Thoughts on Cool

Ira Glass has an annoying and penetrating voice.

Joni Mitchell looks like the lady in the Carrie movie. And her lyrics never match her melodies.

Elliot Smith's music makes me want to kill myself. Something about the intimate voice and thrumming guitar creeps me out. It brings up disturbing mental images of razors and veins and dark cupboards.

In a lot of ways, I'm turning into my mother. I listen to NPR on the way to school and snort and comment to myself. When we laugh, we both do this sighing-oh-dear thing at the end, in unison. I retreat into the bathroom when I'm upset, the click of the door shutting behind me calms me down.

I've found the person to blame for Bob Dylan and his tuneless music: Woody Guthrie. A legacy of melodic havoc and disharmony continues.

I can't write. All I want to write about are all the stupid things that have happened to me.

They're way too cool for me. And there's one girl among many many guys. She has wavy black hair, cigarette smoke, and long legs. 1 for 3. maybe.

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you stole the oreos from the guy sitting across from you? In kindergarden I got a friend, this year I just got ostracized.

So you look the way you want to but you lost your soul.

My sister breaks vacuums. It's her mechanical ability. I break keyboards. But I still type on them.

The monsters that live in my room have been domesticated.

I keep losing my library card. Those nice librarians keep giving me replacement new cards that I lose all over again. Then I find three different cards and don't know which one is the right one. And I can't find any of them when it's time to go back.

In betweeen getting to know you and you getting to know me, I get impatient. I apologize in advance. You're in the middle of your life story and I'm leaving, my car is in reverse and speeding away. In my mind that is. I could never do anything that mean, so I listen and wish I could leave.



My dreaming has reached a state beyond expression.

Sunday

Sunday

February rain and its gray-violet light
Fall through the half-open blinds.
I’m wrapped up in blue and white quilts
Up to my chin, listening to the gentle gunfire
Pings of rain hitting the ground.
I’m awake.

In the mirrored closet
There’s a misty morning version of me.
She stretches and looks out at the room.
At the inside-out jeans and Uno cards on the floor,
At the receipts spilling out of the purse hanging on the door.
The radio reads 8:46 a.m., Sunday.

The rain falls harder, becomes a fusillade,
A barrage besieging the window.
The light withdraws.
I wait for it to come back
watching dark and deep shadows play,
Til I fall asleep.

Story: Til Human Voices Wake Us

Til Human Voices Wake Us

“Mer-people are chosen by Poseidon the great sea god. They are mortals transformed to join His court under the sea. Of the few accounts that have been given to humans, the one common trait offered is that merfolk life is never easy.”--History of Mer-people


Testimony of Nurse Attendant Ariel234, Report A: “When the shell opened, the newborn mermaid flopped out. Hers was a very awkward coming-out and the body somersaulted slowly for about five minutes, making little noise. A cloud of emerald green scales and murky sand surrounded her for awhile but that didn’t worry me. Nurse attendants are not allowed to interfere with the shell awakening process. It wasn’t until wisps of purple appeared in the cloud that I swam over to see if it was blood. With a blunt rock she was hacking at her tail, apparently trying to sever it from her body. It took three of the attendants and the strongest WWS to immobilize her. She was a significant struggle for a newborn.”

Testimony of Nurse Attendant Ariel234 Report B: “Mermaid named Evangeline weaned to seaweed at three weeks. Test results inconclusive due to either inability or unwillingness to respond to questions.”

Nurse Attendant Ariel234 Report C: Poseidon Decision: “Evangeline lowered to E5 level and deemed uncooperative and unstable, possibly mentally deficient. Until further notice, will be part of the Sea Refuse Service.”

Sea Refuse Service Duties: Daily swim five thousand miles in designated direction and collect all: dead animals, dead humans, human waste, and anything that doesn’t belong. At the end of your shift, please deposit the refuse in the Black Hole. Wages and vacation time TBA.


E5SRSD, the former Evangeline, liked the deep plains of her trash route because shafts of light struck through the screen of murky dark that surrounded her. The light made it easier to see trash and she would often try to race the light. She was often alone because none of the other “Sea refuse service” workers liked the plains. They also didn’t like the tangled purple hair of E5SRSD that floated around her head or the oddness of her lavender eyes. “She’s nice enough but just too odd,” was the general feeling of the merfolk. She told one young mer-boy about her shell awakening.

