WHAT IS A "McGangBang"?

What is a "McGangBang"?

A small journey into the pop culture of today that I have largely ignored until now. Apparently teenagers with big hungers and low funds try this idea. You go to McDonalds and get a Double Burger  and a Junior Chicken off the value menu. The total bill comes to $2.92, (in Canada).

You open the Double Burger and insert the Junior Chicken inside thereby creating a larger sandwich, the "McGangBang", to satisfy that afternoon craving for something greasy and disgusting. So interesting I had to tell someone about it!

BONNY SNEAKER

BONNY SNEAKER
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I woke up in the closet, it

was dark, too drunk to

remember much, burning taste of

Scotch and cigarettes

still lingering in my throat,

trying to move but a throbbing

headache kept me pinned to the 

blanket I had lain out on the floor.

Softly, a knocking at the door

and a quick question.

"Are you in there?"

I coughed in response and

heard the handle slowly turning

and a beam of light shone in when

the door opened a crack.

I cowered in the corner, not sure

why but pretty sure I had every

right and reason to be cowering.

"What are you doing in there?"

she asked.

"Just taking a nap,"

I replied, what the fuck did it look like?

"You know I had to take a cab home."

She said.

I knew it but I didn't really care,

we had both driven in separate cars

anyway so I didn't see how it

made a difference.

"How come you left?"

She asked.

I considered telling her the truth,

something like, well because she

was acting like a stuck-up bitch

but my head was too sore to get

into a fight.

"I wasn't feeling well, so I just

went home."

was all I could muster.

"You could have told me, I was worried."

I'm sure she was real fucking worried,

I wondered how long it took her before

she even realized I was gone.

"I just didn't want to ruin your night,"

I said,

"You couldn't have driven me home anyway."

She was fully inside the room by now.

"Just forget it."

I said.

"I'm just tired, I need some sleep."

"I had to leave early because of you, I missed

the best part of the night."

She whined.

That was enough.

"Stop being such a spoiled

rotten little bitch,"

I yelled.

The running shoe hit me right in

the middle of the forehead and sobered

me up in a second.

I looked directly into her eyes and I

saw evil.

She stomped off leaving the shoe on the

floor beside me.

There was a small knife on

the floor and then I noticed I had cut

my chest again.

More scars.

MCC

AUTUMN

AUTUMN
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November did not creep in

until the last day of that month

and when it did, it seemed like

it had much more than revenge

on its' mind.

Cold breaths quickly dissolve

at bus stops while talking is

enough to freeze the saliva in your

mouth and allow your teeth to be

knocked out by a mere gust of

wind.

Garbage and coloured leaves

stick to the ground where they

blew, weighted down by the

cold they move no more.

Walking past Country Style

the door opens and immediately

the aroma of roasted coffee beans,

deep-fried sugar, danish

and black forest cupcakes

comes wafting through the air in

a forced breeze soon quaffed by

the slightest gusts of wind.

Peering inside the window a

mist forms on the glass by my

breath, disappearing only to

reappear with each breath I take.

I look at the tables

and see women with children

fifteen extra minutes spent

each time they have to undress

them to really feel the warmth

and then start all over again

when its time to leave.

An old man sits at another

table, watching the children,

no steam is coming from his

mug which means he finished it

or it has been sitting there too long.

Either way he's probably just

waiting long enough before they ask

him to buy something else or leave.

The huge toaster is spewing out

toasted bread waiting to be weighted

down with too much butter and

cream cheese, extra cholesterol

for the pre-heart attack victim

silently oozing off the sides and

saturating a napkin.

I long for the warmth and 

the touch of so many people

and I can even spot a chair

where I could sit, on the edge

of all the different groups yet a 

part of the entire scene.

I dream about pushing my way

into that Garden of Eden but I pause

too long and then I realize

there are too many people.

MCC

MEDITATE

MEDITATE

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Patterns on the wall

move quickly as does the arm

of the Chinese car in the Sky

Hair Salon.

