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Spilled Ink 05
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ÀÄ ÄÙ
Ä electronic literary 'zine Ä
*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
ù ÄÄ´ volume five ÃÄÄ ù
*ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ*
stop plagiarism - let out your soul
Copyright 9/95
ú úùcompiled & edited by Twilightùú ú
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
þ Table of Contents þ
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
1. Angel Child - Blue
2. Anonymous - Andree Lachapelle
3. Crippled Inside - John Oko Lennon
4. Drown Soda - Hole
5. Drowning Survival - Twilight
6. Genius On Panic Street - Angel Alice
7. Ghost - Emily Saliers
8. Godhead Is Dead And I Feel Fine - C.E. Nelson
9. Guardian - Bloodshot
10. Here For You - Twilight
11. Incomplete - Angela J. Smith
12. Injury - Andree Lachapelle
13. Jennifer's Body - Hole
14. Kissing - Armand Mayer
15. Muse - Black Orchid
16. Plastic Dummy - Twilight
17. Plunge - Twilight
18. Stronger Now - Jani Lane
19. The Big Hurt - Janet Dowd
20. The Great Escape - M.G. and G.E. Nelson
21. The Moon Is Broken - Angel Alice
22. The Waltz Eternal - Angel Alice
23. Transformation - Twilight
24. Untitled - Autumn
25. We'll Always Have Tomorrow - Stephen Lush
þ Including Quotes From:
Andy, Tom Gogola, Carole King, D.H. Lawrence, Courtney Love, Newsweek,
and Amy Raphael
ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ
Angel Child
þ Blue
ùúùúùúùúùúù
Laughing here
all alone
echoed in the darkness
i step down
to look around
at my world
little girl beside me
holding my hand
shake her off
watch her cry
i cover my ears
to hear her screams
to wake me up
to watch me fall
he kissed her tears
to heal her pain
she turned her head to cry
i cover her mouth
to shut her up
i cover her eyes to shield her view
to look back
to see him walk away
lock her up
muffled screams
inside my pain
let her out
cover my ears
sitting in my corner
i kiss my tears with her angel hair
melting strands
cover my hands
honey lips on sour eyes
to bury her inside of me
to let her screams burn through
to muffle
my painful cry
"Grunge is what happens when children of divorce get their hands on
guitars." Ä Newsweek
Anonymous
þ Andree Lachapelle
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
She has started to suspect that she might be an alcoholic, as long as she
has a partner in crime. It looks like she may have found one.
She met him in a bar, as these things often happen; that night at the
Anonymous Lounge she was drinking whiskey-soda on ice, hold the soda. "It
feels like I met you in a dream I had long ago," he tells her, and sits on
the stool next to hers. "In my dreams," she thinks, "I have touched your
body; in my dreams I have already made love to you." The ones who usually
choose her are not the ones she herself would care to choose. This man is
over six feet tall, too tall, with sandy-blond hair she thinks would feel
incredibly soft, blue eyes surrounded by tiny sun-wrinkles and a pointy
upturned nose. The lips are a bit too thin, and closed too often. His is
not a perfect face, but the quirky smile turns her day into a sunny day.
Her hand reaches out but doesn't touch; when he touches her hand, lightly,
it's a burst of heaven.
It's not that from the start she wanted a relationship with him, not at
all. What she wanted was a short-term friendship, an ear to talk to. She
did not want a nightly affair but she can't control her urges, her needs.
She cannot, could not possibly resist him. She constantly craves his
presence, his body close to hers. It wasn't like that with the others.
"Maybe," she thinks, "I'm a nymphomaniac as well as an alcoholic. What a
nice combination."
Tonight she thinks of the bottle of tequila in the fridge, and wonders how
long she'll be able to resist it. Of course there isn't enough in there to
get pissed, so she'd have to walk to the store to buy some more. If he
were to call, hung-over from the last night they spent together - last
night - and tell her he will give up drinking, she would quit too. She
refuses to drink by herself. Well, more accurately: she refuses to get
drunk by herself. If, however, he should call and arrange to get together
over cocktails, no doubt she would brush her hair, her teeth, put on a
sexy outfit and meet him at the drinking establishment of his choice with
a purseful of aspirin and vitamin B-12. But in case he simply feels like
coming over for a while, there is also some beer in the fridge. Tequila
and beer chasers. Later she would lick the sweat off his neck, swallow the
fire and bite the juicy wedge of lime. She downs a beer. She would kiss
him and let her tongue linger on his, tasting strong American cigarettes,
beer, lime, tequila, salt and a little bit of her own perfume. He has
never been to her apartment; she has never been to his. Over the last few
months they have made the Anonymous Lounge their meeting place, their home
away from home. They have yet to make love.
She wishes that she didn't think about him so much. Every time she
suspects that she is telling herself rose-colored lies about his feelings
towards her, he smiles and lights up the room, does something or says
something that lets her know he feels about her as she feels about him.
"You drink too much," he says, "You look like hell." She smiles and loves
him all the more for his honesty.
She doesn't know how to be loved and she herself loves badly, but
thoroughly. At this point in time, more than four months after their first
encounter, she would do just about anything for him. He would not even
need to ask. She is ready to be consumed by eternal flames; she is willing
to burn in Hell for their love, if he were to feel it necessary. She would
slay a dragon for him. "Maybe we'll learn to hate each other as quickly as
we learned to love," she fears, but she is perfectly clean, straight and
sober at this point, and soon after having her first cocktail of the day,
that fear and all others disappear. He says, "I like you more than you
could possibly know, more than you could possibly imagine." He does not
use the word 'love'. But she knows he loves her.
He makes her feel like no one else can make her feel, like she is queen of
the world, like she is beautiful, wonderful.
They go to smoky jazz clubs at 2 a.m. He teaches her to play pool. He
wants to take her to a smelly, sweaty, boxing match, but she refuses. He
kisses her. "You're drunk," she says, and he is. "You're beautiful," he
says, but truly she isn't.
"Take in every single second," she says to herself, "Don't let the moment
end."
"I went to the art gallery today," she announces, trying hard to get him
interested in her life. "How was it? Did you see anything good?" he asks,
obviously not caring much. "Naked men with swords, on horses, bodies out
of proportion, Elvis drawing a gun. Nothing that impressed me, nothing
that moved me. What did you do today?" He leans over and shuts her mouth
with a childish kiss.
She wants to kiss his mind.
She wants to kiss him in the rain. She thinks of him for hours late at
night and does not sleep. She cannot sleep without the pills; she merely
passes out, slipping into unconsciousness for a little while before
starting another day with a new bottle.
How quickly you get attached to someone, and his smell. She loves his
neck and the skin behind his ears and the feeling that they're doomed.
