Self-Titled Redux

“thom dunn: rock star. super hero. poet.”-Inscription on a stack of 500 business cards purchased for $5 online after consuming entirely too much whiskey.

I am a Sagittarius that interrupted dinner on Thanksgiving, like my cousin a year earlier.
I am the product of both Irish and English blood that hasn’t waged war upon itself.
I am a child whose heart was born incomplete. And while the metaphor seems striking, I was, in fact, incubated for two days to fill the hole before the doctors let me go.

I am the son of the firsts in their families to attend a college and get a degree.
I am the son of a registered Republican, whose vote in ’04 went to Nader instead.
I am the son of an overly sensitive inner-city schoolteacher whose extreme emotional reactions often cloud her logic, practicality, and grace. She means too well.

I am the brother of a teacher.tennis-player.princess.period. Just kidding. No, I’m serious.
I am the brother of an overachiever whose resume reads like dense instruction manuals.
I am the brother of the roommate of a New York City cop. In their borough, children don’t believe her when she tells them that she’s White, not Puerto Rican.
White people aren’t nice, they say.

I grew up looking over the head of a Sleeping Giant, in the shadow of the Civil War.
I grew up in a microcosm of American diversity, where borders still exist.
I am a resident of Boston, a refuge of the black hole of apathy and complacency that fills the void between the New and old Metropolis of the North. Also known as the Nutmeg State.

I am a survivor of Irish Catholic guilt; reluctantly, my parents both allowed me to escape.
I am the survivor of three broken limbs all collected in the year when I was two.
I am the survivor of more than one car accident by the fault of Asian female drivers; the irony is not lost on me. Neither is the back pain from which I still suffer.

I am likely the most Irish student to have ever been accepted to NYU’s Gallatin School because

I’m Black.

I am going to let that vague anecdote sit for a moment. Good? Okay.
I am immortalized on page 3 of the January 14, 2008 edition of the Boston Metro and I am very clearly not wearing pants. None of my friends were surprised at all.

I am the ex-boyfriend to a fascinating, captivating girl of questionable sanity.
I am the ex-boyfriend of a fascinating, captivating girl of questionable sanity. Again.
I am the ex-boyfriend of a beautiful, ambitious woman that I dismissed arbitrarily as boring, lacking in passion, simply because her stability was confounding to me.

(I am a hypocrite)

I am the proud owner of every issue of “X-Men” since July 2001; I store them in plastic.
I am paid quite handsomely to don a spandex suit and play Spider-Man for promotions.
I am a rabid believer that, while Peter Parker may be a modern-day tragic hero with an emotional complexity akin to Hamlet, Superman is a dreadfully uninteresting archetype lacking in all dramatic value as a character, unless deconstructed.

I’m little more than a little boy in a grown-up body with a Super Hero complex

I am an advocate for a more of a postmodern approach to the establishment of identity; a constant commentary and progressive re-evaluation of the concept, structure, and function of identity in a post-urban setting.
(I am completely kidding about the aforementioned statement; it reared its delightfully pretentious head in conservation fairly recently, and I simply could not resist the urge to include here, for your entertainment as well as my own. Enjoy!)

I am the Sergeant-at-Arms of a National, Professional Fraternity whose membership boasts more women than men; half of those men are bi- or homosexual.
I am the Assistant House Manager and Office Assistant at a multifunctional theater complex run by a reputable regional theatre company; it could pay better, though.
I am a First-Class Boy Scout; it’s really nothing to brag about it, it took me about a year to get there and then I got bored with the militant nature of my Troop but still remained a member with the sole purpose of attending summer camp. I collected all the Waterfront and Arts and Crafts Merit Badges. And Plumbing. Plumbing.

I am the boy with calloused leather fingertips and ringing in my ear. (“It goes to eleven!”)
I am a musician, learned from the Ramones and now playing Gershwin and Lennon.
I am a sell out, tearing punk rock stickers from the body of my beat-up black Stratocaster and rebuilding it from scratch as airbrushed rock art. I am the world’s forgotten boy

The one that searches and destroys.