I lean back in the chair as the

new-age Chinese music is broadcast

into one ear suddenly enveloping

my entire head with its' chiming and

light pulls at the strings of a guitar.

I block out the words as I don't

understand them but they are as

important to me as the accompanying music.

I am in a trance yet I can't

force my brain to stop moving.

Zapping from one place to another

in a wild firestorm of thought,

good versus evil and the final

countdown in a race that has no

ending.

I feel myself sink deeper into the chair

and the music actually slows down

to almost a drawl as I feel my

eyelids become heavy, not sure whether I

am being put to sleep by the

chanting or whether the incessant snipping

from the scissors or buzzing from the

shears is the actual culprit to

my ennui.

I am asleep, there is a clock

ticking in the background but I

can't focus enough to discover where

it belongs. My eyelids are heavy and

I fear I can't open them.

I try but they press down relentlessly

and I fear there is a straight razor

closing in on my neck and

my end must be near

Finally I get them opened and 

the cat is still waving at me,

Chinese symbols emblazon the front

but I am too shy to ask what

they mean but I'm sure the cat is

only transmitting warm messages.

I can open my eyes wide now

and I can discern the white noise

coming from the cd player as the

music comes to an end.

Lights are bright and there's more

hair on the floor than there was

before.

I long to go back into the same 

trance and feel the noisy silence

once more slip into the innermost

corners of my mind.

I also wonder if they turn off

the cat at night or if it is left

running twenty four hours a day?

MCC

DEAFENING SILENCE

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DEAFENING SILENCE

Reddened, swollen eyes watch

as I take a seat across from

her on the bus.

Crying all night perhaps,

how am I supposed to tell

and furthermore why am I

supposed to care?

Fingers tighten around purse

and I wonder if she thinks

I am going to rob her as I

exit,

but I am too tired to rob 

anyone and the idea of getting

up to run down a dark laneway

with some woman's purse

is the farthest thing from

my thoughts.

I look down at the floor

to free her from the fear that I

am any kind of danger

but the swollen eyes have arrested

me and force me to look up

briefly so as to get some sort of

idea of what she is crying about.

It could easily be anything,

death in the family, lost dog,

loss of job or maybe even a broken 

fingernail,

What the fuck do I know

Just asking the obvious question

would get me labeled a sex

offender and I would risk

being chased down the street by the

bus driver.

But I want to know,

what the fuck had she been crying

about? Maybe she was being

beaten at home on a nightly basis

and tonight she would succumb to

those beatings and die in a bloody

mess on the floor.

What if I could somehow step in

at this moment and convince her

to save her own life?

I could be a hero, front-page news

in tomorrow's paper,

"Humanitarian Saves Woman on Bus Using

Words and Spirit"

I can just read it now!

But I know I won't be 

reading that tomorrow,

because I'm not going to do

or say anything,

for all I know she was crying

from a paper cut she received

from the hundred dollar bill she 

put on Shawshank to win in the fifth,

no reason to get involved.

MCC

INDIFFERENCE

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INDIFFERENCE

A face peeked around the corner,

young, fresh, oriental, or Asian, I'm

not sure which I'm supposed to use.

Sudden fear in her eyes as they

met mine,

tongue-tied, stammering,

trying to get the statement out,

one she had probably been practicing

for the last half hour.

Sudden fear from the realization she

had to talk to the devil,

sick old man sitting behind a desk

with a scowl on his face.

I beckoned for her to come closer,

wanting to hear better what I knew I

couldn't understand anyway, 

no hatred there, just fear and so

much uncertainty.

Seeing the form in her hand I realized

where she needed to go,

and I explained it with language,

oral and body, 

she nodded and smiled revealing

very crooked teeth.

Shaking she backed up, mumbling

what I assumed to be "thank-you"

and then she was off like the

wind, in the opposite direction

I had sent her.