Something about Hell and damnation, pain and suffering, games and lying
and cheating. Desolation and hopelessness have always appealed to her.
Late one night she bundles up and sets off to meet him at the Anonymous;
it's freezing out and she is sick as a dog, combining a bad cold with a
brutal hangover. "This is penance for your sins," he tells her, "for
drinking and loving too much."
She is depressed today and in desperate need of an embrace she will not
receive. The blues move into her heart, and there create a comfortable
home. He did not call last night, and the evening was spent drinking
bourbon with a bunch of guys who turned out to be a local band. They wore
spandex shorts and pants, which really offended her sense of aesthetics:
if she wants to know whether or not a guy is circumcised, she will ask him.
They were friendly, but dumb.
She feels incredibly frustrated sexually: he is a fruit she longs to
devour. There is so much sexual tension between them. She comes home and
washes her face and smokes the last of her cigarettes and plays wild, sexy
music really loud, moving her body until the tension goes away, for a
while. But later the tension comes back and she has nothing to relieve it
but her hands. She wanted to fuck him, not just be fucked. She wanted them
both to be in control, that is, drunk enough for them to do it, but sober
enough for them to do it well. One night she brings up spending the night
together and his cold blue eyes stare at her; "What color would his eyes
be," she wonders, "if he were to look at me like he loves me?" "This is
just lust," he tells her, "If we go on like this, we'll burn in Hell. Only
in death could we truly consummate this relationship. Here, it's lust, but
in Heaven, we'll be together in Love."
She calls him one night when she is really drunk; he sounds in a bad mood,
not happy to hear her voice, and she ends up irritating him, pissing him
off when all she had meant to do was turn him on. He tells her that she is
sinful and will burn in Hell, and she believes it. He tells her that her
behavior goes against the word of God, and she believes him.
She feels like he has put a spell on her: though everything feels strange
when he's around, it feels perfectly normal for it all to be strange.
Everything is foggy and disturbing, but it only gets scary once the
picture becomes clear.
"I want a real relationship," she tells him one day, "I want a real
lover." He suggests she gets one. She wants to cry, but instead kisses him
passionately. Here's a kiss, she thinks, the only one I'll ever give you,
so cherish it always; keep it next to your heart forever. He does not kiss
her back. She asks, "We'll never see each other again, will we?" and he
answers "No, we won't," and he says "Good-bye," and she says "Good-bye,"
and walks away and goes home and goes to bed with a bottle of tequila and
a bottle of sleeping pills. She finds peace in death and waits for him in
Heaven, where she feels they will be reunited. He never shows up.
"After every tragedy, some people get tattoed while others have plastic
surgery. When I got through a lot of pain, I take a razor and cut my arms.
It's more for effect than anything. And yes, it's a cry of help."
Ä Courtney Love
Crippled Inside
þ John Oko Lennon
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
You can shine your shoes and wear a suit
You can comb your hair and look quite cute
You can hide your face behind a smile
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside
You can wear a mask and paint your face
You can call yourself the human race
You can wear a collar and a tie
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside
Well now you know that your cat has nine lives babe
Nine lives to itself
But you only got one
And a dogs life ain't fun
Mamma take a look outside.
You can go to church and sing a hymn
Judge me by the colour of my skin
You can live a lie until you die
One thing you can't hide
Is when you're crippled inside.
"how Conceit is a pejorative
how I miss having a stage
mother, canopy bed & Mary Janes,
how yr innerchild is somehow
stupid and the narcissism involved
with it is like an embarrassing
haircut
Moms watching their sons
Looking wasted and lost on MTV,
not tears but with joy & triumph.
Maximum Rock and Roll.
Better Homes and Gardens.
What's the Difference?" Ä Courtney Love
Drown Soda
þ Hole
ùúùúùúùúùú
He wants to take you
Take you away from your life
He wants to take you
Take you away from your lies
He wants to take you
Get you away from my life
He wants to take you
Take you away from my life
Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked
Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked
Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked
Just you wait 'til everyone is hooked
Ooh, he wants to take you
Take you by the hand
I want to kill you
Baby, I know you understand
You're gonna watch me
Watch me while I go down
You're gonna watch me
I take you by the hand
Yeah, I want to kill you
Baby, I know you understand
You're gonna watch me
Watch me while I go down
You're gonna watch me
Watch me while I drown
He wants to take you
Take you away from your life
I want to kill you
Tell you about my life
It's my lie and I believe in it
It's my lie and I lie in it
It's my bed and I believe in it
It's my bed and I lie in it
Drink drown soda on an abominable stair
"Sixty or seventy percent of suicides don't leave notes. Out of those who
do, more than half leave really mean ones. Lots of them are about
contradictions: I hate everybody, I love everybody; I'm too empathic, I
can't feel a thing." Ä Courtney Love
Drowning Survival
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
The ache of the emptiness carves out its hole
As the excruciating pull of the yearn
tugs with force at my sides...
Meddled is my mind -
stuck on that emotional track,
Where concentration cannot endure.
Images, both in vision and on paper
Bring back snips of laughter gone past,
And lost I become, trancelike...
Traveling the turbulent hall of memories,
Searching, in vain, for some comfort
In my bleak and dreary loneliness.
Out of my reach by the dreaded, haunting miles -
Alas, my worst enemy!
Desperate for this miserable soul
to be consoled...
Truly does it make my heart grow fonder
Or shut it down in the overload
of misery and of longing pain?
Even the soothing of your voice would aid me -
or perhaps just the knowledge
That you are not so far away.
My star, my sun, my Apollo -
By some cruel act of trickery,
You shine so briefly upon this twilight
Before the sudden plunge into the absolute darkness
Pulls you from my tight embrace,
into the mourning black.
For, alas,
I cannot breathe...
you are my oxygen.
I cannot eat...
you are my nourishment.
I cannot drink...
you are my intoxication.
I need you -
To end this ache, this yearning, these tears,
to fill in this piercing hole.
I cannot live this life...
without you.
Genius On Panic Street
þ Angel Alice
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
a lonely star falls through the sky,
with wishes shackled to her ankles -
plunges over the edge of the earth
and back into the Chaos;
the cosmos tremble catastrophically
at such a cataclysm,
like a dog with a new collar:
uncertain
whether to protest violently
or grudgingly submit to higher will.
the world pauses in mighty expectation, holding its breath,
until the signal: life may resume
(a little less sweet for the want of a star)
A girl - bone white, raven of hair -
sits at a window
in a house of glass,
singing a soft song with no
words nor melody,
vulnerable, and not -
many rocks thrown, many windows shattered,
much blood let;
aeons
and she sings,
waiting patiently for another star to wish on.
