- M -

This Ocean Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us

         inside my soul there is a cage
                   a cage where inside I try to sit and devour all my
         rage
                             I sit inside this cage in this blackness in this darkness
                   (I cry I cry)
         I watch the people pass by my window and they laugh and they laugh and throw
                             PEANUTS
                   and          POPCORN
                   and          CHIPS
                   and          and          and
         I perform because I have no choice and in my car I drive around foiling the roads trying to be free trying to be myself because I really don't have any other choice you see but to be myself
                   but who is me?
                   ?me is who
This morning I saw someone hit a squirrel with a tire in a car
         it rolled like a deflated beach ball and its stomach burst like an overripe melon and it made a sound not unlike a child sobbing and I went over to it and there was
         nothing
                             in its eyes
                             just black beads
                             and emptiness
                             which brings me back to the cage
         I cut my teeth on the bars trying to break out
         that's all I need to do is just to break out just for one second this world just can't understand what it's like
                   too little room
                   too little time
                   is this all we get?
         why? who decided? I didn't decide that
so this morning I woke up with a bad taste in my mouth like used ash and I looked out the window and the sky was grey and for some reason it made me think of how things used to be before there were words like sky and taste and it doesn't matter anymore and
         and it was
                   snow
                   ing
                   gent
                   ly
         across the street from my window a child was building a snowman on his lawn and I thought about all the children
                   building
         snow                              men
                                       all                                        around
                                                 the                                                  world
         and to them how all the snow was pure and clear and whether          it was in their eyes or not the children looked at the world          with vision that was pure and clear and I realized I'd never          look at anything that way again
         (those years are gone)(no they aren't)(why don't you admit it)
                                                                               because the world was
         nothing but brutal and cynical and lifeless and God help me
         I was a part of it and there was nothing I could do about it
                             and I just wanted to crawl back under my covers
                             and hide from the world
                             but it was breathing down my sweating neck
         (who is bending the bars? who can do it?)
         and there are years from my life already tossed in the dustbin, already gone you don't understand that the years are lost and wasted
we won't even get them back
                                                           I will die in this cage and never
                                                           get out
         and I knew I would not live to see another child build a
         tiny snowman again
         stamp this winter finished, close the books I must be done
                                                 I must be off
                   I fear I must soon quit the scene
                   (who said that?)(I'll never know)
I've done all I can for you people but my eyes are poor and tired, my life is paved flat to the marrow and strewn
                             with the discarded fragments
                                                  of my own bony failures
                   outside the snow is turning to rain
                   I hear it pitterpattering on the roof
                                                                      on my window
                                                                      on my soul
and the rust of my wet cage stinks like nails driven into my hands and its oppressive and confined and there's no escape and
         I just don't want to be here anymore
                   follow the sun down I'll take it where I can
                   and if I don't rise up with it again
                   you'll know I've found my way out
everything is going to be okay                                        no it's not
                                                            why don't you smile?
                                                                     it can't hurt
                                                                     not me not you
                                                 not anymore

         Interesting use of meter and rhythm
         cannot disguise a lack of coherent
          ideas or a reliance on cliches that
         are older than I am. See me after
         class!

One Day You'll Concede That Hercules Versus the Naked Cat-People Is a Classic In Its Own Right

         Oh my God I met the most awesome guy today!
         Now I know I know I know I say that all the time but really I think I really mean it this time. Geez, I just left him and my hand is still shaking, can you believe that? I can't. How do you write breathlessly? I don't know but I am. It feels like a dream and I don't think I want to wake up. You know, if I'm in a coma or something, even if all my relatives are hovering around me, waiting for me to wake up and come back to life, if all of tonight was just some weird coma induced fantasy, then you know what, leave me in the damn coma because I'd hate for it not to be real. I'm serious.