Acting out of boredom, I watched

her for five minutes pacing the

parking lot,

and since I felt like having a smoke

anyway I set out to guide her,

she was apprehensive at first,

and then I guess she just gave up

and surrendered all her pride in

one fell swoop.

I walked to the end of the 

building with her,

nothing was said,

there was little point in saying

anything,

and I held the door open for her

as she entered the building,

I looked into her eyes as she

passed by and I smelled

ginger and cloves,

and then I noticed the fear

that had been so obvious previously

had disappeared and been replaced

by sheer relief.

I let her in and then I walked

back to my hole, my cell, my giant

desk in Purgatory,

I never saw her again

and I can't imagine for the life of me

that she remembers our encounter.

MCC

BECAUSE IT IS ON

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BECAUSE IT IS ON

Because it is stupid,

it helps my brain wind down

and finishes any chance of sleeping

or thinking.

The continuous clockwork of my mind

is finally empty,

cobwebbed perhaps but the electricity

stops and nothingness takes over.

My blood flows slower and I can

reach out and touch individual

pieces on the shish-ka-bob and eat

them at my leisure instead of deep

throating the entire skewer and

chewing it into one massive wad

that I have to force myself to swallow.

I can still feel the magnets inside

my head, polarizing themselves

and moving all the files

from one place to another.

Long-term memory becomes short

and sometime I can't remember what

I did five minutes ago,

but I can remember Coyote farting

into a shuttlecock container and then

holding it over my face until I breathed

when I was four or five years old.

On my luckiest days I can transform

myself to a realm of fantasy,

always majestic, always England,

faeries and dragons, magical

wizards, leprechauns and Druids,

childhood games of Asterix and Obelix

where I always had to play Obelix,

big and dumb, no drugs for me.

I was never allowed to play Asterix even

though I always knew I couldn't anyway,

way too much confidence, I had the

Gallic sarcasm down pat but I never

could have pulled it off.

What the fuck did they do with all those

menhirs anyway?

Dogmatix be damned, I would have had a 

cat instead.

Because it is stupid,

fifteen minutes with my head at the

right angle, perfect temperature,

no sweating and I can get to sleep

otherwise its all just bullshit and

I have to put up with the lunatic

asylum that is broadcast on television

each and every night,

fearful to pinch myself lest I am

actually asleep and I don't want

to wake myself up.

Dawn breaks with a soft laugh

and a good hard kick in the teeth,

beaten down enough to begin

another lousy day.

MCC

CONTRITE

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CONTRITE

Curtains have been drawn,

and no amount of light has

managed to inch its way in,

so I try to remain asleep, even

though I know I was never asleep 

in the first place.

I hear dogs in the distance,

howling at imaginary rabbits

that yearned to be chased across the

backyard only to be caught in

the end and be ripped to shreds

by razor-sharp teeth.

Birds fly over the scene and witness

all but they offer no help,

not even the offer to act as a 

witness to the brutality.

The screams from the neighbors 

are audible but muted,

lots of noise,but no words,

as if they scream at each other

but they have their own code so as

not to give away their deepest

secrets,

but we know something is wrong,

they are not discussing today's racing

page or a stock market plunge

prediction.

The kettle finally steams

and lava boils up and pours

over the rim

marking the mountain forever

while covering up the most recent

tidbits of shame and ugliness.

We are too cruel and we know it,

who can talk about love and

compassion while eating a cheeseburger,

or listen to a speech on equality

while the only thing you can think of

to stop the chatter,

is to ram your cock in her mouth.

Even when the curtains

are finally opened wide,

only darkness and more darkness

fills the room, the glowing tip

of a cigarette butt, the only star

in the sky,

Dreams of Hilda Doolittle,

and Sheri Martinelli,

from sepia-inspired fantasies.

Scrotal sacs are folded up

 and loaded onto the truck,

a fond farewell to mud, dog-shit

and snot-filled tissues.

