morticia Adams

and her black dress



    

                   

with its octopus legs.



    

                   

Because of motherhood,

because of Amazon,



    

                   

because of the goddess,

because of the moon,



    

                   

because it's in my nature,

because it's against nature.



    

                   

Because it's nasty,

because it's fun,



    

                   

because it flies in the face

of all that's normal--



    

                   

whatever that is--

because I'm not normal.



    

                   

Because I used to think

I was part of this vast experiment



    

                   

and there was this implant in my penis

that made me do these things



    

                   

and allowed them, wherever they were,

to monitor my activities.



    

                   

Because I had to take my clothes off

and lie inside



    

                   

this giant plastic bag

so the doctors could collect my sweat.



    

                   

Because once upon a time

I had such a high fever,



    

                   

my parents had to strip me naked

and wrap me in wet sheets



    

                   

to stop the convulsions.



    

                   

Because my parents loved me

even more when I was suffering,



    

                   

because I was born

into a world of suffering,



    

                   

because surrender is sweet,

because I'm attracted to it,



    

                   

because I'm addicted to it,

because endorphins in the brain



    

                   

are like a natural kind of heroin.



    

                   

Because I learned to take my medicine,



    

                   

because I was a big boy for taking it,



    

                   

because I can take it like a man,



    

                   

because as somebody once said,

"He's got more balls than I do."



    

                   

Because it is an act of courage,

because it does take guts,



    

                   

because I'm proud of it,

because I can't climb mountains,



    

                   

because I'm terrible at sports,

because no pain, no gain,



    

                   

because spare the rod, spoil the child,



    

                   

because you always hurt

the one you love.



    

                   

It's fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Problems, problems



    

                   

Everybody's got them



    

                   

Not me, not me



    

                   

I look around

from a hole in the ground and...



    

                   

I see, I see



    

                   

I see the sun coming up

and the moon going down



    

                   

Everybody worried

about the world spinning around



    

                   

But I'm dead, I'm dead



    

                   

And it's fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead



    

                   

When I wake up in the morning

I'm still asleep



    

                   

Dreaming that

the birds in the trees go cheap



    

                   

Waiting for somebody to knock at my door



    

                   

But no one is gonna knock at my door



    

                   

Anymore, more, more, more



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead, fun to be dead



    

                   

Fun to be dead











  

 
Special help by SergeiK