Jack Conte performs a spoken-word piece about hospice care, medication dependence, and isolation. The fragmented monologue cycles through images of pills to "offset the shakes" and the feeling that speaking brings him closer to hell, interrupted only by a confused "What?" from someone else in the room.
Chapters
Watch your mouth, uh-uh. Oh, because your speech is slurred enough that you just might swallow your tongue. I'm sure you wouldn't wanna give up the ghost with just a little more poison. Oh, or was it God who choked in these situations? Running late? No, no, we called an ambulance. No, was it God who choked in these situations? Running late? Oh, no, we called an ambulance. Hospices. A relaxing weekend getaway where you're a cut above all the rest. Sick and sad patients on first name basis with all the top physicians. Prescribed pills to offset the shakes, to offset the pills. You know you should take it a day at a time. That's when you stutter something profound to the support on the line, and with the way you've been talking, every word takes you a step closer to hell. That's when you stutter something profound to the support on the line, and with the way you've been talking, every word takes you A step closer to hell. Prescribed pills to offset the shakes, to offset the pills. You know you should take it a day at a time. Prescribed pills to offset the shakes, to offset the pills. You know you should take it a day at a time. Ah. I am alone in this bed, house in head. She never fixes this, at least she— I am alone in this bedroom. She never fixes this, at least she— prescribed pills to offset the shakes, offset the pills You know you shouldn't take it a day at a time. Prescribed pills to offset the shakes, to offset the pills you know you shouldn't take it a day at a time. The hospices are relaxing, we can get away where you're a cut above all the rest. Sick and sad patients on First name basis with all the top physicians.
