"ther's my head and there's the page." You capture the experience of trying to write very well in this poem.

Effective idea to personify negativity as demons. I like the ambiguity at the end. If I have one criticism it's that this feels like an analysis of the experience of fear and doubt without a lot of the emotionality. Perhaps revealing what's at stake - what is the goal would give the reader greater buy-in.

"a victorious secret made up to be in the past tense." I love this line. This poem has a great spoken word quality to it. Enjoyed reading it.

Hey, thanks for reading and also thanks for the crititicism.

Damn. That was hard

My best friend is totally dysfunctional. I got her out of the pokey for the fifth time since November. She didn't give me the money for the rent she owes. Her side of the room is gross. Clothing strewn everywhere. Her bowl and pipe stink up the living room. She needs to go.

I tried to drive her out of the house with the phoney ghost but it turns out she likes ghosts. That weirdo medium she brought in didn't improve things. Horrible person.

I tried being up front but she was high. Interpreted everything like I love her. Perplexing and cumbersome miscues led her to set me up with her boss. Mildred. Yikes. For both of us.

I tried tidying up her mess. She just smiled and complimented the lovely smell in the house. Never even considered why it smelled so good.

So over this chick and her creepy friends and her disturbing music and her slovenly grossness. Done.

She will be home in ten minutes. She will light up in fifteen. No one will detect the poison I put in her weed. I will not be suspect. Her supplier will.

I already posted for a non-deficient roomie. The interview will be more rigorous this time.

When a pessimist dares to dream

I am looking at the world through unfamiliar eyes
My legs don't feel like mine
My thoughts don't sound like me
I keep swimming toward a vision though I'm no visionary

Outside my conscious head
Within my waking heart 
Nothing is what it seems.
Unrooted and drifting.
in this restless ocean
of long-deferred dreams.

I've risked it all before.
I've lost it all before.
Dreams don't come with proof;
Do I dare sacrifice
My cynic's safe harbor,
my cautious, careful truth?

So late to try again.
So old to dream again.
I declare myself maker
with canvas, paint, and brush
Painter! Risk-taker!

Waves of uncertainty
Waves of audacity
I sink, yet I will
emerge optimistic.
Going under in hope,
Drowning, I grow gills.

I am looking at myself through unfamiliar eyes.
My feet don't move like mine
My words don't sound like me
Could drowning in dreams mean I'm becoming a visionary?

*bonus constraint words: Sacrifice and emerge

I liked this a lot. I especially love the way you tied ideas like medication and space in different ways throughout the poem. The tone and mood are well managed. Sometimes poetry with this sort of heartbreak/loss don't work. This does.

I in frustration at the sign that greets us in the lobby.

"No internet. That's it. Another day, another chance slips away."

"Did you know that the card catalog was once the key to the library's collection?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." My mother is always making references I don't understand. I gaze over the rows of silent terminals feeling desperate.

"I don't have time for this," I mutter, turning to go back to the van that is currently doubling as our home.

"Are you giving up?"

Am I giving up? Well I have applied for forty-seven jobs using those terminals. I've gotten sixteen 'thanks for applying but...' emails. Nobody else bothered to even send a 'no thanks' email. Not having a diploma has locked me out of most of the opportunities that might put a roof over our heads. And now the information I need is hidden.

"Are you aware that they still put information in print books?"

"Not the information we need."

"How do you know?"

My mother hobbles toward a desk marked "Reference" where a man is sitting.

Waiting tables became impossible as the disease that will eventually put her in a wheelchair began to limit movement. She lost her job. We got evicted right after school let out for summer. In a year I'll graduate and things will be better.

Our van is pretty comfortable unless it's really hot or really cold. It's a sunny summer day outside. The library is deserted because most people left as soon as they noticed the internet is down. The air conditioning is nice, though and we'll probably stay through the hottest part of the day. We come to the library and use the computers and read books and magazines because it's clean and safer than sitting in our van all day. The park is nice too, sometimes. It's weird being homeless but we are figuring it out and telling ourselves it's temporary until one or both of us gets a job.

"Excuse, me can you help us find some information?"

The man looks up and smiles, "I would love to help you."

"Jessie, would you explain what we need to know?"

I walk up the desk. This is a new experience for me. We use the library computers almost every day but I've never actually talked to a librarian or checked out a book. I don't think they give out cards to people who don't have permanent addresses.

"I have a job interview and I need to find out as much as I can about the company and the person who is interviewing me. I have to corporate address but I want to drive over and look at the warehouse where I'll be working."

I don't say because my mom will be parked in the van and I need to know if the area is shady.

"Of course. There is a directory of small businesses in the reference stacks. You can't check it out but you can use it here."

"How will we find it without a card catalog?"

The man's eyes light up, "Speaking my language."

"Not mine," I mutter.