         Don't believe me? Well okay then let me enlighten you about my night and maybe then you'll start to see things my way. Where do I start? I can't even think. Well you remember how I've been feeling down these last few days? Of course you do. Not really myself, right? You remember. I can look back a couple pages and it looks like another person was writing it, all jagged slashes, like the paper was covered in slit throats and open wounds. Bleeding all over the pages. Just terrible. And I mean, the stuff I was writing. This darkness shall threaten to overwhelm my naked soul. What the hell was I thinking? I want to reveal stuff here, not, you know, hide behind some kind of wall and just dispense the same old stuff I hear regurgitated on the radio or on the television or wherever. I try to be personal for a reason. Otherwise it might as well just be me acting, right? Just playing another role. And I do want to do that because I want to be an actress, I want to become other people, just temporary, to take myself inside someone else's head and try to be them, try to feel emotions that I don't normally feel. I want to be a victim, a rapist, a frightened mother, a dying old man, kids sleeping away from home for the first time, firefighters running into buildings, soldiers trying not to get used to killing, addicts and pushers and the people who try to love them. All of that. Because life's about experience, right? And if you be yourself you don't get to experience enough. That's why I love reincarnation, I just love that idea. It's even better than living forever because if you're immortal, I mean, you get stuck in this rut. My grandparents carried out into infinity, talking about the Depression and the War like they were yesterday, and it defined them I know but eventually you have to let something else define you and if you don't open yourself up then you just stay the same person and you might as well be dead then. Life's about change and if you can't change then it's time to punch in your card and go home. For good. But no, if you get to come back as something different, someone else, then that's a clean slate right there, you get to start all over and try something different. And maybe the second or tenth or fiftieth time it'll turn out better and maybe it'll turn out worse but the fact is, the fact is, that you get to gamble and you get to keep trying. That's why it appeals to me. Granted, I'd hate to lose myself, this conscious piece of me that exists right now, I don't really want to let it go because (especially right now) I really like being me and I'd hate to stop and lose myself and start all over as someone else. But if I had a choice, I'd change. Wipe the slate clean, like I said.
         But, oh, geez, I'm getting off track here, aren't I? Sorry. I was telling you about my night. So I decided to try a new bar, okay? Tried to make a change in my life because I figured I was down for a reason and maybe if I tried to distance myself away from some elements in my life that might have been making me feel this way, then maybe I'd feel better. So I'm sitting in this bar and it's an okay place, it was really old fashioned, full of smoke and the clacking from pool tables and some sports game on television shouting about scores I don't care about. The beer was okay too, I wasn't about to wait for someone to buy me a drink because I think that was part of my problem. I was too submissive, right? Passive. Always waiting for someone to do something for me, instead of going out and getting it myself. And the bartender was pretty cute actually, which was pretty surprising, I thought they were all just old men pretending they weren't alcoholics, but she was really cool. We chatted for a bit and I watched the place and there wasn't much going on. People sitting around drinking or watching television or playing darts or pool or whatever, like I was just staring at a bunch of locked patterns, lives being unspooled and unraveled uselessly right before my eyes. And nobody cared. It felt like such a waste. These people probably came there every night, every single night and drank their paychecks away and for what? Passing the time until oblivion? Gambling that they might luck out and have a painless death? Or that death was just some con game, we just buried mannequins while the real people were taken someplace far away for God only knows what?
         It was actually starting to get me pretty down. Now I realize it was probably just the beer filtering into my head. God I'm such a lightweight when it comes to that stuff. You'd think I never tasted alcohol or something. But like an idiot I order another beer and the bartender gives it to me because of course I don't look drunk but inside I'm shriveling up and wishing I was somewhere else and not knowing where else I wanted to be. It was really weird but it wasn't anything unfamiliar. I think sometimes alcohol just strips away what you cover yourself in and then you find out what you're really like. You and everyone else. And as I've found and as you know, some people are real assholes. Not too many I've met turn into nice folks after a few drinks, which is something I try not to think about. Inside everyone just wants to get ahead, I guess. I'm no different. I mean, I want something long lasting and something real, in any aspect of my life but you know what, I'm not above a cheap fling. There's a reason it's called instant gratification. And it's sure as hell better than doing it alone, right? But it's not the center of my life. That's what I try and tell myself. Though some days I'm not convinced.