I am a snob, asserting the authority of superior taste over arbitrary, unimportant forms.
I am typical a fan of malt-heavy beers, slightly caramel, with just a dash of aromatic hops
I am infatuated with New Haven style pizza and I will remind you frequently and with pride that the city is the birthplace of American pizza; I prefer bacon and onion as a topping, but I also recommend the white clam pie. You will then assert that New York City (as a whole) has the best pizza, or you will recall that I previously expressed a distinct distaste for my home state; this is an exception to the rule.

“I am still the optimist, though it is hard when all you want to be is in a dream.”

I am a real boy, struggling with ADHD that evaded diagnosis for twenty years.
I am asthmatic and flatfooted, with allergies to all forms of tree pollens and dust.
I am a fool that ignores the signs his body sends and tends to disregard his symptoms in hope that they will get bored and go away. This approach to self-medication has proven itself to be consistently ineffective, but I’m not giving up just yet.

rock star. super hero. poet.

I think that about covers it.

ABsolution

INT. CHURCH CONFESSIONAL - DAY
DONNELLY, a Catholic priest in his 50s, makes the sign of a cross as he blesses a WOMAN who can only be seen through the screen on the priest’s side.

The Woman stands up and leaves as Donnelly sits back in his seat.

EXT. SHOPPING PLAZA - DAY
SIMON, a lanky male in his early 20s, exits from a store wearing an employee polo shirt with a name tag. The store is a video or electronics store, possibly a Best Buy. Simon wears glasses and his hair is unkempt; his fashion sense is ambiguous as to whether it is hipster or simply out-of-touch.

Simon walks over to a bicycle locked to a pole or a fence. It is a vintage road bike, with a milk crate affixed to the back.

INT. CHURCH - DAY
Woman kneels at the altar in prayer, and begins reciting the “Hail Mary.”

EXT. SHOPPING PLAZA PARKING LOT - DAY
Simon mounts his bicycle and tightens his helmet. He prepares himself to ride, but pauses to remove his name tag. He turns around and puts it in his back pack, which rests amongst a pile of other miscellaneous articles in the milk crate. Simon begins to pedal away.

The “Hail Mary” can still be heard quietly in voice over.

INT. CHURCH CONFESSIONAL - DAY
Father Donnelly sits back in the booth, somber, resting his eyes, as he listens to the woman recite her prayer.

EXT. STREET - DAY
Simon rides his bicycle through traffic.

INT. CHURCH - DAY
Having completed her prayers of penance, the Woman stands up at the altar, crosses herself, and leaves.

EXT. CHURCH - DAY
Simon dismounts from his bicycle and leans it against the church; he does not lock it up. He begins to remove his helmet as he walks into the church.

INT. CHURCH CONFESSIONAL - DAY
Donnelly waits patiently in the Confessional booth, head bowed and eyes closed, deep in thought.

Simon darts into the Confessional Booth, first opening the door on Donnelly’s side.

SIMON
Oh! Sorry! Wrong door! So much for anonymity, huh? Let’s see what’s behind door number two, yeah? One minute.

Simon slams the door and runs around to enter through the other door, into the confessor’s half of the confessional booth.
Simon takes a seat in the chair and leans back, legs outstretched. Beat. He adjusts his position, and attempts to sit upright, but he is still not comfortable. After a few more adjustments, Simon chooses to sit with one leg crossed. When that proves to be uncomfortable as well, he tries the other leg, and finally leans back in his seat. Beat. Simon sits up again.

SIMON (CONT’D)
No, this won’t do. Hold on.

Simon picks up the seat without ever fully getting out of it, and
repositions it, facing directly into the screen that divides the two halves of the booth and obscures his face from the priest, rather than sitting profile.

SIMON (CONT’D)
I mean, not like this screen’s gonna do much help in keeping my identity secret, huh? I’d be a pretty shitty super hero, huh, Doc?

Donnelly clears his throat.

SIMON (CONT’D)
Bless you! Notice how I didn’t say ‘God bless you.’ I figured it was, ya know, kinda redundant, ya know, ‘cause you’re-

DONNELLY
How long has it been since your last Confession?

SIMON
Oh. Right. Hold on one more second.

Simon moves the kneeling pad into position as a foot rest.

SIMON (CONT’D)
Okay, that’s good. I’m good now. What’s up?

DONNELLY
How long has it been since your last Confession?