"Honestly, I've been here so long I know where everything is. The Dewey Decimal system is in my head. The local business directories are in 381 with business and commerce."

"How long have you been here?" Mom asks.

"35 years. We had a card catalog and a computerized catalog when I started."

"Here," he hands me a book, "Businesses are listed alphabetically with current information about leadership, revenue, etc. along with the physical addresses. You might want to read up."

"My future might depend on this. Thank you so much."

My mom points at a line she found in another book she found on the shelves

I look over her shoulder and read, "Everything you need for a better future and success has already been written."

"Do you think that's true?" Mom asks.

I shrug. Mom with her weird questions. I don't know if she's bored or her disease is affecting her mind, but lately she's been so freaking philosophical.

"I think that's a very limited perspective because new information is always being added to knowledge that already exists. That's why I love working in the library," the librarian answers.

My mother smiles, "I think it would be wonderful to work in a library."

"We are hiring at the circulation desk right now."

"Oh I don't have a degree or anything. I just need a job where I can sit now."

I sit down at a table and type the address into my phone. I read through the entry and notice the name of the HR person who called me to interview. I try to figure out if my supervisor's name is in there. It might look good when I go into the interview if I know this stuff. I take notes about the earnings and look at a big chart showing who is who's boss. I realize I will look like an idiot if I mention it but don't know what it's called.

My mom and the librarian are deep in conversation.

"Excuse me, what's this chart called?"

He looks at it, "Organizational chart. Good strategy if you are going for a job interview."

I nod. After a few more notes I feel ready to go. The librarian is at the copier when I return to the desk,

"I make a copy of the most frequently asked job interview questions so you can practice your answers. It's a good idea to think about what you are going to say before you go into the interview."

"Wow. Above and beyond. I had no idea librarians knew all this." I say

"Their skills are probably very underestimated and largely underemployed," he replies, "Especially since so much is online and available without consulting a librarian. But we are trained to sift through information and make evaluations. I love it when someone lets me help."

He hands another copy of the questions to my mom, "I hope you'll consider applying. I think you have a very good chance. I also think you should consider these options. I think you are entitled to some help based on what you've told me." He hands her another list.

As we walk to the van my mom and I are quiet. I feel more hopeful than I have in months. My mother is smiling. I don't remember the last time I saw her smile like that. Hopeful.

"I'm glad the internet was down," I say as we head over to the warehouse to consider the parking possibilities. " That librarian was amazing. And mom, I think he likes you."

She smiles again, "Do you think so?"

I've been stuck in the elevator for a very long time with Giselle, Armelinda, and Kylie. It's weird. Our hair hasn't grown. Nobody has had to pee. Yet it's obvious that a lot of time has passed because Giselle is deconstructing. Armelinda and Kylie have barely done more than check their makeup, talk business, and nod sympathetically as Giselle dissects her past.

For a long time I've known that I am a supporting player in Giselle's life. I've also realized that Armelinda and Kylie are sidekicks. Tropes. They could be any two pretty girls who care about their pretty friend and support her narrative. Right now they are planning the next social media ad blitz.

What I haven't known until now is my role in this story. I thought I was an unlikely and more perceptive sidekick. Not pretty in the traditional sense. More like an advisor than a sidekick. After all this time to reflect in this elevator I realize that I am The Mentor. Usually the mentor is older, not a peer, but I'm an old soul. I am the one who provides Giselle with information and psychological support. I gently nudge her decision-making. And she gets the credit. It's been that way since we were kids. Unlike the other three I majored in literature in college. So while Giselle has been deconstructing and

My conversation with Giselle in the elevator has been a lot of back and forth, helping her deconstruct from her parent's influence. She's been stuck in the cave. We've spent far longer on the threshold. We graduated from college and opened an online fashion outlet that is reasonably profitable. The four of us have found SOs with whom we are reasonably happy. We each have purchased decent starter homes in okay neighborhoods where we park our mid-priced medium-sized SUVs. No bumps in the road. No personal growth. Just day after day of walking our respective poodle mixes and getting massages.

Until this elevator. And nothing bad had happened in here either. Except that I've realized that we are as physically stuck as we have been metaphorically stuck.

The elevator doors open. We are greeted by a friendly man in basic business attire.

"Right this way."

"Do you remember why we're here?" Giselle whispers.

"We've been in that elevator so long I've forgotten," Armelinda whispers back.

Kylie shakes her head and I shrug.

We are led into to a conference room and asked to sit.

"I hope the wait isn't as long as the elevator ride," Armelinda jokes. She's the funny one.

The door opens and a person walks in. They fill the room. I can't describe it any other way.

"Allison. We need to talk."

I look at my companions who seem to be calmly sipping on coffee and looking at a screen in the conference room.

"They aren't having the same experience right now. They are listening to a new designer pitch their small clothing line. It will be a big break for all of you."

