2000 Soundtrack

Slower

The leaves fall slower today. I remember them falling before this in past years. Susanna only watches them as they approach the pavement. She's always looking at the ground. New York City in the fall feels like being inside a snow globe watching the snow fall. It's beautiful, like a dream, and doesn't seem real. Everything starts to freeze and people become quiet. They watch and their eyes tear as they walk quickly to their destination. In the cold, everyone has to get there just a little bit quicker. That fatal germ could be right behind you. Gotta bundle up. Gotta move fast. Gotta stay quiet.

We walk in silence and our hands only touch through the gloves. Our eyes seldom meet. Our minds wander. Our souls sleep. We walk to the train at Ditmars and up the steps. I fumble around looking for my metrocard. She's already gone through the turnstile. She waits for me motionless, hollow, frozen by the cold. I swipe my card and follow her up the stairs. The train is there as always, and I sit next to her as we wait for it to leave.  It starts to get warmer as people fill in the voids in the seats strategically.  I watch them as they get on. and follow their eyes.  They look for the safest place. The most comfortable angle with the least amount of people in close proximity and sit there. Our eyes sometimes meet then simultaneously pull away in sync. Intimacy like this is taboo on the train. Eyes are windows to the soul its said, and there are too many dark corners of New York city.  Too many birds of prey looking for scraps to devour. Too many parasites looking for fresh meat. Too many villains searching for new victims. Too much fear.

Moments have passed and I remember that I am not alone. Its easy to forget in this weather, the cold. Your body freezes, your eyes freeze, and your mind freezes onto the last daydream, that last fantasy you indulged in. You sometimes have to see the person sitting next to you to remember you are awake. I have difficulty remembering, so I blink my eyes and shake my head abruptly to jar my mind loose from the hold of the cold. I see her face, share an empty smile, and look away again. I find an easy object to lock onto randomly and lose focus again.

The train starts to move and I'm jarred awake again. My hands start to sweat from the gloves combined with her heat, realizing we're still holding hands. I pull my hand away with a soft glance to explain. I remove the gloves and touch her hand again. I feel the clothe of her glove and begin to feel the distance. The feel of her glove reminds me of cotton balls and I cringe but I know I can't pull my hand away again. I'm not quite sure why, I just know that I cannot. 

The train stops at Astoria Blvd and more people get on. As the train fills in more, a homeless man wanders in and sits across from us. He looks through me. But his stench envelopes me. I feel there is no more filth than in New York city. I remember the summer days when I would pray for rain to wash away the filth and the streets could carry the sweet aroma again of fresh rain. But it doesn't rain like this in the fall, nor on the trains. At 30th Ave, people get off the train and move to other cars to avoid the smell. Susanna nor I move at all. Its as if our minds are still frozen by the cold air coming in from the sliding doors, and are unable to move. The smell is overpowering, repulsive. But we seem to have just accepted it. We seem unaffected by it as anything more than mild discomfort. Neither of us willing to break the silence or empty stares. 

We sit still. Motionless. Calm. Quiet. I focus on the poetry in motion signs hanging atop the train handles. It reads, "The Snowman" and I remember winter is coming and that it'll soon be even colder. My aimless thought patterns are interrupted as the conductor says "Broadway." Susanna squeezes my hand gently and I turn to her. Her eyes saying goodbye as my eyes are woken returning the silent word. She kisses my cheek and releases my hand. as the train pulls away we catch eyes through the accelerating plexiglass again. The look on her face unchanged, and I think how strange it was to feel her skin on my still cold face.

ⓒ 2000 Shawn Michael Quinn

Prick 2, Philly Party / Zine

"now.

this anger you blow out like wind is just an escape from what you have given

and until you give it up, it will dance in front of you holding an empty cup

give it a given...

or just fucking give it up.

xxxxxxxxxxx"

"i wish i could pick you up

carry you away from all of the disgust

take you to the highest mountain

and wash you off

unclip your wings

and send you up again

watch you soar

but even if I gave you the cure

saved your salvation

and gave you more

your satisfaction wouldn't last

your fickle fancy taste

would have you in a fit of rage

craving and writhing

tempting and trying

for the perfect feeling

just don't descend

it's a spiral with no end

we're not that boring

nothing here is that great

just hold on tight and wait

living is a drawn out form of dying

but we should quit whining

at least we got the chance"

"give away the givens

start choppin

you're all heart

but me.

i'm still hard."

~Jennie Tagle