SIMON
Oh, shit. I don’t know. When’s-was it third grade when I had the whole ‘First Communion-First Confession’ thing, or was that something else? I mean, you’d know better than I would.

DONNELLY
So you would say it’s been ten, twelve years? That’s a long time to go without repentance.

SIMON
What are you, my landlord? She’s on my ass about that, too, and I told her I-

DONNELLY
Simon, could you-please-refrain from cursing in the Lord’s House?

SIMON
Shit, sorry-fuck, I didn’t-sorry, sorry. I mean, well there’s-there’s confessing some sins right there, see? So far, off to a good start.

DONNELLY
Just tell me what brings you here today.

SIMON
Well, not really a confession so much as-hey, wait. You called me Simon. This whole thing is supposed to be anonymous, isn’t it? You can’t just going around saying my name like that. What if God hears, or someone else hears it? This is supposed to be between you and me, man. You and me.

DONNELLY
My apologies. Please-tell me you’ve come seeking forgiveness.

SIMON
Would you say that you’re confessing to me? ‘Cause really, that just changes everything. Sorry, bad joke. How to start, how to start. Let’s see...okay, I know. Can I ask you a question first?

Simon sits on the edge of his seat and crosses his legs. He takes a pen and a small notebook out of his pocket, mimicking a shrink, and begins to doodle in the notebook during the conversation.

DONNELLY
Certainly.

SIMON
How long you been a priest?

DONNELLY
Well, I’ve been a member of the Clergy for fifteen years now.

SIMON
Fifteen years? That’s it? What were you doing the rest of the time?

DONNELLY
I worked as a book publisher. I chose to pursue the priesthood after-after my wife passed.

SIMON
Oh. I’m sorry.

DONNELLY
Please, don’t be. I was very happy with the time we had, and afterwards, it led me here, which is exactly where I want to be. Need to be, really.

SIMON
I see. You ever wonder why tragedy always begets philosophical re-analysis?

Simon uncrosses his legs and leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees.

DONNELLY
I beg your pardon?

SIMON
People only all deep thinking about bad things happen to them. How come no one ever wakes up on any beautiful morning in May and cracks open the blinds and says, “What is the meaning of life? What am I doing with myself?” I mean, besides poets. But I hear they’re all gay anyway.

DONNELLY
Human beings need faith. Something to believe in. Something to help us get by. Unfortunately, sometimes we don’t realize that we’re missing that something, and it often takes a tragedy to make us open our eyes and make us realize what’s missing. There’s no grounding for the big questions, though. No hard scientific fact. No way to wrap our heads around the even bigger answers that we want. So we place our hope in the abstract, or seemingly abstract, and have faith that it’s a worthy investment. It gives us something to look forward to. Like an eternal weekend.
(beat)

SIMON
Do you ever just get wasted off Communion wine? Like, on the weekends, you and the nuns just crack open a jug and go nuts?

DONNELLY
What?

Simon leans back in his chair.

SIMON
That’s right, you guys always have to wake up early. I mean, listening to sermons with a hangover is painful enough. I couldn’t imagine giving them three times with cotton mouth and a headache kickin’ at me. Have you ever tried Communion bread with cheese? Maybe hummus? Or toasted, even? Mm, toasted Communion bread. I bet that’d be awesome. I love toast. I’ll tell ya, if Christ’s body was toasted, and maybe-just maybe-buttered with a little bit of cinnamon, I would totally come to church more often. Ooh! Or what if-

DONNELLY
Please. Stop. Just-

(Donnelly takes a breath to calm himself. Beat)

How long has it been since your last Confession?

SIMON
Didn’t we already do this?

DONNELLY
I’m just trying to bring it all in. Focus the conversation, get to the heart of it. I would like to know why you come here today, and what it is that you seek forgiveness for.

SIMON
That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I bet Jesus had hummus during the Last Supper when he transmogrified the bread-

DONNELLY
Transubstantiated.

SIMON
Whatever. Point is, the guy was Middle Eastern. They love hummus over there.

DONNELLY
Simon...

SIMON
Look, just bear with me, okay? This whole thing goes back to the Last Supper so just-just go with me, cool? Cool?

DONNELLY
Alright.