Ghost
þ Emily Saliers
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
there's a letter on the desktop
that i dug out of a drawer
the last truce we ever came to
from our adolescent war
and i start to feel a fever
from the warm air through the screen
you come regular like seasons
shadowing my dreams
and the mississippi's mighty
but it starts in minnesota
at a place that you could walk across with five steps down
and i guess that's how you started
like a pinprick to my heart
but at this point you rush right through me
and i start to drown
and there's not enough room in this world for my pain
signals cross and love gets lost and time passed makes it plain
of all my demon spirits i need you the most
i'm in love with your ghost
i'm in love with your ghost
dark and dangerous like a secret
that gets whispered in a hush (don't tell a soul)
when i wake the things i dreamt about you last night make me blush
(don't tell a soul)
when you kiss me like a lover
then you sting me like a viper
i go follow to the river
play your memory like the piper
and i feel it like a sickness
how this love is killing me
but i'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
and dance the edge of sanity i've never been this close
in love with your ghost
unknowing captor
you'll never know how much you
pierce my spirit
but i can't touch you
can you hear it
a cry to be free
or i'm forever under lock and key
as you pass through me
now i see your face before me
i would launch a thousand ships
to bring your heart back to my island
as the sand beneath me slips
as i burn up in your presence
and i know now how it feels
to be weakened like achilles
with you always at my heels
and my bitter pill to swallow is the silence that i keep
that poisons me
i can't swim free
the river is too deep
though i'm baptized by your touch
i am no worse at most
in love with your ghost
in love with your ghost
shadowing my dreams
in love with your ghost
in love with your ghost
"Every lost memory is a withering away of self."
Godhead Is Dead And I Feel Fine
þ C.E. Nelson
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
this is what everything means to me
the rumble of slow moving trains and
something like cyan bleeds from every
smile i've seen today.
yet, i am smiling the paper skins from
sipping sticks and licking my boots
which taste nothing like licorice or
quite not as salty as your flesh
though leather nonetheless.
we could bleed together like melted crayons
in a box, small flat near university
ripping pages from the spine of keats
or kant or should or could?
we might never know the sun
like some have known such or
the sum of the sun in the shape of fame
and damn you, i have known a few in my time.
i could love you. i do even now
say these words to your ear and it is bending
not with guilt anymore, but with love
for me and in time
i will lay between your long bones and
cry for you
Guardian
þ Bloodshot
ùúùúùúùúùúù
Her eyes focused on an ecstasy life
Her strong grasp of reality
Her hands of premature counseling
Oh, those ears, I'll never forget them
Listening to every word of every human being
She sits there holding her hand,
Guiding her lifeless soul through
the vast confusion of the cesspools
Knowing the poison that struck the soul
The soul of a hyper, joyful youth
For she has also felt the power of the poison
She knows the pains and the curses of it
Comforting her, she tries her best to help
Her duties forced to the max, her hopes in the sky
I sit in the background, praying for recovery
Now is there such a marvelous thing in this case?
I hope so, for this victim, I truly hope so
For the sake of humanity and life
I hope she gets through the pain she now endures
I hope that the Guardian can give her power, once again
So, she be that cheerful youth. I saw so long ago.
Here For You
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
demons playing chess
on the tabletop of my mind
shrieking cries of bats
swarming in my head
they take control of me
my worst enemy,
oh how they haunt me.
all functions are lost
in this immobility
productivity, in the past,
these thoughts drown me
cannot think...on my own
this leaden weight,
upon my chest, heavily.
plagued by emotions
that do not belong to me
i hold myself and another
in false security
protecting, shielding,
with my so-called wisdom,
and the abundant empathy.
i wait for the storm to pass
while holding on tightly
volunteering to take the bullet
to shelter innocence and navety
wishing away the pain
but knowing that experience
is the only healing entity.
fighting for one's happiness
i find my own as well
and through the sharing of souls
exists a new intimacy
seeing a bright light ahead
a hope for peace...and love,
but alas, only through bravery.
so, be brave for me...
and proud of your decisions
put courage and pride
in the place of guilt and self-pity
everything happens for the best
and i will always be here...
if you should ever need me.
Incomplete
þ Angela J. Smith
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Pretending
there is something left
is like pretending there was anything at all.
Pretending
I existed in your twisted noxious world
sacrifices nothing except my last precious breath.
Your adoration a reverie,
an embrace intangible to those roaming Reality;
something just out of reach;
your knife cut my threads of sanity.
Gazing into your void
I swear I saw a light
(a tiny flicker of a flame)...
Advancing towards it
I stumbled into your mind
attempting to see
attempting to hold
what trembled inside.
Yet you, confined...
alone...away...
I reached for your hand
you extinguished the light
and without a chance
you whispered
good-bye.
"Courtney may joke about Kurt as she remembers his reluctance to play the
millionaire - 'He always saw himself as a bum and a janitor' - but
ultimately she feels betrayed by him. He not only let her down by not
keeping to their suicide pact, but she is sure that they were soulmates and
that she will always be alone, no matter who she is with." Ä Amy Raphael
Injury
þ Andree Lachapelle
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I think of her with Bob. I imagine them both lying on their backs on a
cliff far above the postcard-blue ocean, staring at the stars. She's the
kind of girl you would take to see the stars, a child of Nature. I'm the
type of girl you take to watch rockets fall, or at least I used to be.
She is wood and earth; I am plastic and metal and have faith in future
technology.
I do have dreams, but very little hope of fulfilling them. My dreams are
architectural, promising a way to house the masses, albeit not very
comfortably - glass and steel skyscrapers as salvation.
But sex is as important to me as the fate of mankind: I think of new
sexual positions for the physically challenged. Stainless steel triangles
and rubber sheets so white. Restraints. Flimsy curtains on heavy metal
rods. Incense smelling of ether... One must make the best of the materials
at hand.
Hospital beds so narrow, inviting intimacy.
I live from day to day, with very little change. Even though my mind is
active, my body has become lazy - it refuses to cooperate. I find it
difficult even to talk; in fact, I shudder at the thought of communication.
Loneliness is both appealing and scary at the same time. I am alone with
others, naked in a roomful of strangers.
I think of Bob with her, and wonder if he will ever leave her white beach
to return to my white walls.
"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself." Ä D.H. Lawrence
Jennifer's Body
þ Hole
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
I know it, I can't feel it
Well, I know it enough to believe it
And I know it, I can't see it
But I know it enough to believe it
It's bettering you, it's bettering me
My better half has bitten me
It's bettering you, it's bettering me
Sleeping with my enemy
Myself
Myself
The pieces of Jennifer's body
Found pieces of Jennifer's body
Found pieces of Jennifer's body
Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep
Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep
You're hungry, but I'm starving
He cuts you down from the tree
He keeps you in a box by the bed
Alive, but just barely
He said, "I'm your lover, I'm your friend
I'm purity, hit me again"
With a bullet, number one, kill the family, save the son
Himself
Himself
The pieces of Jennifer's body
Found pieces of Jennifer's body
Found pieces of Jennifer's body
Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep
Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep
Now you're mine...