         But I'm sitting there at the bar feeling more and more sorry for myself for really no reason, getting progressively drunker and drunker, or at least heading rapidly down that path, when this song comes on. Did I mention there was a jukebox there? Like I said, old fashioned. But it was mostly playing classic rock garbage or oldies stuff or some of that new stuff that everyone pretends to like because it's new and some press release says that you should like it because forty five million people bought the album. But that's a debate for another time, right? So this song comes on and it's like my favorite song. I mean not my absolute favorite but pretty close. You know the one? That goes I don't remember saying over and over and it sounds really majestic and heavenly and stuff. They were playing it. I couldn't believe it. It was a bucket of ice water right to my face. I didn't think it was possible to instantly sober up, but there I was, almost leaping off the stool to find out who had put it on.
         I figured it was just another girl like me killing time someplace different for kicks and in another time and another place and another me I might have been tempted. Hey I'm only human, right? And beautiful is beautiful, as far as I'm concerned. If that was the case. Which it wasn't so I guess we'll never know. At least it wasn't some old guy who hit the wrong button.
         No, it was this young guy, he looked about my age, and he was standing near the jukebox. He had a beer in one hand and the glow from the jukebox gave it this pretty amber color. He was standing very casual like, he really looked like he belonged there and I half expected him to lean up against the wall, rest a foot against it and light a cigarette, you know, using both hands so that it reflects off your cupped hands and lights up your face and throws highlights all around it. The way they used to do it in the movies but nobody does anymore. The leather James Dean kind of cool. You know what I mean. It was just a perfect moment. It would have been even better if he had seen me staring at him from across the room but that didn't happen. So much for taking my cues from romantic comedies, right? Ha ha ha. Half his face was in shadow and I didn't even get a good look at him at first but he moved away from the jukebox and, damn, he looked good. His hair was combed but mussed just right, his face was soft but not too pretty and he was built like someone who cared about his body but wasn't anal like a jock or some jerk with muscles for brains.
         In another world he probably would have been a rapist or something. You know? Smooth, good looking guy like that, he'd just attract all kinds of women and be able to do terrible things to them. The thought did occur to me. Briefly. That's the way my luck sort of is. Like that one time, remember? Of course you do. That was a close call. But you have to take risks, right, and I said to myself I was going to be assertive. So I walked up to him and said hello. Just like that. You know I always get butterflies in my stomach and stuff and I ask myself, what the hell am I getting so messed up for, it's not like this guy is my soulmate or something (and God, I don't even know what I'd do when that day came, probably just babble something stupid and ruin the whole thing, it'd be just like me). But no, if he noticed how nervous I was he didn't say anything about it, we sat and chatted for a bit. The jukebox thing was a great conversation starter. That's all you need really is something to break the ice. I go to parties and you know how parties are a place to meet people and everyone just stands around and talks only to people they know or waits until everyone gets really drunk and then they start mingling. But it's too late then. You're not yourself when you're drunk, or maybe you're too much like yourself. It's hard to say. And I'd rather talk and get to know someone before the fun stuff starts. It gives it more meaning, I think. Now, I know history hasn't borne me out with that but I really do try. And I don't think I'm as bad as some other people. Guys or girls. I knew people who's only goal in life was to go to party and make out with people, anybody, the night just wasn't complete unless they were sweating over feeling somebody up. Is that how I want to be? I don't think so. But it's so much easier. That's the problem. Unless you try really really hard you'll always take the easy way out.
         But I'm rambling. I always do that. You should know to stop me when I start to do that. Ha ha. Why don't you? Ha. So we're talking and he's really cool, I figured the worst case scenario was we have sort of the same taste in music which is always good and talking about bands can kill a few hours and at least make the night somewhat bearable. But it turns out we like a lot of the same bands. None of the stuff that's popular now of course, though I try to think I'm not one of those snotty people who think they're better than others just because only five people bought the albums they listen to and that makes them somehow superior. I don't think I feel that way and he didn't seem to be like that either. Why can't people just like something? And not turn it into a cause? Like it's some kind of moral outrage that you don't like the same things I do and God forbid you change. It has to be me. It's frustrating as hell.
