Six Megans: Five
by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.


Joanna Newsom - "No Provenance"

    By June Megan was back, finished her year. They didn't see each other much anymore. Ben was on the scene now. They spent all their time together, so Megan mostly wandered silent in the grey trees that extended behind the library on Mlacak St. The streets were so wide and new here, they didn't crumble like the twisted guts of the city. They were proud, big thick proud roads like bars of gray chocolate, made your teeth hurt to drive on them, all of it was so sweet.
    Megan was at a party and they were there and when her and Ben left, Megan went to the drink table and made one without mix. His beard and his glasses were like some kind of mask, they must be tricking her, like the way a Planet Hollywood looks like you're walking into a planet, but it's just a restaurant. Megan was so alone with her love now, she had never been more alone than this, her love was in heaps, piles and piles of a devalued currency, couldn't buy a gumball with it. They probably lay in bed and smoked, took pictures of each other and read love into their eyes. Serious, dour love that was finally true to both of them. It was probably like that. Megan held on to all the versions of herself there ever were, she held on to them like little jealous children. She wanted to have sex.
    Adam was an old friend, they spoke occasionally, a few 'we should catch up's and one time when a text exchange ended like a half-eaten meal. They fell together outside sitting on the stoop and it was quiet away from the music. He had his own house, it wasn't exactly easy, but it was easier than owning a house in the city. It was small and felt like one of her essays for school, rushed, half-cocked, at times inelegant. Their bodies fit like fallen chairs, they came together like trying to actually touch your reflection. They didn't talk or laugh and he smelled not like she expected, somehow sharp, like he'd been boiled.
    It happened like a fire with the kindling and the rush of flame and the steady part and the slow decline. Megan wondered if she got the message, the message that seemed to tingle her belly-button, the message that there was nothing she would not do to punish herself for letting her go. I'm sorry I ever went away to school, I'm sorry I ever wanted anything other than pretending we were just friends.


Posted by Dan at January 8, 2013 1:42 PM
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Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

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