"He hit me, and it felt like a kiss; he hit me, and I knew I loved him."
Ä Carole King
Kissing
þ Armand Mayer
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
It was dark and in the darkness he was standing holding her arms
grasped behind her held in his hands gently. He was kissing her in the
dark in the midevening blue-black only lit from below by the street and
street lights. he was kissing him pressed against him held there by him
not struggling not resisting not pulling back leaning into him up to him
held by him there. And there was nothing inside him had emptied not in a
hollowness not in vacancy but in freedom as if all the walls everywhere
had come down and there was nothing else and inside he spun holding her
mouth against his touching her lips sensing nothing and feeling everything
for the first time. For the first time and she there pressed against him
warm through their clothes standing in the middle of the room filled with
nothing standing not leaning nor lying not sitting he felt this. When the
sensation came into him from where he couldn't tell couldn't feel it wasn't
from one spot a place it was a wave slow and gentle but when it came into
him he saw it there in him and regarded it first as a stranger a friend he
should have known. And then he recognized it this feeling this
unconstrained freedom maybe a gentle sort of passion and later he'd wonder
whether she'd felt it too but he knew then he felt it and it was new so when
it came the moment that he understood that the walls were gone that his eyes
grew moist and his nose grew cold and he stopped kissing her just pulled away
slowly not letting her hands free he leaned his forehead against hers then
she sensed this change and he knew she saw it he slowly let her go and pulled
back.
What's the matter she said Nothing he drew the back of his forefinger
across below his nose Nothing Sorry then he sat and she sat. Wiping what
was there the damp spots at the corners of his eyes like a small child not
gracefully he drew in air through the dampness in his nose and said it
again said Sorry. Why. This isn't me this isn't me I I I I just for a
moment I'm sorry. And maybe she didn't understand she didn't after all
know him that well but he understood and he wanted to tell her even if he
wasn't sure he loved her then it was that he could. This isn't me really I
don't do this it's not like I break so easily I'm really kind of
embarrassed. Her hand was on his shoulder now making small circles and she
leaned over she wasn't close so she leaned over and lightly pressed her
lips against his head thinking she understood thinking it was all
confusing and maybe touched she worried too while he looked at the place
between his feet. Look he said it's just that I don't want to make you
uncomfortable but it's just that I felt something then I never have before
and her hand made small circles on his back but he still couldn't look at
her and she sat quietly in the blue-black while the light of the street
flickered and faded in a room with four walls.
"Mystery is the key to enchantment."
Muse
þ Black Orchid
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
I was going about thirty-five in the rain when the faerie hit
my windshield. I swore and stomped on the brakes, sending my car
into a spin that took me in nauseating slow motion across the wrong
side of the road and rocked me back into a ditch. There was a
moment of stunned silence; the blood pounding in my ears nearly
drowned out the sound of rain on glass and steel as I sat there
blinking, seat belt fastened, foot still clamped down securely on
the brake. What the hell.
I got out of the car without even turning off the engine and
slammed the door, surveying the wreckage. As my eyes swept from
hood to hatchback I began to curse again, in earnest this time. It
didn't look like that baby was going anywhere without a tow truck.
It was two A.M., I was *almost* home, Todd probably thought I was out
having an affair, and I didn't know a single person in this
neighborhood. Just like me to get myself into such an appalling
situation all because of some stupid...
My mind tried to form the thought "bug," but the proper
neurons didn't seem to be firing. Suddenly a brief flashback of
the events leading up to the accident caused me to bolt to the
front of my car in astonished recollection. A quick glance at the
windshield told me there was nothing on it but water. The hood,
the insanely thrashing wipers, the rain-dappled glass itself;
everything was clean. But something had hit me. I had seen it.
Something *bizarre*.
I knew I ought to turn the car off, but a faint feeling of
unease made me slosh my way out of the ditch and out into the
street. Except for the two beams of my car's headlights slicing a
skewed path through the darkness, there was very little light along
that stretch of road, but nonetheless I carefully scanned the black
oily stretch of road. With my hands on my thighs, squinting
myopically at the pavement, I tried to find the spot where I had
lost control of the car, but the water had left no skid marks and
the surface of the street was oily-smooth and featureless except
for the glittering kiss of the rain. Inch by inch I covered the
pavement, feeling a vague fluttery nausea at the thought of what I
might find, but despite my persistent scrutiny I turned up nothing
but a soggy little wad of tissue paper, half-dissolved in a
shallow, rain-lashed puddle. I poked at it absently.
A panicky little sound escaped me as I jumped back, wiping my
hand on my jeans. Whatever it was, it did not feel like tissue
paper. Its texture was firmer yet slightly resilient, vaguely
insectile. I bent down for a closer look, my lips pulled back from
my teeth in revulsion. A strange sickening feeling told me that
I'd found what I was looking for. I had to get down on my knees,
my nose nearly touching the road, to get a better look at the
thing. The smell of oil and tar rose warmly from the cement and
did nothing to soothe my stomach at the sight.
She was the tiniest and most alien creature I could possibly
have imagined. She was mangled slightly; heart-rendingly delicate,
translucent as frost. She lay drifting slowly near the bottom of
the puddle, not even the size of my littlest finger, with ghostly
hair half hiding her miniature face. She was a mind-bending sight,
hauntingly perfect in her tininess. I could even see fingers, four
on each hand, tiny eyelashes, nostrils producing some foul white
substance and a trail of nearly microscopic bubbles as she sank.
She was wrapped in a shapeless gossamer garment that had begun to
unwind from her body, giving the effect of strange filmy parasites
swaying in the water. White fluid seeped from her ribs and from
one of her tiny knees, not dissolving, but hanging thickly in the
water like glue. I had just killed a faerie.
That was the word my mind supplied for the creature in front
of me. She lay there in the puddle, so real I could feel prickles
dancing over my scalp and the backs of my arms, and all I could
think of were the delicate little drawings in the picture books my
little girl loved so. I had mowed down Tinkerbell. It was so
ludicrous I began to laugh, but looking at the creature floating
there limply on the road, something twisted inside of me and I
choked. "Oh God," I said out loud, feeling more than a bit mad.
"What have I done?"
I tentatively reached the tip of my littlest finger into the
puddle, easing some the hair away from her face. One of her cheeks
was torn nearly off, the flesh waving aimlessly in the water. Her
translucent lids gave an eerie view of black eyes beneath, like a
baby bird's. I felt huge, awkward, lethal. "Jesus, what did I
*do*?" I said shakily. I stared at the carnage, transfixed.