SIMON
Say ‘cool.’

DONNELLY
‘Cool.’

SIMON
Alright.

DONNELLY
As you were saying?

SIMON
Right. So the Last Supper. Jesus and bro’s go out, have a big dinner. JC’s Last Night In Town, that kind of thing. All the boys together. Jesus gets wasted, maybe his blood alcohol level reaches 13%, but because he’s Jesus, it doesn’t kill him. But he accidentally cuts his finger when he’s slicing bread, and he’s like ‘Oh, whoa, this bread’s my body,’ ya know, ‘cause his finger’s on it now. So then they use a wine glass to catch the blood that’s pouring out, and he’s like wasted, right, and he goes ‘And this wine’s like my blood,’ and then-

DONNELLY
That’s not quite how the story goes. Believe it or not, I’m actually rather familiar with the details.

SIMON
Chill out, man. Haven’t you ever heard of ‘poetic license?’ ‘Creative liberties?’

DONNELLY
Yes, my apologies. I didn’t mean to insult you, Simon.

SIMON
Don’t worry about. It’s no big thing. Just one more to confess, eh? And aren’t we encouraged to collect things to confess after all?

DONNELLY
In a perfect world, none of us would be tempted by sin, and therefore we’d have nothing to confess.

SIMON
I see.

Simon leans back, legs outstretched, lying as prostrate as possible in the booth, like a patient in a therapy session.

SIMON (CONT’D)
Doc, I’m a vegetarian.

DONNELLY
(beat)
Pardon?

SIMON
I’m a vegetarian. That’s my confession.

DONNELLY
That’s good for you. It’s a noble thing to do. You’re a good man for it.

SIMON
Thanks. I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. Bacon was tough, but that’s not the point.

DONNELLY
What is your point, then, Simon? I don’t quite follow how all of this connects-

Simon gets out and his chair and stands up, furious.

SIMON
You don’t get it, doc? You don’t see how it connects? I’m a vegetarian. I can’t take Communion! ‘This bread is my body, this wine is my blood.’ I won’t eat steak, and I’m moving more towards soy milk, and, in the mean time, you expect me to eat my savior? That’s cannibalism. It’s a cult, Father Donnelly, not a religion.

DONNELLY
Monsignor.

SIMON
What does that mean?

DONNELLY
I’m not a Father, I-

SIMON
What, you mean to tell me that while you were married before you became a priest, you and the Misses never once knocked boots?

DONNELLY
Actually, I have two children. One was married last month, the other is finishing his Masters.

SIMON
But you just said-

DONNELLY
What I meant was that Father’s not my title. I’m a Monsignor. Monsignor Donnelly.

SIMON
I don’t get it.

DONNELLY
It’s a rank. Like the President and the Vice-President. They’re different ranks of authority within the clergy.

SIMON
So you’re like, the President of Priests?

DONNELLY
No, that would be the Pope.

SIMON
Which would make you, what, the equivalent of the Secretary of Agriculture?

DONNELLY
Forget it, Simon. I’m sorry I brought it up. Let’s get back to the issue at hand. You-

SIMON
Don’t understand how my moral and religious beliefs can somehow conflict, if my religious beliefs are supposed to be the foundation of my concept of my morality? Yeah, that about covers it.

DONNELLY
I think you’re taking a much too simplistic approach to the situation. It’s more...complex than you realize, it’s...
(Donnelly searches for the right words to say, to no avail)

SIMON
I don’t think it’s that complicated at all. It’s a paradox, Doc. Kind of like ‘Back to the Future,’ but less incestuous. You’ve seen it, right?

DONNELLY
No, I-

SIMON
Oh, too bad. Great movie. Have you ever thought about trying tofu wafers, or maybe rice wine? What do you think?

DONNELLY
I think you’re missing the point.

SIMON
You would think that.

Simon sits again, grumpily.

DONNELLY
Simon, do you know about substance?

SIMON
What the hell kind of question is that? That’s like asking me if I know what “things” are.

DONNELLY
It’s actually a bit more complicated than that. You’re being too simplistic-too black and white.

SIMON
So enlighten me.

DONNELLY
Consider the Communion wafers, Simon. What do they taste like to you?

SIMON
Kind of like really flour-y Wheat Thins.

