Black Pond Page #6

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You know, I'm just thinking you

are a connected guy, after all.

You are a sort of connected

kind of guy.

And--

Sorry, what do you mean ?

I was just thinking you could

show these to someone

and perhaps

get them published.

Because some of them are

really, really good.

Where's a short one ?

Okay.

"You had my love

and that's enough.

When we are dead,

it will be said

you were in love

and I was too,

and that, my dear,

will have to do."

You see, I'd not

read that before,

but it is lovely,

isn't it ?

And there's literally

hundreds of them.

Maybe it's just that

I know what it means.

What I was thinking was that

when we go through again,

you can tell her

how much you like them.

I think that would really

cheer her up.

Okay, yes.

Shall I--

Shall I start reading them

then or... ?

Perhaps you could read a couple

and then if she asks you,

you know, you could say--

The ones that I like.

That you've read.

What's this ?

It's a knife.

Just checking

I wasn't going mad.

Why would you be going mad ?

Well, just because this knife

was with the forks again.

She wanted to

throw them all away.

Don't you think

that's sad ?

Knives are the total opposite

of forks.

What is less like

a knife than a fork ?

A bowl ?

That's not a poem,

that's just a bill.

At least I think--

I think it was.

What does it mean though ?

What does it represent ?

A knife.

No, that's what it is.

Why are they all

on the floor ?

Um, I dropped them.

All that exists is distraction

from the fact

that you want to die.

Let's go in and make her

feel really good.

When you don't want to f***

anymore because you don't have

a f*** to give, well then,

clearly, by extension,

it is impossible to

give a f*** about anything.

Mum !

You don't give a f***

about the house.

You don't give

a f*** about the garden.

You don't give a f***

about the--

Do you give a f*** about us ?

I asked you

to throw those away.

You wanted to recycle them,

so here they are, recycled.

Throw them away.

Why ?

Because that's a box

of misery, Tom.

To you.

It's about you.

It's not a nice thing.

It's not a good thing to have

in the house, all right ?

That's not how it reads.

Tim really likes them.

I really like your poems.

He's going to help

get them published.

No one wants a compendium of

suicide notes, do they ?

They are not--

They're not suicide notes,

they're poems.

They're love poems.

( Katie )

Dad, just go.

No, I will not just go.

Why does your mother

have to be

such a bloody

attention seeker again ?

Don't argue, please.

Attention seeker ?

Yes.

How dare you ?

The children are home.

We've got a house guest.

We could be having a nice day,

but you insist on ruining

everything with your bloody

depressive morbid nonsense !

Don't argue, please.

Oh, just leave me alone !

Leave you alone ?

Don't argue !

What is the point

of you ?

What purpose

do you serve ?

I keep you alive,

excuse me.

What does that mean ?

I pay...

Oh, I pay for this,

I pay for--

The gas, I pay for

the food in your stomach,

the clothes on your back.

You inherited half of it,

you pathetic man.

If it weren't for

the children--

If it weren't for

the children, what, Sophie ?

If it wasn't for the children,

what would you do exactly ?

Shut up !

And what does this

have to do with what I said

in the first place ?

Because it certainly has

nothing to do with what today

should be all about.

Which is Boy's death !

I'm not listening to you.

I pay for all that gunk

you put on your legs

to get the hair off.

Is this the way you want him

to remember us ?

Vicious-minded...

God's sake.

Oh, yes, very good,

dramatic exit.

No sense of priorities at all,

you stupid man.

Why is everything

still such a mess here ?

If you imagine that all of the

colors in the world represent

each of the infinite

emotions, right ?

So, think of the primary

colors of-- What are they ?

Red and yellow and blue as

representing, I don't know,

happy and sad and scared

or something.

You can mix those colors

together and you can get an

infinite number of

combinations,

but if you mix them all together

at once then you get pure white,

and that is what people think

of as God or love.

It doesn't matter,

it depends who you are.

That's what I don't

get anymore.

That's why I'm here.

You've squandered your

canister of dreams !

Can I explain to you what

happens when you mix

all the colors

in the world ?

You get a sort of grey-y

browny mush.

Also, and this is

very important.

All feelings, true, false,

positive, negative,

they can all be subsumed

into one category: passion.

And most people think that's

a wonderful thing.

"Oh, passion,

I like passion."

Passion comes from the Greek

word "paskho,"

which means "I suffer."

All feelings are suffering.

Life is suffering.

You are suffering because

you are alive.

I think what happened

sort of helped the breakup,

because it sort of had been

coming for quite a long time

and I think it sort of

helped make it happen.

It was rather like dealing

with a kind of--

with an aggrieved child,

I suppose really.

We actually dealt with the

divorce in a very adult way.

It was very awkward.

She was fantastically

reasonable and...

It was a nightmare.

We just worked through it

like a project and...

I actually wanted to

go to mediation about it

and get some-- Because it was

just hopeless.

Trying to speak to him

is like...

Well, funnily enough,

I say child,

but it's actually like trying

to communicate with a dog.

Shall we just wait

for this plane ?

( plane engine roaring )

You can only get across very

basic needs and commands.

You can't make him understand

any kind of emotional subtlety

or complexity.

( plane engine roaring )

So it ended up being very

difficult and acrimonious and--

And actually in the end, it

worked out in his favor.

I know that Mum feels

like Dad ended up

with more than

his fair share.

I mean, Dad ended up with more

than his fair share.

Yeah, he did,

yeah, he did.

End up with way more than

his fair share.

Yes ?

Tom bloody Thompson ?

Look at this !

Last time I saw you, you were

very tiny on my chair.

I'm a friend of Graham's.

Oh, Graham.

Yeah.

How is Graham ?

I should--

It was nice to see you.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

Could you put some

sad music on ?

Yes.

Oh, that's very good.

That's perfect.

... But Jess...

Complicated.

Creative.

When you've got

a lot of problems,

everyone thinks you're

just flaky...

but it also gives

you a lot of courage.

I love that you see that.

( Tom )

There was a time Sophie

used to ask me,

do poets write love,

or do lovers live poetry ?

And I--

Well, I don't know what

the right answer is.

But the fact is,

the reality is

that when love actually

happens to you,

nothing as glorious as that

has ever been written about.

So the question is

ridiculous.

Lovers live love.

And it's so real and visceral

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