I don't think I was there too long, when suddenly I saw the
headlights in the distance. Someone was coming in from town. I
looked up, a little wild-eyed. They were coming toward me; I was
in the left lane. I looked down at the faerie, who was right in
the tire-path of the oncoming car. What if there was something I
could do to fix her? What if she was just stunned, and needed to
dry off and fly away? I'd seen baby birds and insects make it
through worse injury than a smashed up face and a few flesh wounds.
Maybe she just needed to be someplace warm and dry. The car was
coming toward me fast, weaving a little around the curves. She
didn't have a chance. Shaking almost convulsively, I fished the
faerie out of the water, laid her across my palm, and bolted back
to my car, half-sliding down the side of the ditch in my panic just
as the sportscar whipped by, creating a shock of warm foul air in
its wake. I swayed and shuddered, jealously guarding the limp
little creature as though she were a candle flame in danger of
going out.
I got back in the car, killed the lights and the wipers, took
the key, and locked the door behind me. My latest course of action
had made it rather awkward to seek help from a neighbor, so I was
left with only one choice. It was a safe neighborhood and a warm
night despite the rain. Shielding my little victim from the
onslaught of the weather, I began to walk.
"Honey." The word fell like a pebble into my dream-pond,
gently shattering the images on the surface.
I opened my eyes and rolled over in bed. My hair was still
damp and tangled, and I could feel an aching stiffness beginning to
creep into my calves and the backs of my thighs. There was no room
for confusion; I had every recollection of the events of the
previous night. I hadn't said a word to Todd about the real cause
of my accident; I simply blamed it on my own carelessness. Now as
I slowly awakened I smiled up at him, squinting as the light from
behind him gave him a slightly angelic aspect. "Morning, honey,"
I mumbled sleepily. "What time is it?"
"It's just before noon," he said, smoothing my hair from my
face. "I thought you'd want to get up."
"Where's Eden?"
"I fed her breakfast already; right now she's having a blast
playing with Baby Grand." He grinned wryly. "Better than pots and
pans, but not by much."
"Thanks for letting me sleep, hon," I said, pulling Todd down
for a kiss. "I'd better go and work a while, though."
"Already?" He looked almost concerned.
I shrugged, then gave him a reassuring grin. "I'm inspired."
He tugged on a strand of my hair. "I'm beginning to think the
whole thing's just an excuse not to indulge in the little joys of
motherhood."
I winked, kissed him on the cheek and hopped out of bed,
snatching up my robe on the way out. I was headed for the studio,
but I had no intention of picking up a paintbrush just yet.
The matchbox was sitting on the bay window where I'd left it,
just behind the sunlit, white-shrouded easel that concealed the
portrait of Todd I'd been working on for a month. I raced over to
the window with my gut half tied up in a knot, but of all the
things I had expected to find, *nothing* had not been one of them.
The soft peach toilet tissue still lay in the box, slightly
flattened, where I'd stuffed it last night in an attempt to give
the little creature a trace of comfort. However, the object of my
concern was nowhere to be found. I knew I wasn't genius enough to
be crazy, so I refused to write off last night's experiences as
hallucination. She was real and had somehow escaped me. At least
I could tell myself I hadn't killed her. But if that were the
case, then where was she? With a sharp little twinge of dismay, I
realized that there was no way I would ever find the creature if
she didn't want to be found; she wasn't much larger than the needle
in the proverbial haystack.
Futilely I searched the room and then forced myself to give
up, disappointed and confused. It was all just so odd; I couldn't
get it out of my mind. Nevertheless, I was an adult and I couldn't
afford to play the tomboy whose pet caterpillar had crawled away.
I drew the sheet off of my portrait, picked up my palette and a
clean brush from the table at my side, and contented myself with
staring critically at the golden-lit face before me. I could at
least get some work done.
I had laid down about three brushstrokes when I heard the
faerie's voice in my ear. There was not a moment of doubt as to
what I was hearing; that soft, whirring sound hinting at glass and
bells could only belong to one creature. It was clearly a
greeting.
"Well hello," I said without turning from my portrait. My
hand shook slightly. "How are we feeling this morning?"
She didn't answer me in words, but there was another brief
glassy song in my ear with a few jagged shards in it. I received
a distinct image of pain.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm very sorry. You must be a mess.
I won't look at you if you'd like." Somehow I had already gotten
a clear impression of vanity from the creature.
She crooned soothing melodies into my ear, melodies that
brought with them images of healing, a healing that took place with
inhuman rapidness and completeness.
"Well, I suppose I needn't have worried then," I said, feeling
a bit foolish.
I received a strong sense of negation, followed by a tremulous
song of fear, fear of sinking, drowning, suffocating. Apparently
she wasn't too keen on water. I felt the blessed air on her skin;
I felt her slowly regaining energy and life force. Suddenly I was
overwhelmed by a sensation of gratitude. No, it wasn't gratitude,
the emotion was too reluctant, too sulky. It was more like...
obligation.
"Oh, no," I said. "You go your merry way. I don't ask
anything of you in return."
Again I was cut off sharply by an argumentative trill. Those
were the rules, she told me in her song. I laughed incredulously.
It was like something out of a fairy tale; apparently she had to do
something nice for me, according to some sort of law. I could also
sense that she was very unhappy about it.
"Alright, fine," I said. "I understand. But the thing is, I
don't really want anything that I can think of. I'd really rather
you just be on your way."
Suddenly the fragile thrumming of her song was in my other
ear, playful. I sensed her doubt. *Everyone wants something*.
"Not me," I assured her. "I just sold a painting, I have a
loving husband and a precious little baby--"
I was cut off by a loud jingling chord of triumph. She seemed
to seize upon my image of the child, wrap it in iridescent radiance
and cascades of bells. There was something oddly acquisitional in
the sound, and for a brief horrible moment I remembered the tales
of changelings. I calmed myself, amused at my own irrationality.
How could something that tiny make off with Eden?
"What about her?" I said warily.
Suddenly her song changed, and I found myself on the receiving
end of a multitude of prophetic visions. I saw Eden at three,
picking up a tiny violin and producing beautifully clear strains of
music. I saw Eden at four, solemnly poring over an encyclopedia.
I saw Eden at five, standing at a tiny easel and producing a
brilliant impressionistic rendering of the front yard. I laughed,
then suddenly realized that this was not exaggeration for the sake
of compliment; this was the faerie's *offer*. These images were all
*options*.
I turned and faced the faerie for the first time. She hovered
erratically in front of me; from a distance I might have mistaken
her for a bizarre dragonfly. The sunlight streaming in from the
window was thrown off of her wings in impossible chords of
radiance; her shadow flickered over my painting like a tiny bat.