DONNELLY
And is that how you imagine God to taste?

SIMON
Not really. I kind of always thought he’d be a little sweeter, like bacon, actually, but-

DONNELLY
So it doesn’t taste like human flesh to you.

SIMON
No.

DONNELLY
But it is.

SIMON
Right. And that’s the problem, Doc. That’s-

DONNELLY
That’s because, for all intents and purposes, you’re still eating bread. It has all the same physical properties of bread. But it’s essence is that of Christ.

SIMON
I don’t get it.

DONNELLY
There are some people, Simon, who believe that there is only one substance, and that is God, but God has many different modes. If you can separate that idea from the bread’s physical qualities, you can believe that Christ is truly and substantially present within it.

SIMON
So you’re saying that it’s symbolic, or representational of Christ? Okay, Martin Luther.

DONNELLY
I’m saying that it takes a little faith, Simon. If you believe that a man can walk on water, that he can be born of a virgin and raised from the dead, it’s not so hard to believe in the substance of a thing.

SIMON
But I don’t have any trouble believing. You just said, its substance is Christ. Therefore, the bread is Jesus Christ, yes? As a vegetarian, I don’t believe in eating meat, so suddenly, my moral and religious beliefs conflict, meaning that my religion is immoral. Which makes me a sinner for being a Catholic.

DONNELLY
Then I might suggest a re-evaluation.

SIMON
Look, I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not giving up my vegetarianism. It was a conscious, moral decision that I made, one that I care a lot about, and it’s a double standard to eat some meat and not others, whether it’s fish or chicken or Jesus Christ. Fuck Pescetarians.

DONNELLY
I meant a re-evaluation of your religion. I’m sure you’re aware that there are countless subdivisions of Christianity, and I’m sure that at least one of them shares and supports your beliefs. Perhaps you would be better served in a congregation like that, than in the Roman Catholic church.

SIMON
Whoa. Whoa. Hold the phone, there, Doc. You want me to become a Protestant? You’re actually suggesting that I turn my back on the Catholic church? I hate to break it to you, but you guys really can’t afford to be turning people away these days. Besides, Father Donnelly-

DONNELLY
Monsignor.

SIMON
Whatever. You know the Irish. What do you think my Mom would do if I came home one day and said, ‘Hi Mom! I’m a Protestant!’ She’d say get the hell out of my country, that’s what she’d say!

DONNELLY
Well, Simon, you’re an adult now, it might be time for you to-

SIMON
I’m not turning Protestant.

DONNELLY
I’m sorry, Simon, but if you don’t agree with the Catholic church, that means you’re not a Catholic. It’s as simple as that.

SIMON
I thought you said that things weren’t that simplistic.

DONNELLY
And they’re not, which is why I-

SIMON
I don’t disagree with the church, Father Donnelly. But the church is hypocritical. It goes against my morals. How does that make sense?

DONNELLY
I don’t know what to tell you, Simon. Do you enjoy the irony of playing Devil’s Advocate with a member of the Clergy? I’m sorry, I don’t have time for this today.

SIMON
What was her name?

DONNELLY
Mary?

SIMON
Your wife. What was your wife’s name?

DONNELLY
Really, Simon, you need to learn to stay on topic-

SIMON
Just tell me what her name is. Was. I swear it’s all connected.

DONNELLY
Judith.

SIMON
Judith like Judith Iscariot Judith?

DONNELLY
It’s Judas Iscariot, though I truly hope that’s not the name you were thinking of.

SIMON
Exactly.

DONNELLY
Again, Simon. You’re not making sense. Have you been off your medication, or-

SIMON
Judith is your Judas, man. Okay, maybe I have. But think about it!

DONNELLY
I’m not sure I can think about this in any way that won’t insult her memory. I will pray that this in not your intention?

SIMON
It’s not, it’s-

DONNELLY
Do you have any idea the kind of symbolic weight that’s carried by his name? Next to Cain, Judas Iscariot is the progenitor of betrayal.

SIMON
See, I don’t buy that. That’s just what they’ve taught you, what they want you to think. But think about what really happened to poor Judas. The way it’s been told, they make him out to look like this super evil bad guy. He’s like, the Darth Vader to Jesus’s Obi-Wan.