         I might have said stuff like that to him. I don't remember. But I remember he agreed with what I was saying, and he seemed pretty sincere. He was even disagreeing with me, but in a polite way. No one is really like that anymore. Everything has to be screaming arguments and this is the way it has to be. So we started talking about other stuff, and it turns out he's a writer. A writer! God I remember those people in high school, everyone was always trying to pretend they knew how to write, putting down these like thinly veiled caricatures of their friends in these stupid situations and sit around and laugh like it was the funniest thing and their friends would act like they rewrote War and Peace. It was sick. Then there was this one guy who would write these gigantically pretentious novels I guess you'd call them and sit there and proofread them and he'd keep all quiet about it and try to keep to himself, but you could tell, he thought he was the best. I hate people like that. He was so quietly stuck up it made me so mad. Thank God I don't have to see half those people anymore.
         We were talking about his writing when we went for a walk. That's right, I went for a walk by myself with a stranger. How crazy is that? Don't ask me why I did that. I just trusted him. And it was hot and smokey in the bar and we just wanted to get the hell out. So we talked about his writing, it sounds really cool, he has all these wacky ideas and he'd confident that he'll get published someday, once he gets better and works at it. I really had to admire that. I told him that you know, I wanted to be an actress and he said he could never do that. But people act every day, I said. Yeah, he said, that may be, but I do it poorly. We have pretty close to the same sense of humor, all during the walk we were cracking each other up. And the whole time I'm thinking, I'm falling for this guy, I can't believe I am and I probably was all stupid about it.
         So we walked around for a bit, God we talked about all kinds of things and finally I had to get home because it was late. Early in the morning but late. You know what I mean. And it was one of those situations where you just wish time would stop or slow or you'd just slip into this bubble and the world would fall into this stasis around you and all the moments that you know you'd really treasure would go on and on and on.
         But I guess that's why you treasure them. That bothers me but I guess I have to accept it. Good things are good things because they're so ephemeral and I guess it is like a bubble because any second it can just burst and it'll be over. And if good things lasted forever there'd be nothing to compare them to, they'd just be things and it would just be, it wouldn't be good or

Stop Crying, I Barely Touched You

         Three months?
         That's all. Or is that not enough. Everyone tells me that time goes so fast and I try to tell everyone, I'm telling you, don't believe it. Don't fall for the lie. Time goes as fast or as slow as you want it to. People speed along and then blink and they're forty and then blink again and they're retired and the next time they blink they don't open their eyes again. Or they do but they're not seeing anything.
         I'm babbling to empty air again. Nobody cares, I don't care. Three months. Oh God. I start to think Wow it's so fast- and I have to stop myself. No. No. Slow slow slow! Why is everyone in such a rush to get to the end for? Are you trying to see how it all comes out? Don't. You'll get there soon enough.
         Distance means nothing. What are you running away from? Or what are you running toward? A few months ago someone found out how it ends far too early. No fade out for some people. The rest of us will just plod along, step by faithful step, until that time comes. Growing more ghostly by the day. There's no easy way out, just ways to leave.
         Don't forget that.
         And I don't want to hear anybody repeating that sick rumor.
         Time goes slow, I tell you.
         Slow.
         Even lies have power if you believe in them. Don't do it.
         Because I'm in no hurry and I don't need you rushing me.
         Please, take your time.
         Please.

With Luck the Snow Will Cover All Footprints

         ". . . saw them?"
         "Yes. As I came around the bend. After so many years your eyes get used to the tracks, you know what you're supposed to see. What you should be seeing there. And what shouldn't be there."
         "But you didn't know what was there? Just that something was."
         "Yes, yes, that's true. I didn't. I thought it was garbage at first. Some crap kids had thrown on the tracks, trying to be funny. That happens all the time, though generally not this close the platform, to the station. Kids, people in general, they don't understand absolutely brutal these machines are, that they're designed to do one thing and one thing only, carry massive amounts of weight forward, constantly. You hear stories about how some joker puts a penny on a track and derails it, and those may be true, but did you ever see the damn penny after it's all over, if you can even find the damn thing."
         "But, ah, as soon as you saw something, as soon as you were sure something was there, you tried to stop?"
         "Of course I tried."
         "Did you sound the horn, then, to warn them?"
