I am late as usual

I exit the green room as the music fades

I walk on stage to pin drop silence

Tough crowd

I take a sip of wine and raise my arms

‘So you came to see a show?’

Silence

‘Well, here is your show’

I cross the stage to the turntable I had set up earlier

I lift the arm and drop the stylus onto the record

The static hisses and cracks and then Big O picks up

Ma la petit ca de bonee 
Life could be sweet, sweet beaujolais 

I take out a Swiss army knife and slowly cut away my little finger

 The blade struggles with the bone but glides through the rest fairly easily

Beautiful dream on a beautiful day 
Are you what you seem, sweet beaujolais 

The finger falls on the floor with a wet thud and an arc of blood

The parquet stage floor stains slightly crimson

 I scan the crowd

 Nothing so far

They seem nonplussed

 Clearly I must try harder

Oh girl, my heart is slipping away 
Oh girl, I love beaujolais 

I throw the Swiss army knife aside

I walk off stage and return with a cook’s knife

I hear murmurs of approval

 I place a ruler between my teeth and bite down

Tres bon chamlee, ca sont verne 
Ma fleur de lis, je t'aime beaujolais 

 I begin to remove my arm just below the elbow

Tears flow from my eyes and gather in my moustache

Hot salty droplets

 The crowd pick up slightly

 A few appreciative claps and whistles

I smile and the ruler drops from my mouth

My scream is drowned out

By further applause

Oh girl, my heart is slipping away 
Oh girl, I love beaujolais 

 My nose begins to spout geysers of crimson

My visions floats and flutters

Butterflies kiss my eyes

Moths draw closer

Sensing the light is dying

No matter

 I am getting somewhere now

I love beaujolais 

 I use my free hand to stab at my legs and chest, puncturing my gross, flabby body

 From the perforations spill butter and blood

Words and wishes

I love beaujolais 

The crowd roars with approval

I sense my moment is nearing

 The lights dim

I love beaujolais 

A spotlight angles down from above

There are people now on the stage with me, on all fours

 They lick and suck at my wounds

They taste and tease

Some roll on the floor, my fluids staining their bright T-shirts

This is my time

I love beaujolais 

 I take the knife and draw it across my throat

 Scarlet explodes from my vein

The crowd goes wild

 They tear at my remaining flesh and begin to eat me alive

Vultures and rapists

God and Satan and everything in between

I slip on my blood and fall to the floor

The last thing I hear before I black out

Is Roy Orbison

And the patter of my blood

Hitting the grateful tongues of a thousand dreamers

I hope I taste good

I hope they like me now

 

I love Beaujolais.