DONNELLY
Really, Simon, we haven’t gotten past the Star Wars references yet?

SIMON
You’ve seen ‘Star Wars,’ and not ‘Back to the Future?’ Christ, what do they teach you in seminary?

DONNELLY
Not to use the Lord’s name in vain, for one. I’ve asked you several times to-

SIMON
It’s the same way Vader helped Obi-Wan become one with the Force. Heh. Obi-wan. One. With the Force. Never mind. Without Judas, Jesus never would have been caught. If he wasn’t caught, he wouldn’t have been crucified, and if he wasn’t crucified, he couldn’t be resurrected, and if he wasn’t resurrected, well, we’d be sitting in a Synagogue or a whatever the hell Buddhists call their churches.

DONNELLY
I believe they’re just called temples.

SIMON
That’s disappointing. I was hoping it’d be something cool like “Mahayana” or “Bangkok.”

DONNELLY
Continue, please, so we can be done with this.

SIMON
Right, so my point is, we should be a lot more thankful towards the guy. Towards Judas, because he knew-he knew, getting into this whole mess, that he would go down in history as the traitor. As the bad guy. And he was willing to let that happen, because he believed in Christ. He loved him enough to martyr himself as a catalyst for Jesus’s martyrdom, and everything else. That’s postmodern love, man.

DONNELLY
Well, Simon, that’s certainly an interesting way to look at it. Surprisingly insightful. What does this have to do with what we were talking about?

SIMON
Probably nothing. I just think Judas gets a bad rep.
(beat)
Oh, your wife! Right. Judith is like your Judas, ya know? It’s like Judith loved you so much, she let herself die to drive you into the priesthood. Just so we could be having this conversation now. Even when you first met, maybe she knew she was going to die, but she was willing to sacrifice herself, like Judas did, for the greater good. It’s kind of like Utilitarian Romanticism.

DONNELLY
It’s nothing like that at all, Simon.

SIMON
I thought I’d try.
(beat)
Before you went all Senior-Mon, how long had it been since your last Confession?

Simon sits up again on the edge of the sit, legs crossed, listening intently.

DONNELLY
Oh, probably six, seven years, to be honest. Why do you ask?

SIMON
I want to know if you were a good Catholic before you joined the priesthood, and if you were, I want to know why God took your wife from you and punished you for your good faith.
(silence)
Oh, God. I’m sorry-sorry-I’m so sorry, Doc, I-

DONNELLY
You need to leave.

SIMON
Doc, I’m sorry, I just-you know, I was trying to have a conversation, trying to level the playing field. I was trying to understand, I was-

DONNELLY
You need to leave now.

SIMON
What’s my penance? Give me-give me some kind of penance. I can do ‘Hail Mary’s’, yeah? How many do you want? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty...thousand? Just tell me what to do, I’ll start right now. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...
(Simon continues to recite the ‘Hail Mary,’ repeating as necessary, under Donnelly’s lines)

DONNELLY
You haven’t even confessed anything. You’ve given me nothing to absolve.

SIMON
I told you, I’m a vegetarian! Jesus Christ, have you listened to anything I’ve told you?

DONNELLY
Do not use the Lord’s name in vain!

SIMON
Maybe I was just asking him a question!
(Simon continues the prayer from wherever he may have left off. After a few more lines-)
Father, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I said, I just wanted to know. I just had some questions and I-

DONNELLY
Everyone has questions, Simon. Everyone wants answers. That’s why we need faith, why we need something to believe in. All of these-these paradoxes inherent in our lives, they just prove to us that God has a plan, and that we need to have faith. That’s the only answer that we need.

Simon finishes reciting his current ‘Hail Mary’ and looks up at Donnelly.

SIMON
Doc, I’m sorry, I-

DONNELLY
(more calm now)
You need to leave.

Simon stands up and walks to the door. He opens up, but turns back to Donnelly before he leaves.

SIMON
I’ll...I’ll see you Sunday, Doc?

Donnelly does not respond. Simon exits the confessional booth, leaving Donnelly alone. After a moment of somber reflection, he looks at the Rosary beads in his hand and smiles a sad, reluctant, but still hopeful smile as he leans back in his chair and exhales.