I was faintly unnerved as I gazed into her eyes; they were as black
and depthless as the eyes of an insect. But her song was endless
in its promise.
"Can you *do* that?" I whispered.
By way of answer, she filled my mind with images of Mozart,
Einstein, Van Gogh, and others. Was I to believe that all these
people had received their genius at the hands of faerie godmothers?
I was skeptical, but when I objected I was assailed by a
cacophonous rendering of sincerity compounded with disbelief. She
was astounded by my ignorance.
"It's true, isn't it," I said, amazed. I stretched out my
palm; she lighted on it comfortably and met my eyes. Her hair
floated about her shoulders like cobwebs, the individual strands
too fine to be seen by the naked eye. She leaned back on her hands
like an overconfident teenager and regarded me with a wide smile
the size of an eyelash. Her weight was so slight I felt as if I
held a butterfly in my palm. She waited.
"I don't know," I said. "I just don't know. It's all so...
weird." Suddenly an idea occurred to me. It wasn't too late for
me to make millions of dollars with my paintings; I'd only just
gotten started. "Couldn't you make me a genius instead?" I asked.
Her wings vibrated a negative without moving her, then
produced a series of delicate tinkling sounds which perfectly
conveyed the malleability of an infant's soul; the tenuous grasp it
had on the young body. Children were hardly alive at all; a strong
wind could blow their souls away to Heaven. Even the tiniest of
faeries could easily... *shape* them.
I felt her hesitation. "What do you do to them?" I asked.
"What did you do to Mozart, to Einstein?"
Her song rather discordantly absolved her of personal
responsibility.
"What did your *people* do to them?" I insisted, refusing to be
tricked by technicalities. I sensed that she could not lie to me.
I received images of glory, of fame, of artistic immortality.
"But how?" I said impatiently. "How did you do it?"
There was a brief pause. She seemed to be collecting her
thoughts. At last her wings strummed forth a single crystalline
chord: *magic*.
It was our TV time, the time when Eden slept peacefully
upstairs and Todd and I could unwind, but there I was, flipping
idly through one of my library books while *Northern Exposure*
unfolded its little dramas in the background. Every now and then
I heard Todd's laughter, but other than that my awareness was sunk
deeply into the pages of one of a stack of biographies. Nowhere,
not anywhere, was there a single speculation as to *why*. The writer
was all too eager to detail every facet of Mozart's genius, but
never once did the woman question the very existence of such a
mind-boggling talent. What deal had his mother made, and with what
strange being? What were the consequences? Was I playing Faust,
or fairy godmother?
Todd's uproarious mirth broke my concentration. I looked up
to find him breathless with laughter, his face red and his eyes
teary. He pointed to the television. "Honey, you're missing a
great episode," he said, wheezing slightly and wiping tears from
his eyes. "Shelley can't talk at all, just sing. It's
hysterical."
I started to ask how a person could communicate that way, but
suddenly I remembered the extremely communicative little faerie
lurking somewhere in my studio and thought better of it.
Todd gave one last little chuckle. "You should stop reading
just long enough to watch this. It's great. Why all the
biographies, anyway?"
"I'm... well, I'm thinking of trying something more abstract
after I finish this next project. A kind of... mood painting,
capturing the... the *quality* of genius. I just thought these
might help somehow." It occurred to me that I had just lied to my
husband, and I found it a distressingly unremarkable feat.
"Research? For a painting? Well, whatever works." He shrugged
and turned his attention to his salsa.
I was just thinking of closing the book when I came across a
letter written by Mozart to a friend. I was drawn to it and found
myself reading it, my eyes narrowing as I studied the translation
intently. The man was obviously insane. He seemed to play his own
strange private little games in the letter, tacking on irrelevant
rhyming words to the ends of sentences, injecting random
expletives, and other nonsense. Was all genius madness? Was this
what I was considering offering to my child?
But more disturbing than Mozart's madness was the form in
which it took. There was something *fey* about it. The way his mind
worked was alien, calculating, playful. A deep suspicion began to
form inside my mind, and I shut the book in alarm. On the
television, Shelley was singing a jazzy version of the fable "The
Old Woman and the Snake." A rerun.
"I've seen this one," I said to Todd by way of explanation.
"I'm going to go work on my painting." I ignored Todd's look of
concern and bolted upstairs.
The faerie was perched atop my canvas, her tiny form
glittering strangely in the moonlight. She seemed more a part of
the moonlight than a reflector of it, silvery and insubstantial.
I didn't bother to switch on the light, but instead went to sit in
the bay window, throwing my shadow across her. Only then did she
seem to notice me. She was slightly backlit from the open door,
her wings and her hair a halo around a tiny, featureless dark form.
I shuddered.
"The stories about changelings," I said. "Are they true?"
There was a long silence. I was afraid she would not answer,
but then her song began, a tiny cricket's trill in the darkness.
She showed me a glimpse of her world, a strange, shifting dreamlike
landscape full of intense color and harmonious song. Then she
showed me my world: full of patterns, ruled by logic and
predictability. After I absorbed this I was presented with a pair
of alternate worlds. One: a swirling mass of chaos with no form,
no rhyme and reason. The other: a gray, colorless nightmare of
mundane order and stasis. The first was meant to be her world, the
second mine.
The solution: an exchange of souls. In the tremulous notes
of her music, I saw a child leave my world in a faerie's body, and
in its place I saw a fairie live a human life, bringing to the
human world joy, color, and genius.
"And madness?" I said.
She purred her agreement. Unabashedly she sang to me of
madness and its unsettling effect on my world. She seemed to think
it was a world that needed to be unsettled now and then, lest it
gather dust and cobwebs. Her chords rang with balance and harmony,
and her song stirringly spoke of the need for exchange between the
two worlds.
"Well, you can find your exchange somewhere else then," I said
coldly. "I love Eden the way she is, and I don't want to spend
sixteen more years raising you. I want Eden here, and you where
you belong. You'll have to find some other way to 'repay' your
debt to me, because you won't be doing me a favor by taking my
daughter away and leaving a mad genius in her place. I may be a
mere mundane human, but I'm not stupid."
The motion of her wings became rapid enough to create a shrill
buzzing sound as the room filled with her anger. Suddenly I wanted
to make a dash for the lightswitch, but I refused to budge or to
take my eyes from her. She was only two inches high, for God's
sake.
*So be it*. The words rang sharply out in song, as clearly as
if she had spoken them. I realized that she would haunt my studio
and my mind until I further instructed her; out of spite as much as
out of loyalty to her laws. I had to think of some appropriate
payment for her wretched little life, or else I would have to live
with her for the rest of mine. She was not pleased with me.
"All right," I said. "I'll stay up all night thinking if I have
to. But when I come in here tomorrow morning I'm going to tell you
what I want you to do, and you will comply with that. I want you
out of here. Do you understand?"