"Sorry? I'm not following."

"Allison. You figured something out in the elevator didn't you?"

The eyes hold me. I feel exposed. Known.

"I kept you there long enough for Giselle to work through what's been holding her back. And for you to understand your role in her story."

"Who are you? What is this?"

"I am the writer of the story you are in, among others."

"Well, couldn't you have just put the thoughts in our heads then?"

"That doesn't always work. Not for this type of story. Giselle thinks she's in a romantic comedy right now. She's had a sparkling life with funny little inconveniences and cute skirmishes with her love interest. But in that elevator she's remembered the traumas of her childhood. And they are dark. She hasn't told you everything. She will. And her boyfriend. She will tell him."

"I suspected something when we were kids."

"Of course you did. I made you perceptive. Maybe too perceptive. You were not actually supposed to realize this isn't your own narrative. The trick of writing life is that everyone needs to think they are the main character in their own narrative and also as supporting characters in their loved ones narratives. Otherwise mental health devolves quickly."

"Am I going crazy? Is that what this is?"

"Not at all. It's just that Giselle's narrative is central to affecting change in the world. Yours isn't. It's not that you don't matter on a micro level. Just not so much on a macro level. Except in the way that you influence Giselle. So far you have done a stellar job. But now it's Mike's turn to take that role."

"So it will get serious with them."

"Very."

'Okay, so I'm the mentor. How am I supposed to ment."

The writer smiles.

"When the time comes you will say wise things. Beautiful, memorable things. You will hear them in your head as they come from your mouth. It will feel natural at the time. It will be soon. And then your part in the story will be over."

"Over?"

"I can't tell you what a joy you've been to write. I've tried and tried different versions to get the same result. In a story like this, the main character must experience loss. The thing with her parents is the start. But, on order to move where she needs to be even Giselle's positive ties with her past need to be severed."

"Me."

"You."

"Where will I go?" I know already but I want to make them say it.

The kindest, gentlest voice answers, "Your death is pivotal. It will bring movement, wisdom, strength, empathy, power into Giselle's character. She and Mike will become forces for good in the world. Armelinda and Kylie will become three dimensional."

Tears roll down my cheeks. "It's hard to take. Not mattering in my own right."

They nod, "For what it's worth, writing you has been one of the delights of my infinitely long stint as a life writer. I have tried killing off every other character in hundreds of thousands of drafts. I broke the wall to tell you how much you mean. Giselle's childhood trauma is good for a few more years. She'll need you for that. I promise to write in some delightful surprises just for you. You won't remember this conversation. But from now on your instinct will be to live as if every day might be your last."

"Thanks for that, I guess."

Giselle, Armelinda, and Kylie are standing, laughing, talking excitedly to the young man who met us at the elevator. Beautiful clothing samples hang around the conference room. I am sitting, dazed. My coffee is cold. My mind wandered. I get up to go and stand beside Giselle. I sense she is going to need me.

The wordless montage in Up showing Ellie and Carl’s life together.

I’ve seen this scene bring high school boys to tears. I cry in front of my film class every time.

The pace of older movies feels slower. In many cases it takes longer to tell the story. Most of the time a story is linear with fewer flashbacks and certainly not the current trend of starting with an action sequence then flashing back to exposition.

The older the film the greater the possibility that actors were trained more like stage actors. Method acting techniques evolved through Stanislavski to different schools including Strasberg, and Meisner. Throughout the decades acting techniques changed and that reflects in the performances over different decades.

Certain film devices and tropes were popular during particular decades. During the 70's and 80's lots of films had musical montages in them. Tropes change. Every teen film from 1980-2005 or so had a scene in a mall. Kids don't go to malls much anymore so it's not a trope in current teen films.

Most plots in old movies seem to depend on people not being able to access information or to communicate immediately with others in order to solve the problem the plot twists presents. The existence of cell phones would ruin the plot of many older films.

Many older movies depict characters who operate under norms regarding relationships that are considered disrespectful if not downright predatory in the 2020's.

Stock characters in many films, especially comedies in the mid-late 20th century often involved race and gender stereotypes that would be considered racist and homophobic now.

Action sequences look very different. The ability to move the camera with the actor changed a lot after the mid 70's with the invention of the steady cam. The use of stunt doubles required a different way to shooting action sequences. Not many closeups. With digital effects action sequences can look a lot more dangerous without endangering actors or stunt people. With older films, in order for scenes shot using mechanical effects to be somewhat safe there had to be a lot of cuts which sometimes lose continuity.

The evolution of digital effects is evident. People traveling in cars look fake in mid-20th century films. The way a scene looks when it's shot using mechanical effects vs digital effects is different. Scenes shot with actors on physical sets vs actors on green screens with computer generated after effects sets look different. I would argue that performances by the actors are affected by the environment in which the scene is shot.