The range has moved on and I

feel as though yet another ship has

sailed, I had the keel in my

back pocket but then I couldn't

walk very well, could I?

MCC

NB- Some disturbing imagery in there, I know, finding it harder and harder to keep it below the surface, MCC.

MAGINOT DE MAGGOT LINE

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MAGINOT DE MAGGOT LINE

Expressive, a noise so loud,

rapping on glass, the insides

tapping ferociously to get out,

to leap out of the void,

and pierce my eyelids,

such noise as a cacophony of

songbirds yet muffled by a space-age

plastic that allows movement,

only when I blink.

As I delve into the interior I see

the fire,

the burning deep flame that hides

behind the eyes at rest yet can burst

forth at any sudden rush of ire,

angst or elegant surprise.

Looking into the skin the warmth

burns my soul and sets

my fingertips to twitching.

Far off a voice is calling, pulling

me back to my seat as I refuse to

pay witness to the parade shuffling 

past.

I see and feel secrets as though they

demand to be opened,

like unwrapping a present as a child

spoiling the bow makes little difference

before the secret is discovered.

Turning away to see if the spark

disappears proves nothing,

the spell has been set and

six pieces become one again.

But the spark still burns,

thoughts recede,

such a small memory, as a child,

stealing small sips of Kirsch from

our father and thinking I had fooled

him,

feeling the burn and wondering how and

why something could feel so good

and so bad.

Desire to covet is soon

replaced by an imagination of

wonder, of sheer elegance,

harder than steel,

but so dangerously feminine.

The image is so strong,

and the perfume is powerful,

like musk being boiled with

a soldering iron,

blue daffodils spread on the grass,

bare feet trampling them only to

have them crushed and then bloom

again once more.

The etching has gone very deep

able to enter my mind at whim,

I pause and shiver, 

why am I so weak?

MCC

Loose Gravel

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LOOSE GRAVEL

The prat at the end of the

long dark hallway is beginning

to build deep black feelings inside

my soul.

I feel remorse as I worry about

what will happen if I lose

any type of control.

So much inane chatter,

threatening to make my blood boil

and fly off into an ever so

glorious rage of bitterness and

revenge.

I command my heart to stay quiet

and it obeys for now,

although I have no control over

the mouth that seeks to wreak havoc

over the stillness that could pervade.

The dream has been dead for so

long that chances for resurrection have

long since disappeared,

labeled as impossible or at least

improbable, I have attempted to move

on but still continue to get sucked

under the waves and waves of shit

that crash onto the rocks on the beach.

Always mindful of the albatross,

I perch over the scenery and feel

the hatred leak out from between my

toes, compassion rears its' ugly head

and I have trouble swallowing

the very advice I have given myself

over and over to a dead audience.

Signaling the driver I comprehend

that the bus should stop at the next

sign but the panic sets in as he does

not slow down as he gets nearer.

I can't push the buzzer again, it brings

far too much attention to myself,

I would rather walk a couple of extra

blocks than be singled out as a malcontent.

Once again I wish I were a stronger

person but I know I have failed yet

again, I walk two extra blocks in

the rain, not getting any wetter,

but suffering all the same the extra time

in the surf.

Eyes peer out at me, behind tinted

car windows and I curb the reflex

to throw a pop bottle or

cigarette butt at them, what good would

it do?

I keep my head down as I

walk and I cross the busy streets

without looking as if I were daring

people to help me and to run me over

like a stray dog. Home looms near

and I reconcile to another day, mission

accomplished, nothing more than survival and absurdity.

MCC

AUTO-CREATION

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AUTO-CREATION

I worried about leaving the

house this morning, thinking

I had set off a chain of events

the night before that couldn't

be stopped or even slowed down.

A nasty look here and there,

sharp retort and a look and 

feeling of general disgust pervaded

my being, in his presence,

yet I stood firm and refused to 

feel, I refused to be drawn in

to open my mouth would be to

seal my fate,

and I have resisted for so long

that I can even imagine that I

have won the battle.

