March 3, 1994

I just finished reading a collection of disturbing poems and stories by Marie Rutk0ski. Very dark and deep and, like I said, disturbing. But why don't we begin on March 1st, 1994, approximately 3:00 PM, to start this story, when Scott Malz@hn (whose birthday, coincidentally was yesterday, March 2nd, along with Dan Gr@nt and Dan W0lfe) concluded his rendition of "Loch Lomond," the famous Scottish folktune. You see, when our pal Scott finished, it was Marie's turn to get up on stage and perform whatever she had to perform, because March is not only the month of her birth (March 9), it is also the month that she was selected to perform at the March 1st Thespian meeting. And that she did, reading three brief poems she composed herself, very powerful, especially her last one (and I have a copy with me now, so I know the title), "Black and White Photograph: Autumn Hanging, 1941." Marie introduced this piece by saying what inspired her to write this piece of what I call suicidal poetry, which is no way to be interpreted as something bad, because the people who write this haunting style (Karina Kramer-Sch3vers comes to mind) I admire very much because of this quality, and in no way are these people suicidal. But they write like it. I don't know; maybe I'm barking up the wrong tree here. So, anyways, I really loved the poetry and yesterday I began a poem of my own based on Marie and her poems and her personality and her verve (!). Or when she told me about how I could've been a preacher if I lived in the 19th century. I began it in Spanish class, which oddly enough, is where I do my best writing nowadays, (my Spanish notebook is chock full o' poems, plays, transcripts, etc.) and even more oddly enough, is where I am now, as Sra. Rosa comes around to check our homework, which I didn't do because we had play practice from 5-9 last nite, as we always do. So, anyways, as I'm thinking of an anagram of Marie's name in Mass Media, and as I finally title it "RIOT IS RUM KAKE" (Do you realize her name is made up of all five vowels?), Becky R0senthal, whom I have branded as my favorite person in the junior class, not including Brandon G0rte (Take it easy; I'm being "faaah-cetious," as Marilyn would say), comes up and says (I'm paraphrasing here) "What's that, John? A poem? Can I read it?" So I'm like, "well no, not really, it's not really done yet," even though it was. And Becky says, "So what's it about?" And I say it's about Marie, and she just about died because "Marie is my bestest friend in the world; I have to read it." And she bribed me with handwritten copies of Marie's three Thespian-read poems, so I couldn't refuse. Becky loved it. And she said she would show it to Marie. Okay, I guess. Fast-foward to 6:55 am, Thursday, March 3RD, 1994, a date that will be most remembered by me as the 2nd anniversary of my spat with Ryan over Danielle. ("Don't get demonic, John.") Marie approaches me before Sunrise and hugs me, whereupon she goes on about how she liked the poem, and would've liked it anyways even if it wasn't about her (if she was someone else?) like if she had read it in a book. She gave me some more of her work to read, which I did, as you already know, in English class. "But don't read it now," she said, because I had cast a glance down at the paper, just to look at it, I guess. We both felt kinda awkward, I suppose, after I reveal to her some things I've thought (in the poem, that is) and she tells me how she enjoyed it. Reminiscent of "Share a Garment Sea" and Wendie (see 7-22-93). Okay. So Marie & I haven't said anything since then (not as if we've had a chance to) but Becky beckons to me after 1st period, and tells me that even if Marie was acting kind of embarrassed (like I said, I think we both were), she (Becky) wanted to reassure me that (well, no reassure, because she never told me anything before then; how could she?) Marie was absolutely flattered and she did, in fact, as Becky did, love the poem. So that made me feel good. Just thought I'd share this story with you.
--JMC 11:12 am