The Uninvited

The Uninvited was originally written and developed in the late 90s as an interactive hybrid narrative formatted for presentation on CD-ROM. It was never publicly shown. In 2003, it was reformatted as a stand alone video. The Uninvited was included in the traveling exhibition, Art AIDS America, curated by Jonathan Katz and Rock Hushca.

The Uninvited
by Rudy Lemcke

I dream of going home
and remember a place
yes, it could have been
something I saw on TV
I guess I don’t remember clearly
my america

my home
under those bushes
the ocean isn’t far
there is constant noise
and movement
a perpetual drowning
no real sleep

there is very little difference anymore

I am alive
maybe not
phantom pain: the doctor calls it
after a limb has been severed from
the body
I am dead

and this is all just some fucking phantom pain

(the sky is raining napalm today)

I am loosing my sense of touch
I am able to inflict great injury
to what is left of me
with little or no discomfort

this is not pain

a voice in the radio sings to me
all the children (of Saigon) are insane

memory passes like disease
from adult to child

the numbness starts at the extremities
working its way
they deserved it
I tell myself
you don’t notice it at first

consumed by it
the smell of burning flesh lingers in the air

he shot himself in the head one night
I didn’t try to stop it
I understood
envied him actually

now I just can’t seem to keep
things straight
the blood drained
from my body

it happened over there
just there

the shadow of his body in the moonlight
joins the other shadows
“…I in the midst.”

and the sound of gamelan music in the wind
this paradise


what foreign place is this?
smell of urine and shit

I am traveling up the Mekong
this is the way
along crowded city streets
and alleys filled with the refuse of the day

keep my possessions close at hand
not at the stench
but at the recognition
the retching

we are close
where it all collapses
from the weight of meaninglessness
they are loading the boxes
of dead boys

this nausea
a choking sensation
increased heart beat
forehead and palms sweating
shaking begins
eyes roll back into the head
I become
amid the violence of convulsion

oh what do we do with the drunken sailor
what do we do with the drunken sailor
what do we do with the drunken sailor
early in the morning

florescent white
this pornography
stripped of any trace
this diseased corpse

there is nothing

blood, pus, bodily fluids
uncontrollable oozing
this is the end


strange theater
of shadows
a moment between
chaos and absolute silence
voices of the submerged
its sweet poisonous music
this haunting
and I
shadow master
its memory

these uninvited