The war must be almost over

and with my removal I will only

be able to look backwards

and rue what I destroyed with my

own stubbornness and sheer

stupidity.

Look the other way and sometimes

all you will see is something worse.

I feel as though a trail of fire ants

are marching down my arm and they

are all stinging me in unison leaving

my limbs dangling and useless,

but the pain is not paralyzed.

My arm is numb but it hurts

terribly and if I could

only immerse it in ice cold water,

all the barbs from the ants would

fall out and their venom would turn 

to painkiller and I would be

saved.

The walls and ceiling are closing

in upon me and I can't

raise my arms or shield my face.

I will be crushed and as I feel

the heavy ceiling weighing slowly

down on my 

head things become clearer

and I picture myself in the

backyard of our home in

Beloeiul, they have a swimming 

pool and I see so many kids

bobbing around on the surface in

lifejackets, tethered enjoyment

with no chance of a lawsuit.

I see Coyote there and one part

of me wishes I was with him,

the dominant part of my being

is too afraid to go in the water

with that many children,

so I watch from a distance

and spit into the blades of grass.

There are "dents de leon" growing

everywhere and I can't spit on them all. 

MCC

Pseudo-Dawn

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PSEUDO-DAWN

I awaken, lying flat on my back

and I notice butterflies swirling

above my head, just out of reach

I try and scatter them with my

hand, they move a little higher and

then they completely disappear

leaving me alone in the universe.

Closing my eyes I will them to come

back to me but when I open them

again all I can see is empty space,

air devoid of butterflies is not a

happy thought or sight,

and I cannot will a smile from my

lips looking into such an awful,

empty space.

Reality sinks in like a right hook

to the jaw moments later when I

realize I must rise and feebly

attempt to accept the fact that yet

another day has dawned.

I crawl out of my sleeping position

and force myself to take that

first step that separates inertia

from rock, one foot in front of the

other while ankles creak and knees

complain as if they are ready

to leave me and move on to more

comfortable pastures.

My back and spine take minutes

to align themselves before I am

finally able to walk upright

and as I shuffle to the kitchen I

realize the headache that was

bothering me so much the whole night

previous has ebbed into a dull

thump that is much easier to live with.

All hail to the acetaminophen Gods

that have sustained me for so long and

have managed to cover up the spike-covered

cobwebs that inhabit my skull.

It won't last forever so I revel in

the beauty of being pain-free even if

it only lasts for an hour or two.

The kitchen brings some relief if

only to brighten the day, more

windows and on the right side

of the house for those prone to

early rising.

The curtains remain open for the 

entire day as even moonlight

and starlight deserve to be embraced,

the glow of thousands of streetlamps

can also be warming to the heart

and I allow them to shine in as

long as they care to keep burning.

I fear complete darkness as a fox

fears the hunter, always stay in

front, leave a little space just in case you trip on a shoelace.

MCC

LAST FEW MILES

LAST FEW MILES
PM# 1206034

The express bus,

Pearson to Kipling Station,

and then the long trek on

the subway, across the entire city

and then a short walk home.

A nine thousand kilometre trip,

the most tiring part at the end.

The bus had almost reached the

station when it happened,

someone wasn't paying attention

and pulled out in front of us.

Slam! The brakes went on, small

screams of surprise, then one

guy flew across the floor, landing

on his head.

I saw the car briefly, and then it

took off, the Air Canada Jazz stewardess

looked helpless without her beverage cart

but she knew enough to tell the man

not to move,

he wasn't going anywhere.

Shock wore off quickly, then everyone

started to file off and walk in the direction

of the station.

I stayed behind, not so much for heroics,

but I had two suitcases,

heavy as hell that I didn't

feel like dragging up the hill.

I put my sweater under the poor 

guy's head and tried to calm

him but what the hell are you

supposed to say.

He was having trouble moving his

neck so I expected the worst.

