Work Text:
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
This is seven syllables
Here is my haiku
Therapy is crap
My name is Mark Zuckerberg
I don’t write poems
I need five haiku
Haiku are fucking stupid
Fuck, I don’t need this
So roses are red
I have nothing to report
Can I go home now?
Talk about feelings
How do you feel about that?
Stop asking me shit
*
“Funny, Mark. You have a great sense of humor,” says Dr Goldstein. “Thanks for reading them out. I want you to try these again, this time – focus more on your feelings. Poetry is a great way to express one’s inner self.”
“What right here? Now?” Mark says with a scowl.
“Why not?” he says smiling with the smile of a crazy doctor who prescribes haiku as therapy.
Mark rolls his eyes but he doesn’t bother arguing with Dr Goldstein because this therapist has an annoying habit of agreeing with him which defeats the purpose of arguing. Nothing ruffles this guy. He’s like Chris after he’s smoked a lot of weed except this guy has the power to prescribe antipsychotics.
In Mark’s first session, he said nothing and Dr Goldstein watched him and took notes and it was really irritating and Mark eventually had to say something even though he just broke the silence. Which was what he had been trying to avoid doing. Dr Goldstein just smiled and encouraged him like he hadn’t been waiting for him to talk to him. Mark told himself that he was probably projecting smugness on his own shrink. He also felt that Chris should have let him use Web MD.
So Mark picks up his pen and chews on the end. Yeah why not, there isn’t anything he wants to say anyway.
“Why don’t you try writing about why you’re here. Write about how you feel about why you’re here,” Dr Goldstein interjects like he’s worried Mark doesn’t have ideas that can fit into seventeen syllables.
Mark blocks him out.
*
Chris made me come here
He thinks I have depression
Really, I am fine
Feelings are bullshit
It is not that I don’t feel
It’s a waste of time
People always judge
Act like I don’t feel at all
I don’t give a shit
I am not hiding
What happened is in the past
He left anyway
No one believes me
When I say that I’m okay
I am fine, just fine
Fine means I’m alive
Alive means I am breathing
I am filthy rich
*
“Mark…there’s a haiku that’s been crossed out, do you want to tell me more about it?” Dr Goldstein asks.
“No,” Mark says stubbornly.
“This is the first time you’ve mentioned someone else. I think you’re making great progress.”
“No, it isn’t,” Mark argues. “I mentioned Chris. Are you saying Chris isn’t a person? That’s pretty insensitive of you.”
“My apologies,” Dr Goldstein says placating. “What I meant is, this is the first time you’ve alluded to your former best friend. Can you tell me more about him?”
“I’d rather write five haiku,” Mark says, pronouncing ‘haiku’ like ‘fuck you’.
*
His name? Eduardo
He was a sophomore but
It never mattered
I called him Wardo
He took care of me sometimes
He was my best friend
We made thefacebook
But he didn’t understand
I did not want ads
I asked him to stay
He didn’t listen to me
So I let him go
He froze the account
He wasn’t right for Facebook
I did the right thing
*
By the time he’s done, it’s actually been over an hour. An hour of him sifting through his memories, trying to remember what happened, objectively, and knowing that his words can never be objective. An hour of him thinking, thinking too much about whether the words were accurate, too personal or could be improved. The latter gets him a lot. It’s like coding. He always feels like it could be perfected – a change here, a change there.
He shoves the paper at Dr Goldstein, on top of whatever he’s doing, and leaves.
On the way home, Mark pulls over into a side lane. He can’t stop thinking about what happened and the memories he’s brought to the forefront of his mind again. These are the things he doesn’t like to dwell on.
*
Writing honestly
If I had another chance
I would do the same
I don’t regret it
Choices are of the moment
Hindsight is perfect
These two verses are scribbled down on the back of a receipt so hard that he rips through the flimsy thermal paper with his pen.
I would forgive him
Without an apology
Because I miss him
Wardo – he haunts me
He wasn’t my only friend
But he was the best
*
He scrunches the receipt into a little ball and shoves it in his pocket. It’s just a stupid therapy exercise.
Thing is, he can’t stop thinking in the format of 5-7-5. He takes to writing haiku for everything, everywhere. It doesn’t matter if people will see them, or they won’t. The words just flow out of him.
*
I’m CEO, bitch
This means I go to meetings
All fucking day long
To my assistant:
I’m busy right now, okay?
Don’t pick up the phone
To Dustin and Chris:
I’m fine. Please bring beer and games.
Let’s get really drunk.
This is the News Feed
You will like this new feature
Because I said so
Meatlovers’ pizza
Barbeque sauce, extra cheese
Delivery please
Intern with red hair -
I know when you’re not working
Sincerely, your boss
Mu shu pork, chow mein,
Fried rice with sea food pancake
For takeaway thanks
*
And if he has drafts in his inbox like these, no one has to know.
Fuck you, I was right
You didn’t listen to me
Your hair looks stupid
Remember Kirkland?
You were always there for me
I always miss you
You missed the meeting
Don’t be a fucking coward
I miss you so much
It rained hard today
I shouldn’t have left you there
For that, I’m sorry
I gave you money
I don’t owe you anything
I just want you back
I think I love you
I think you used to love me
Wardo, I know now
I’m so drunked now
Wnat to call youuu up nd sy
Hi Wardo, wassupppppppppppppppp
Singapore sucks balls
I want you to come out here
You’re too far away
“Mark, are you writing haikus?” Dustin says suspiciously.
“No,” Mark says, alarmed. “Why would you think that? Besides it’s haiku. Haikus as plural is wrong wrong wrong.”
Dustin just shoves a piece of paper at him. It has in size 48 font,
Dustin Moskovitz,
Stop hacking my computer
I am watching you
“What?”
“That’s probably a joke.”
“You’re writing poems to Wardo! I looked into your comp. I think it’s sweet,” Dustin says, dragging out the last syllables.
“You did what?” Mark splutters. “That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“Pfft. You really should send them. Stop pining. Send them.”
“No.”
*
At lunch, “I think you should send them.”
“No, Dustin.”
*
Text message from Dustin:
haikus are so cute
like poems only shorter
stop pining and send
*
Mark sends one back:
Private means private
Haiku is plural, dickface
Now leave me alone
*
To: Mark
From: Dustin
you make me sadface
please? just send him one haiku
one tiny haiku
To: Dustin
From: Mark
I don’t care. Still no.
My final answer is No.
Stop bothering me.
To: Mark
From: Chris
Is there something wrong?
Will I need to call legal?
I’m worrying Mark.
To: Chris
From: Mark
Dustin is nosy
Everything is just peachy
Just ignore Dustin.
*
Mark codes and codes and tries to stop thinking about everything.
*
But instead of coding.
He finds himself writing.
I wish you would call
I just want to hear your voice
Why don’t you call me?
*
It is then he decides to send a haiku. Just one.
To: Wardo
From: Mark
This is a haiku
Just seventeen syllables
It’s never enough
*
He doesn’t think Eduardo will respond.
There’s no response for days.
*
Mark tells Dr Goldstein, handing him all his haiku with this on top.
I know I messed up
I was young, drunk and stupid
I think he hates me
*
To: Mark
From: Wardo
Subject: Five Haiku
I have had some time
To think about what happened
It has been three years
I miss my best friend
My shrink makes me write haiku
I write about you
I have a whole book
Mark, you wouldn’t believe it
Stupid therapy
But I am here now
I’m sorry, I forgive you
Mark, I still love you
You know my email
I’m giving you my number
Keep in touch, call me?