         "Wouldn't you? I realized it wasn't just garbage early on, another thing people don't understand, they don't understand how fast I'm moving. You see one of these things from far away and it's like an airplane, oh look how slowly it's moving, it's barely moving at all. But it's not like that. Imagine standing on a highway and all the cars are mashed together into one ten ton monster coming right toward you. That's what it's like. If you're going to get out of the way, you have to do it early, or it's just not an issue."
         "So what did it look like to you, originally? Just someone sleeping on the tracks or people sitting there or . . ."
         "You know, at first all you can think of is there's something there and at that point so many other things enter your mind, things that have to get done, that standing there and taking notes just isn't possible."
         "Still, you could tell very quickly that it wasn't garbage or even an animal on the track, that it was people? From far away is one thing, but like you said, you got close up very quickly . . ."
         "Too quickly."
         ". . . yes and when you realized it I imagine you were doing all those things like hitting the brakes and sounding the alarm . . ."
         "And alerting the dispatcher. I was on the radio with her the entire time, trying to explain what was going on."
         "But the point is, you were able to tell, to give a pretty good idea of what was on the track."
         "Eventually, yes. Yes, I was. But they were huddled together, very close. So it wasn't person shaped, it was two people and it's hard to tell. And like I said, I couldn't take notes, people, they think that I'm just along for the ride, that because there's track all I have to do is hit a giant button and the thing just drives itself. But there's more to it than that."
         "What were you thoughts, then, when you realized that . . . that there were people on the tracks."
         "I thought a homeless person had fallen asleep on the tracks. That's why you sound the horn, in the hopes that if someone is there by accident, they'll come to their senses and get the hell away. And I've seen that happen. Some guy, no place to stay, he's hanging around the platform trying to find some place to sleep, maybe he's drunk, maybe he's not right in the head and he just for some reason winds up asleep on the tracks. It doesn't matter why they're on the tracks, all you can do is hit the brakes and alert them and pray. That's all you can do."
         "At what point did you realize that it wasn't someone who had fallen asleep?"
         "I . . . they were facing me. God, I wish they'd hadn't been. But they were, and I . . . ah, you can tell, just by the way they were sitting, the difference between a sleeping person and someone who's just . . . who's just sitting. And that's all they were doing. Sitting."
         "By sitting do you mean . . ."
         "Crouching. Sort of. Almost kneeling really, that was . . . that was the impression I got."
         "Did you expect them to move? They must have realized that you were trying to stop."
         "They might have. I don't know. The brakes, they squeal like hell's own violin but the rest of it is so loud, there's no way to really tell. I can tell, but someone outside . . . I wouldn't know."
         "But they didn't move."
         "No. They did not. They, uh, shifted a little and it, ah, it looked like one of them put . . . put their arms around the . . . the other . . ."
         "Are you sure you want to continue? Because we can-"
         "While the details are fresh, dammit. Let's get them down. I can be emotionally scarred later. Okay? Let's do this. Let's get it done."
         "All right. Ah, okay . . . you said you engaged the brakes immediately when you realized something was in the way. Did you realistically believe you would be able to stop?"
         "Not for one second. But what else was I going to do? That's why . . . why I was hoping they'd move, change their minds or come to their senses, or I don't know, just get the hell out of the way. It takes over a half mile of steady braking to even start to slow down. If you can see the . . . the whatever is on the track, then you're almost guaranteed . . . not to be able to stop in time. But you have to do something, even if you buy five, ten seconds and then use that to change their minds and get out, then, hell, then it's worth it."
         "No, I think just about anybody would have done what you did, in any similar situation."
         "You just don't realize how helpless you are, you think you're driving this machine but really, it's . . . it's driving you. And you're on the back of this . . . monster, this screaming metal beast and you realize, you know, that it's going to stop whenever it damn well wants to, not when you want it to. And people, they're not stupid, they know that, everybody knows that, and so they . . . some people count on it, I guess."
         "So at some point it entered your mind that this was a deliberate act."
         "Oh, hell I knew it was. When I saw them huddled together, like they were, I just . . . they looked like they were getting ready for something. For me. Or, not so much for me as for . . . for what was coming."