The faerie did not deign to flutter a wingtip, but sat there
in sullen silence. When I refused to move or take my eyes from
her, she produced a single abrupt note of comprehension.
"Good then," I said, rising from the window seat. "I'll see
you tomorrow morning.
I shut the door behind me.
The next day dawned cool and clear, with a breath of winter
in it. It was the day after Labor Day; Todd had to go to work. He
woke me before he left so that I could watch Eden, who was sitting
in the living room absorbed with her new favorite toy, "Baby
Grand." It was just like a piano only smaller, made of cheap
plastic, and painted in garish shades of pink and green. Any toy
that made noise was a big hit with Eden. I watched her with an
involuntary smile as Todd put his jacket on. Her little golden
head was bent over the keys in a parody of prodigious musical
genius, but she was making nothing but noise, thank God. She
looked up at me and smiled. "Bye-bye Daddy," she said, waving
crookedly.
"Bye-bye honey," he said. "Bye-bye, honey number two," he
said to me, and kissed me on the cheek before he walked out the
front door.
I went into the kitchen to make myself and Eden some
breakfast. I knew I would have to deal with the faerie soon, but
I was having a hard time thinking of something within her power
that I would want her to do for me. I began to sing the song from
last night's show as I got a trio of eggs out of the refrigerator.
Singing usually helped me think; I hummed the parts where I
couldn't remember the words. The kitchen was filled with sunlight;
I cracked an egg and hummed away, half-listening to Eden's babyish
prattle.
"Burr-fy!" she said suddenly.
I dropped an egg on the kitchen floor. It shattered, sending
yellowish slime in all directions. *Butterfly*.
I raced into the living room, leaving the egg all over the
kitchen tile. The faerie was there, its wretched wings moving
silently, secretively next to my baby's ear. It was sitting on her
shoulder; they looked like old friends. I felt a wave of nausea
nearly overcome me.
"Get away from her!" I shrieked, racing over to snatch up my
daughter from the floor and hold her to my heart. The faerie fell
away from her and hovered in the air around the toy piano, looking
confused. "Don't you touch her! Do you hear me?"
The faerie trilled a little bewildered note and began to
follow me as I backed away. "Get away, do you hear me? Get *away*!"
The faerie's sharp little black eyes bored into mine, her face was
a parody of innocence. Dragonfly wings whirred the question, *why?*
She approached me slowly, as if trying to gain some sort of
advantage.
I continued to retreat into the kitchen, never taking my eyes
from the creature, reaching slowly back for the utensil drawer.
Suddenly my foot slipped in raw egg; I felt the floor slide
underneath me. I was still holding Eden to me as I fell backward;
my head struck the cabinet with a resounding crack. The world
dimmed. Eden slipped from my arms and fell to the floor as the
pain swallowed up my consciousness; I might have passed out but for
the shrill alarm of her cries. I forced my eyes open and put my
hand to the back of my head. Blood. Nothing serious, I hoped,
because I knew I had to kill that thing; I had to kill it now, and
this was no time to lie unconscious and bleeding on the kitchen
floor.
I staggered to my feet, sliding crazily in egg yolk, and
clutched the counter for balance when a wave of dizziness assaulted
me. It passed quickly enough for me to reach into a drawer, grab
a spatula, and make a heroic swing at the damned insect. My attack
was quick, violent, and took her completely by surprise, but still
I only managed to strike her on the wing. I knew that a better
aimed swing would have killed her.
She trilled her sudden fear and began to effect her escape.
Her flight seemed a bit off balance, though; she spun around twice
and nearly slammed into the kitchen doorway on her way out. I
followed her into the living room, where she bobbed crazily in the
air like a yo-yo. Her wings produced a shrill, frantic, pleading
whine that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. She
couldn't seem to gain altitude; she was begging for mercy.
"Oh, no." I said viciously, feeling the blood slowly ooze down
the back of my neck. "You're not getting away this time. I should
have left you in the goddamned road. You would have taken her,
wouldn't you?" I swiped at her, just missing. She spun crazily
toward the stairs, but I followed her.
"I've thought of what I want," I said to her calmly as I
climbed the stairs. "I want your sneaking, lying, thieving little
guts, and I want them all over my brand new spatula. How does that
sound?"
Whether because of obligation or shock, her flight faltered
for a moment, and I took the opportunity to strike her one hard,
final blow. I heard a sound like shattering glass, and her
battered body fell to the floor.
I bent down to look at her. This time there was no pity, no
horror, only triumph mixed with revulsion. I lifted her broken
body with the spatula and carried her, like a dead insect, to the
bathroom. I'd had it with strange and wondrous creatures. I
tipped the spatula and watched her fall into the swirling water of
the toilet. With a final gurgling choke, the water washed her out
of my sight. I shuddered one last time and shakily returned to the
kitchen to make myself an ice pack. I wasn't sure if I would need
a doctor or not, but in any case my head was throbbing miserably
and I was sure it needed attention of some kind.
Eden, the picture of childlike resilience, had crawled back to
her piano, seeming not to have noticed her mother's atrocious
behavior. I stopped to ruffle her soft golden curls on the way to
the freezer. Plucking ice cubes from the tray and placing them in
a dishcloth, I began to sing again:
"Oh shut up, you silly woman
Said the reptile with a grin
After all, you knew I was a snake
Before you took me in!"
I had gotten halfway through the refrain when I stopped again.
Surely I hadn't heard it. I froze, my heart pounding, ice melting
in my hand. There was a profound silence. Then one, two, hesitant
notes on the piano. Oh.. shut.. up.. you.. silly... woman... the
piano echoed.
...said the... reptile with... a... grin...
The ice cubes slipped from my trembling hand to join the egg
on the floor.
...after all... you... knew I... was a... SNAKE
The note was wrong. It was subsequently corrected.
...snake...
I turned my head, slowly, and looked out into the living room.
...before you took me in!
I met my daughter's eyes as she looked up from her toy piano.
The sun shone in her face, making her eyes dilate almost to black,
and making a halo of her hair. She smiled at me. The world broke
into pieces.
"*Music*," she said.
Plastic Dummy
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùúù
a face without a name
an object without a face
i am a nobody
just a plastic dummy
with no brain
fuck you
i'm not taking your shit
i'm not just an attachment
like some arm or leg
i am a person too
i have thoughts and dreams like you do
if you would only give me a chance
talk to me, get to know me
you would know that i have hopes too
when i cry
i'm not a water faucet you can't turn off
but there are reasons and feelings
inside of me that spark the flow
when i pass
won't you shed a tear for me
but no, only for the body
to whom i'm attached
some prized possession
a trophy for show and tell
yeah, fuck you, ignorant bastard
condemn what and who you don't know
instead of opening your eyes
and discovering the unknown
the asinine prick
the foolish asshole
you'll forever remain
as you choose to be blind
it's just too bad
that it took me this long
enduring way too damn much
for me to finally see the light
"It's either I suck or I get steroid shots." Ä Courtney Love, regarding
criticism about her singing.