“I remember parts of coming out of the shell, the rush of cold invading the warmth as my arms pushed me out to nothing. There were no feet but my body flicking and jerking as a mass of green covered scales spread out over me. I kept trying to walk but there was such pain in my legs! I got angry so I grabbed the nearest thing and tried to cut my tail into legs. Then I passed out.”

He left her after that, worried and confused. So he told his older sister and mother about the strange mermaid who tried to “walk” and “make legs”. Soon the story of the “crazy” mermaid was spread and in shame he avoided her.

One Sunday, Evangeline saw two figures in the distance lit up and rainbow-flecked. Because she was a young mermaid and hadn’t seen other mermaids in two weeks, she yelped and swam toward the swaying colors.

“Merfolk are told to never wander in the open plains of the sea by themselves because the ghosts of drowned people and other unfortunates wander there. It is also the cemetery of all human unfinished business. Accounts of mermaids who wandered there range from the unhinged to the truly bizarre but the only link that can be found is an elusive dappled light.” ------History of Mer-people.

Through the clouds of light, Evangeline sees a woman and a girl sitting down, the woman’s arms clutching a round wheel. They don’t see Evangeline and don’t notice when she starts swimming beside them. She puts her hand out to touch them and her hand goes through their image covered in light. The women flicker and wave, Evangeline is alarmed, “Don’t go! I won’t touch you again!” They ignore her. Gradually, she hears them talking.

“Can you drive faster? I don’t want to miss my train.” The girl says.

“You won't miss it. That clock is three minutes fast.” The older woman smiles and pushes back her hair.

12:56 p.m. Evangeline doesn’t know what a clock is but there is a glow in the box with numbers that says “Clock” in her mind. The street sign says “Coast Highway” and they pass clothing boutiques and restaurants. As they turn into the transit center, the girl opens the glove compartment and there is a picture of a woman holding an umbrella flying up, “Mary Poppins!” it says. It is on a thin flap of paper. Evangeline remembers umbrellas and singing but not what a ticket or a train is.

“Ok. I’m going to park and wait with you.” The older woman pulls to a pause along a sidewalk and the girl slides out holding a half-shut bag. The bag is heavy and won’t zip shut as the girl trudges towards the glass building. The iron doors slide open and the inside room is humming loudly. A uniformed lady mumbles at the girl and Evangeline watches the girl pass over the thin flap of paper. They talk without looking at each other, voices lost in the noise.

Evangeline follows the girl to the benches and the other woman from the car joins them. Evangeline’s ears are still ringing. The girl stares at the train ticket, chin wobbling as the woman looks at her.

“Tell me what you’re thinking that’s making you cry,” the woman says.

“I think we’re done talking here,” the girl turns away and looks at the tracks.

“Are you dismissing me?” the woman says, (“Mother!” thinks Evangeline. “She’s the mother and that’s her daughter.”)

“Yes.” The daughter says. (“What’s a mother?”Evangeline wonders. “And how do I know this?”)

“Well I’m going to sit here, it’s a public place and I can sit where I want.” The mother sits next to the girl, her mustard colored pants filling the seat.

“Yeah but I don’t have to talk to you.” The girl-daughter bites her lip and looks at her mother. The faces are the same shape, just cast in different colored molds. She sighs and starts.

“The thing is that it’s so hard to talk to you. I get overwhelmed by it all.”

“Overwhelmed? In three months you’re going to be an adult! Are you ready? Do you have a plan for your debts? I need to make sure you aren’t living in la la land!”

“I’m not living in la la land! I know I need a plan but why are you bringing this up now?”

“What do you mean now? I want to make sure that you’ll be ready and ok!”

“I don’t know if I’m going to be ok. I don’t know what I’m going to do!” The girl-daughter turns her head away and her body shakes. (Evangeline is fascinated by the small stream that comes out of her eyes. So pretty.)

“Don’t cry.” The mother says and starts looking in her purse.

“What better place to cry at than a train station?” the girl-daughter chokes out.

She buries her head in her mother’s shoulder. At least for awhile her face is covered. The train pulls in and her head pulls out. She stands and the mother mouths ‘I love you” and walks away. Blinking hard, bag pulled tight at the shoulder, the girl steps up on the train.

It is the heavy sad feeling that draws Evangeline back to the sea and herself. The girl and the train is gone and the swells of sand around her are empty. Evangeline has small pearls trailing down her face. Looking around she realizes she is lost and swimming into wilderness.