We waited twenty minutes for the 

ambulance to arrive, it

seemed like hours.

We managed to get the guy on a

backboard, he was pretty groggy

and they loaded him into the 

van.

The cop seemed a little too routine

for my liking, he didn't seem to take

the situation seriously.

Indifference, I suppose.

The supervisor showed up and I told

him what I knew, what I saw,

and what I believed happened.

Hopefully someone got the license

number down.

They hailed another bus and they

put me on it with my luggage

and I concluded the last leg of

my journey on the train home.

I guess that proves the theory

that air travel is safer than car, and

that most accidents happen

close to home.

Michael Crane

SEA MIST

Sea Mist
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I stared out at the sea

mesmerized by the sheer

vastness and the uncontrollable

power.

I looked towards Africa,

or where I supposed the Cape

of Good Hope was,

but there were too many clouds

on the horizon,

not to mention the thousands and

thousands of miles of ocean that

lay between us.

Out in the distance I could see a

naval destroyer, patrolling the

ocean for some insignificant reason.

The mainland hadn't been attacked

since the early 1800's but I guess

they still had to be vigilant.

The hulk of the Crucero General 

Belgrano lay at the bottom of the

sea quite a distance to the south

a reminder that even governments

can be childish.

The ghosts of the crew are still

in the sea and their whispers

are heard as the waves lap the

shoreline.

The fishing boats are all coming

in as the storm seems to be

looming in the distance, far out

at sea,

I hope they brought in enough

to satisfy the catch of the day

menus in the seafood restaurants.

I had salmon for lunch

but I could eat fish here everyday.

The gulls cry and cry,

looking for fish and finding

lots of garbage,

I wonder if all the ghosts 

in the water are frightening to them

or if they just ignore and

carry on with their lives...

The city busses pick up and drop 

off as usual, solitary people

walk down by the sea,

looking out, contemplating the

universe,

maybe some are even considering

suicide, drowning in the swell

at high tide, its not something

you would read about in the

newspaper.

I keep looking and looking,

staring out to sea, trying to

spot something but I come up

short and disappointed,

when will the ending begin?

Michael Crane

AUTUMN AVENUE

Autumn Avenue
PM# 1206032

I face a wide avenue, palm trees

on the boulevard stretching far

into the distance, opening the

imagination and imprinting a song

or two in the eardrums.

The austral winter sun beats down

on my forehead with just as

much strength and sweat forms

in every orifice. The chilly, but

dry wind has seared my nostrils

and tightened my chest yet I

move along, my shoes scuffling

up dust with every step. Holiday 

cabins line the avenue,

all are empty now, ready for the

weekend as tourists still flock to

enjoy the down by the river

experience, barbeques, picnics, lots

of beer and wine,

dancing into the night and waking

up with absolutely nothing to do.

I walk on, desperately thirsty, but

nothing is open, closed until friday,

I finally reach a kiosco that has

some signs of life, a skin and bones

dog lies in the doorway, flies buzzing

around it, occasionally a flick of the

tail is the only evidence the dog is

alive. I gingerly step over the

mutt and he doesn't even open his

eyes to acknowledge me.

The shop is cool and I opt for a 

giant bottle of Pepsi, a bottle from

the fridge is more expensive but this

is no time to worry about money.

I retire under a nearby tree, the

first sip of soda nearly causes

my entire head to explode but I move

on, opening my book I pass into

history, the oblivion of the Falklands

War, sitting in the territory that 

started it and wondering how they

let things slide so badly since then,

but that is for another day.

Let the sun pass over my head

and the night brings on a peace

that exists in no other part of

the world,

that I've visited anyway.

Let the clouds roll over our head

as they reach down to

sweetly caress your brow,

as if trying to extract the very

root of the pain from your soul.

Attach your strings to the

south winds that blow continuously over

the fertile Pampas and knock over the

Pepsi bottle as I sleep.

Michael Crane