         "It was pretty much inevitable then. There was a point of no return where there was going to be an impact."
         "Yeah, there is . . . I don't know when it is but . . . I never stopped hoping. The whole time. I never stopped. You just hope for something, anything. You can feel yourself slowing but you know it's not going to be enough and you're praying they move but . . . none of it happened. They didn't move and I . . . I . . ."
         "The dispatcher said you were remarkably calm during the whole affair."
         "That's because the whole affair felt unreal. The first thing I said, right in the beginning was `I think there's something on the track' a little later I said, all I could think of to say was . . ."
         "`Call an ambulance. We're going to need one.'"
         "Yes, that's right. That's exactly what I said. And it doesn't . . . it never feels like it's happening to you. I can't even say it felt like a dream, because . . . these people, those two kids, I don't know them, I never met them, I never will and so they don't feel real, there's no . . . connection. You just convince yourself that the impact will . . . have no impact and life will just go on."
         "It's not something you can ever envisioning happening to you, is it?"
         "That's why. That's it. You can read the chapter in the manual, you can read the stories, you can prepare for it in the back of your head as best you can, but nothing can ever prepare you for when it happens. You know this is the first time this ever happened? To anyone I know? It's like I'm marked or something. I . . . I'll level with you, I . . . was screaming in there, I turned the radio off and I was just banging on the glass, screaming."
         "Telling them to get off the tracks."
         "Yes, dammit. Yes. And the whole time they were just sitting there. Waiting, I guess. In the last few seconds they . . . hugged or something, I couldn't tell. It was too fast. Everything was too fast."
         "Did you feel the urge to look away at all?"
         "Yes."
         "And did you?"
         "I . . . I, no. I didn't. Because I had to know. I did. Even in the last second I kept thinking, maybe . . . maybe this'll turn out okay. And I couldn't just . . . close my eyes because then I'd . . . wonder. I wouldn't know. So I had to know."
         "And they didn't move? Not even in the last seconds?"
         "Never twitched. God, you don't know how I was . . . if I could have put my fist through the glass and snatched them, grabbed them and pulled them up, I would have. But it was too fast. And there was nothing I could do. I may have . . . I may have made eye contact with one of them, right, right before it . . . but I couldn't tell you for sure. Maybe they saw me, gesturing and screaming like a madman. It doesn't matter. It was too late anyway."
         "Are you able to describe the nature of the impact?"
         "What do you . . . oh, I . . . there was, ah, surprisingly little, after all two bodies versus tons of machinery, it's not . . . . there's really no contest. I heard it more than felt it, just this wrenching thud, like something . . . something wet striking a wall, someone dropping a deflated basketball, I can't . . . I can't even really describe it. It's funny I keep hearing that sound in my dreams, all the other noise just drops away and . . . there it is . . . ah, this is going to get better with time, right? Eventually I'll be okay?"
         "Do you feel okay now?"
         "Not at all."
         "It'll get better. You'll see. So you're pretty sure this was a deliberate act on the their part, where the intent was to end their own lives?"
         "Well if it was a game of chicken something got horribly screwed up somewhere along the line. But yes, I do think they intended to kill themselves."
         "Any ideas on why that particular way? And not something less, graphic, per se?"
         "I couldn't say, that's not . . . it's not an issue I've ever had to really think about. Now, lately, I've been, I've given it some thought and . . . I guess in some perverse, some twisted way it makes a hell of a lot of sense."
         "Sense?"
         "Yeah . . . because if you, if you really want to do something final, to do yourself in like that, what . . . what could be more certain than what they did? Guns, car garages, hanging, all of that crap, there's some margin of error, you know where it could be prolonged or just not work . . . what could go wrong. And so yeah, looking at it from the perspective of some poor guy who really wants to take himself out, yeah it makes sense. I wish it didn't, but it does."
         "It was possible someone could have stopped them. If they had been seen."
         "If they had been. But they weren't. And no one did. And now I have to live with what I saw."
         "In some way we all do."
         "No. No. It's different for you. You have to try to understand, to try and live it."
         "And you?"
         "Me? I'll relive it. No matter what else happens. Whether I want to or not. And I don't. But I will anyway. And I do."