Plunge
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùú
intrinsic in depth
weave into bones
swirl in and outwards
pounding breaking
shielding reflecting
yet still penetrating
blackness the void
plunging twisting
furious gripping
the throat constricting
passageways evaporating
squeezing flexing
into knots or pretzels
oozing red in the light
enveloping swallowing
reaching for the edge
slipping screaming
voice emanating
then disappearing
down the hole the drain
where no light shines
Stronger Now
þ Jani Lane
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
I held you for a moment in my hands
The moment with you slipped away like sand
Through my fingers now
In front of me a choice I have to make
To carry on or simply fade away
I lose you either way
I'd like to say that it was easy,
It was hard
To say goodbye, I thought that I would die
Letting go of you,
Was so hard to do
And I thought that it would kill me
But I made it through somehow,
And I'm so much stronger now
I gave to you my love and my respect
But I could never make you love me back
I denied it so
I grew bitter watching you grow cold
My life became your prison,
Took its toll
I decided like a bird that's trapped
Inside a gilded cage
It's right to set it free,
Hurts to watch it
Fly away
Letting go of you,
Was so hard to do
And I thought that it would kill me
But I made it through somehow,
And I'm so much stronger now
"'Rolling Stone' had a new category of rock stars most likely to die within
the year. Number one was, of course, 'moi'. Number two was Eddie and
number three Trent. The joke is that all of us would outlive a nuclear
war." Ä Courtney Love
The Big Hurt
þ Janet Dowd
ùúùúùúùúùúùú
now I hurt
as much as I loved then.
then, had I known this hurt
that is now -
I would have kept a little more
of myself for me -
how good it is to say:
I'm leaving you for someone else -
that someone else is
me.
"Fuck.
I hate it when some dork and his girlfriend come to the computer
lab together and and up making out. Get a fucking room. I like to
tongue wrestle as much as the next person, but I don't think the
computer lab is the place to do it. If they start making out again,
I'm going to throw a major shit fit right here in the lab.
'Slurp slurp slurp slurp' - the two morons across from me making out."
Ä Andy
The Great Escape
þ M.G. and G.E. Nelson
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
(Look up) There's no man on the moon tonight
Guess he's turned his back on me (once again)
The wicked walls of this dead-end town are closing in
and I can't breathe
(Sail away) Down the river of shattered dreams;
My destiny's disguised (but I will find it)
Empty promises flow my way, adrift in shame;
do you feel the same?
Another time, another place, we won't be prisoners of fate
Somehow, we'll find a way to get out of here
Oh, why don't we make the great escape
and set our sights on higher ground?
We're taking the ride all the way to the other side
(Step inside) See the man with the cracked guitar
Selling tales of sonic gray (the skies are falling)
No one gathers to sympathize or pay tribute to his fading flame
Tattoo girl on a butterfly
Sowing seeds of boundless hope (and devotion)
Follow me through a leap of faith; I know the way,
I heard her say
Another time, another place, we won't be prisoners of fate
Somehow, we'll find a way to get out of here
Oh, why don't we make the great escape
and set our sights on higher ground?
We're taking the ride all the way to the other side
We've got to make the great escape and
leave behind what can't be saved
We're taking the ride all the way to the other side
"Kurt isn't dead yet; he's in video purgatory, and we watch his beautiful,
tormented soul splayed across our screens, over and over again until his
death becomes real." Ä Tom Gogola
The Moon Is Broken
þ Angel Alice
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
in the night sky she shines
less brightly than yestereve;
tonight she is swollen and hurt
by the ignorance and anger of the people in the
dirty cities,
and I notice for the first time,
a spider-web branch outside my window
traces a fragile split through
that silver orb;
her smiling face is chipped by faraway skyscrapers
that revolutionize the world,
and now sits shyly behind the clouds
like a broken teacup in the back of the cupboard,
a little faded, a little jaded,
and all the worsened for the wear:
the moon is broken,
it's dark out.
The Waltz Eternal
þ Angel Alice
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
the call of the sea drew her to him -
Diana descended,
clothed in silver light
with the seven seas trailing from her ebony hair -
into the arms of Posiedon;
his wild waves cascading all around them
as they waltzed on the ocean
to the sweet melody of the wind;
then the chill maiden and the lord of chaos
lay on the bed of water
and made beautiful love;
eternal lovers bound by the laws of Nature -
the consumation of the marriage between the
moon and the sea,
until Posiedon slept,
and Diana softly slipped over the horizon.
Transformation
þ Twilight
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
swirling, the mists
encircling my feet
weaving through my toes
bringing me to my knees
tongues, they lick
with lingering resi-dew
the hasty wetness
fills the desperate lungs
choking out the pungent air
making me become one
with the haze, the fog
the cloudy surroundings
thick humid sweat
dripping, soaking, gasping
merciless, it reeks
and i hunch down, back arched
transform, re-breathe
and emerge, up again
into the mists, i dance about
frolicking, playing
twisting and turning
swimming upon air currents
as i laugh the dolphin laugh
amidst the pixie dust
and the faerie glitter.
Untitled
þ Autumn
ùúùúùúùú
Like a wilted flower
longing for the touch
of a driving rain
I stand, weary,
arms crossed
waiting
for you.
Like an adrenaline addict
desiring the rush
of another close call
I pause,
glancing at my watch,
waiting,
for you.
Like a lost lover,
knowing the emotion,
but feeling only pain,
I close my eyes,
shivering inside
waiting,
for you.
Like an ungiven kiss,
fluttering in the heart
of my sweetest desire
I burn untended,
waiting,
waiting
for you.
We'll Always Have Tomorrow
þ Stephen Lush
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùú
we'll always have tomorrow
but we had today
what were we thinking
its not all right but its not all wrong
tip toe past the guards
enter the king's court
be the rulers for one moment
as if we never had control
look at me
aren't I close enough to you?
where are our times
are they ahead or did I miss them?
I don't know but I sure am sad
lost in the moment would be so nice
lost in the moment for just one night
lost in the moment is best
over alarm clocks,
I choose the voice that feels at rest
slow me down to sleep
I feel closer to you
is that fine?
some moments to not care about
the plight with time
look at me.
"Those are my public service announcements: wear a condom and make up with
your enemies." Ä Courtney Love
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Legalize.
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
Submit your original literary works for Spilled Ink, [volume six], to
Twilight via Internet e-mail:
twilight@mail.utexas.edu
ùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúùúù
