He boarded the train to St. Gallen with the confidence of a man entering a courtroom in which he was both plaintiff and defendant.
Under his right arm, glistening in the weak morning sun, dangled the unapologetically plastic limbs of a woman no one dared to name.
Her expression was fixed — lips parted, eyes wide, not with desire but with the permanent surprise of mass production.
Her glossy legs swayed against his coat as he moved, a synthetic mockery of grace.
She wore nothing but a pink bikini and a pair of mirrored sunglasses he’d added for irony.
It was, in his words, a statement ensemble.
The train was already half full.
Silence swept through the carriage like a priest before a funeral.
One woman coughed.
A man in Lycra — likely a cyclist or just someone terribly European —adjusted his earbuds and looked out the window as if admiring the curvature of Lake Constance could somehow erase what was now happening inside.
The man sat.
Gently.
Carefully.
He placed his plastic companion beside him, propped upright with her legs neatly crossed, as if on a talk show.
He folded his hands in his lap.
Stared forward.
Smiled faintly.
Let them look, he thought.
Let them squirm.
It was his third week since the argument — The Soup Incident, as he’d begun calling it — when his wife, spooning lukewarm lentils into her mouth, declared with absolute clarity:
“Women don’t need men anymore.“
She didn’t yell.
She didn’t flinch.
She said it like one might say, “The milk’s gone off.”
And now here he was:
Traveling with a woman who would never tell him he was obsolete.
Never weaponize her independence.
Never threaten to replace him with a cat and a career in holistic podcasting.
He turned to the doll.
Adjusted her sunglasses.
“Tell me, darling,” he muttered, just loudly enough for the elderly couple across the aisle to hear, “do you feel objectified?”
The doll, in her silence, was radiant.
He glanced around the carriage.
The judgment in their eyes amused him.
They could clutch their pearls all they liked, but they lived in a world where a man once bragged — on tape, no less — about grabbing women by the crotch and was still elected President.
If plastic perversity was too much for them, perhaps they hadn’t been paying attention.
Besides, he hadn’t touched her there.
Not once.
Nor would he ever.
That would ruin the point.
Hiya, Barbie!
Hi Ken!
You wanna go for a ride?
Sure, Ken!
Jump in!
I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it’s fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
Come on Barbie, let’s go party!
I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it’s fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
I’m a blonde bimbo girl, in a fantasy world
Dress me up, make it tight, I’m your dolly
You’re my doll, rock and roll, feel the glamor in pink
Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky-panky
You can touch, you can play
If you say “I’m always yours,” ooh-whoa!
I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it’s fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please
I can act like a star, I can beg on my knees
Come jump in, bimbo friend, let us do it again
Hit the town, fool around, let’s go party
You can touch, you can play
If you say “I’m always yours“
You can touch, you can play
If you say “I’m always yours,” ooh-whoa!
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it’s fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world
Life in plastic, it’s fantastic
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ah, ah, ah-yeah
Come on, Barbie, let’s go party!
Ooh-whoa! Ooh-whoa!
Oh, I’m having so much fun!
Well, Barbie, we’re just getting started
Oh, I love you Ken!
They hadn’t spoken much that day.
Or the one before.
Or the one before that.
Theirs was a marriage that had evolved — or perhaps calcified — into a kind of polite armistice.
Shared meals, shared bills, shared space.
But not thoughts.
Thoughts had become private property, fenced off behind barbed sighs and unread books.
My baby makes me proud
Lord, don’t she make me proud
She never makes a scene
By hangin’ all over me in a crowd
‘Cause people like to talk
Lord, don’t they love to talk
But when they turn out the lights
I know she’ll be leavin’ with me
And when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad that I’m a man
Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors
My baby makes me smile
Lord, don’t she make me smile
She’s never far away
Or too tired to say “I want you“
She’s always a lady
Just like a lady should be
But when they turn out the lights
She’s still a baby to me
‘Cause when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad I’m a man
Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors
Behind closed doors
Dinner was lentil soup.
Again.
She liked it because it was “good for digestion”.
He hated it because it tasted like penitence.
He sat across from her in the small kitchen of their well-insulated Swiss flat.
The radiator hummed.
The spoons clinked.
The world, it seemed, was very far away.
Then, as casually as if she were reading aloud a weather report, she said it.
“Women don’t need men anymore.”
She didn’t even look up.
Just kept stirring.
He blinked.
Thought he hadn’t heard.
Or had misheard.
Or had entered a Kafka play.
Above: Hungarian writer Franz Kafka (1883 – 1924)
“I’m sorry?”, he said, his spoon suspended mid-air.
“We don’t,” she repeated, pausing only to blow gently on her next spoonful.
“Not for income.
Not for reproduction.
Not for validation.”
“But—”, he began.
“Look around,” she continued, her voice perfectly level.
“We do everything now.
CEOs, politicians, scientists.
We are both mothers and fathers.
Sex?
There are machines for that.
Protection?
Security systems.
Emotional support?
Friends, therapists, forums. “
“Men are…” — she looked up, finally — “optional.”
She said it without cruelty.
That’s what chilled him most.
It was a eulogy, not an argument.
“So what am I then?” he asked quietly.
“Furniture?”
“No,” she said.
“You’re historical.”
He wanted to laugh.
But instead he sipped the soup.
It was bitter.
Or maybe that was the aftertaste of something else.
‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony, that’s life
Tryna make ends meet, you’re a slave to money then you die
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah
No change, I can change
I can change, I can change
But I’m here in my mold
I am here in my mold
But I’m a million different people
From one day to the next
I can’t change my mold
No, no, no, no, no
(Have you ever been down?)
Well, I’ve never prayed but tonight I’m on my knees, yeah
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now
But the airwaves are clean and there’s nobody singin’ to me now
No change, I can change
I can change, I can change
But I’m here in my mold
I am here in my mold
And I’m a million different people
From one day to the next
I can’t change my mold
No, no, no, no, no
(Have you ever been down?)
I can’t change, oh, no
I can’t change, oh
‘Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony, that’s life
Tryna make ends meet, tryna find somebody then you die
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the veins meet, yeah
You know I can change, I can change
I can change, I can change
But I’m here in my mold
I am here in my mold
And I’m a million different people
From one day to the next
I can’t change my mold
No, no, no, no, no
I can’t change my mold
No, no, no, no, no,
I can’t change my mold, no, no, no, no
It’s just sex and violence, melody and silence
It’s just sex and violence, melody and silence
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
Been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Ever been down
Have you ever been down?
Have you ever been down?
Have you ever been down?
Later that night, he Googled:
“Do men need women?”
The results were inconclusive.
He scrolled further and typed:
“Where can a man buy a sex doll?”
The results were…
Detailed.
The train rocked gently, a lullaby of industry.
Outside, neat Swiss fields blurred past — green, clean, and profoundly uninterested.
Inside, he sat between his plastic companion and a middle-aged woman who had, rather strategically, relocated two seats away.
She pretended to read a crime novel but held the pages rigidly — like a child shielding their eyes from a horror movie with fingers spread just enough to peek through.
He welcomed the distance.
Ow
Uh-huh, yeah, yeah
I’ve known a few guys who thought they were pretty smart
But you’ve got being right down to an art
You think you’re a genius, you drive me up the wall
You’re a regular original, a know-it-all
Oh-oh, you think you’re special
Oh-oh, you think you’re something else
Okay, so you’re a rocket scientist
That don’t impress me much (oh, oh, ooh)
So you got the brains, but have you got the touch?
Now, don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re alright
But that won’t keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don’t impress me much
Uh-huh, yeah, yeah
I never knew a guy who carried a mirror in his pocket
And a comb up his sleeve, just in case
And all that extra hold gel in your hair oughta lock it
‘Cause Heaven forbid it should fall outta place
Oh-oh, you think you’re special
Oh-oh, you think you’re something else
Okay, so you’re Brad Pitt
That don’t impress me much (oh, oh, ooh)
So you got the looks, but have you got the touch?
Now, don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re alright
But that won’t keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don’t impress me much
Ow, and yeah
Woo
You’re one of those guys who likes to shine his machine
You make me take off my shoes before you let me get in
I can’t believe you kiss your car good night
Now come on, baby, tell me, you must be jokin’, right?
Oh-oh, you think you’re something special
Oh-oh, you think you’re something else
Okay, so you got a car
That don’t impress me much (oh, oh, ooh)
So you got the moves, but have you got the touch?
Now, don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re alright
But that won’t keep me warm in the middle of the night
That don’t impress me much (that don’t impress me)
Oh, oh no, you think you’re cool, but have you got the touch?
Now, now, don’t get me wrong, yeah, I think you’re alright
But that won’t keep me warm on the long, cold, lonely nights
That don’t impress me much
Uh-huh, yeah, yeah
Okay, so what do you think, you’re Elvis or something?
That don’t impress me much
Oh no
That don’t impress me much
Oh no
Ow, and yeah
The doll, on the other hand, seemed unbothered.
If anything, she basked in the attention.
Or perhaps that was just the way her lips had been molded — forever on the verge of seduction or surprise.
He stroked his beard, as if pondering art or death.
But his thoughts drifted back to that soup-soaked statement:
“We don’t need men anymore.“
Oh really?
So he imagined it.
A quiet strike.
No declarations.
No placards.
No warning.
Just absence.
Men everywhere stepping back — simultaneously and without fuss.
They stopped fixing things.
Stopped driving the garbage trucks and ferrying goods.
Stopped teaching boys how to tie knots or take punches.
Stopped asking women out.
Stopped shaving.
Stopped caring.
And the world?
It kept spinning.
At first.
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left
And took all the reasons I was working for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walking out the door
Take this job and shove it, I ain’t working here no more
I’ve been working in this factory
For now 15 years
All this time I watched my woman
Drowning in a pool of tears
And I’ve seen a lot of good folks die
That had a lot of bills to pay
I’d give the shirt right off my back
If I had the guts to say
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left
And took all the reasons I was working for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walking out the door
Take this job and shove it, I ain’t working here no more
Well, the foreman he’s a riggity dog
The line boss, he’s a fool
He has got a brand-new flattop hair cut
Lord, he thinks he’s cool
One of these days, I’m gonna blow my top
And that sucker, he’s gonna pay
Lord, I can’t wait to see their faces
When I get the nerve to say
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left
And took all the reasons I was working for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walking out the door
Take this job and shove it, I ain’t working here no more
Take this job and shove it
Women triumphed — at least in the media.
Think pieces bloomed like dandelions:
“The Rise of the Post-Male World”
“Semen-Free and Stronger Than Ever”
“What If Patriarchy Was Just a Phase?”
I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something
Something I can use
People love it when you lose
They love dirty laundry
Well, I coulda been an actor
But I wound up here
I just have to look good
I don’t have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em all around
We got the bubble headed
Bleached blonde
Comes on at five
She can tell you ’bout the plane crash
With a gleam in her eye
It’s interesting when people die
Give us dirty laundry
Can we film the operation
Is the head dead yet
You know the boys in the newsroom
Got a running bet
Get the widow on the set
We need dirty laundry
You don’t really need to find out
What’s going on
You don’t really want to know
Just how far it’s gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your dirty laundry
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re up
Kick ’em when they’re down
Kick ’em when they’re stiff
Kick ’em all around
(Kick ’em when they’re up)
(Kick ’em when they’re down)
(Kick ’em when they’re up)
(Kick ’em when they’re down)
(Kick ’em when they’re up)
(Kick ’em when they’re down)
(Kick ’em when they’re stiff)
(Kick ’em all around)
Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers
In everybody’s pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry
We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When it’s said and done
We haven’t told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry
But weeks passed.
Sewage backed up in several cities.
Not because women couldn’t fix it — but because no one wanted to.
Wars stalled.
Not from diplomacy, but from a logistical deficit:
No one had restocked the weapons.
Garbage piled up like capitalist poetry.
Above: Scene from Idiocracy (2006)
Dating apps crashed under the weight of women who still craved…
Something.
Not just bodies.
Friction.
Gaze.
A challenge.
The gravity of desire.
He thinks of Lysistrata thatancient Greek comedy by Aristophanes, a comic account of a woman’s mission to end the Peloponnesian War between Greek city states by denying all the men of the land any sex, which was said to be the only thing they truly and deeply desired.
Lysistrata persuades the women of the warring cities to engage in a sex strike as a means of forcing the men to negotiate peace – a strategy that inflames the battle between the sexes.
He imagined Lysistrata in reverse.
The men, exiled to their own silence, no longer begging but observing.
The women, victorious and…
Exhausted.
Do men need women?
Of course they do.
But no one ever asks the other question:
Should they?
What he had done — what he was doing now — was not sexual.
It was political.
Philosophical.
Performance protest, though the jury was still out on whether it was brave, stupid, or both.
He glanced around the train.
A young man filmed him discreetly.
Two teenage girls whispered and giggled behind their hands.
He wondered what they saw:
A creep?
A lunatic?
Or the first prophet of a post-erotic age?
When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so fucking special
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
I don’t care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I’m not around
You’re so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
Oh, oh
She’s running out again
She’s running out
She run, run, run, run
Run
Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You’re so fucking special
I wish I was special
But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don’t belong here
I don’t belong here
The doll, naturally, said nothing.
But in her silence, she seemed to agree.
The train rattled past apple orchards, the rhythm of old tracks and quiet order.
He was seated alone, or as alone as a man can be with a plastic woman.
The train stopped at Neukirch – Egnach.
A small station where lakeview serenity meets the regular sigh of daily commuters.
He wasn’t getting off, but the doll shifted slightly with the momentum, tipping toward him like she’d had too much wine.
At Neukirch-Egnach, a woman boarded.
She was dressed in the understated elegance of someone who never forgets her umbrella.
Early forties, sharp eyes, the type who observed life like a carefully tended garden.
She stepped into the nearly empty carriage, paused at the sight of him — and her — and then sat down opposite.
Not immediately.
First, she hovered.
As if considering whether this was worth the discomfort.
Curiosity overruled decorum.
Hers was the kind of face that had known laughter and let it leave small, deliberate traces.
She scanned the carriage, registered the scene, and — after a moment of internal negotiation — chose the seat across from him and the doll.
She sat down slowly, as if not entirely sure of the physics involved. A few minutes passed.
The train hissed shut.
They lurched forward toward Steinbrunn.
She cleared her throat once.
Then again.
“Are you… together?”
Her voice wasn’t mocking.
Just curious.
Like someone poking a strange fruit to see if it was ripe or rotten.
He didn’t flinch.
Just met her eyes, his voice even:
“No. I’m married.”
She had a sulky smile
She took a standard pose as she presented herself
She had sultry eyes
She made it perfectly plain that she was his for a price
But he said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And my bark is much worse than my bite“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might“
She wore hurt surprise
As she rechecked her make-up to protect herself
Dropped her price and pride
She made it totally clear that she was his for a night
But he said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And my bark is much worse than my bite“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might“
She gave him her look
It would have worked on any other man around
He looked her up and down
She knew he couldn’t decide if he should hold his ground
But he said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And my bark is much worse than my bite
Please, just leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might” (yeah)
She turned, tossed her head
Unlike her opening move, her final exit line
He waited much too long
But by the time he got his courage up, she was gone
And he screamed, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And my bark is much worse than my bite“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And I don’t think I want it tonight“
And he said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
And my bark is much worse than my bite“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
If you push me too far, I just might“
He said, “Leave me alone, I’m a family man
Don’t leave me alone ’cause I’ve got to go home
Please, leave me alone, I’m a family man
And I don’t think I want it tonight“
The woman’s brows twitched upward.
She glanced again at the doll — its blank, permanent pout — and then back at him.
“Is this a Lars and the Right Girl situation?”
He noticed the deliberate mistake she made in the movie title.
“That was a fairy tale,” he replied.
“This is protest.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.
Against redundancy.
Against being dismissed.
Against soup.”
“Soup?”
“Lentil, to be precise.”
The woman leaned back, folding her arms like she was preparing to grade a paper.
“So your wife makes bad soup and now you’re shagging plastic?”
“That’s a vulgar reduction.”
“I’m a vulgar woman.”
“You’re an inquisitive one.
There’s a difference.”
You talk too much
You worry me to death
You talk too much
You even worry my pet
You just talk…
Talk too much
You talk about people
That you don’t know
You talk about people
Wherever you go
You just talk…
Talk too much
You talk about people
That you’ve never seen
You talk about people
You can make me scream
You just talk…
Talk too much
You talk too much
You worry me to death
You talk too much
You even worry my pet
You just talk…
Talk too much
You talk about people
That you don’t know
You talk about people
Wherever you go
You just talk…
Talk too much
You talk about people
That you’ve never seen
You talk about people
You can make me scream
You just talk…
Talk too much
She studied him again.
Her eyes sparkled with the thrill of unfolding madness.
“A statement piece.”
“A response to a statement, actually.”
“Let me guess:
‘We don’t need men anymore.’”
He nodded, just slightly.
She smiled — grim and amused.
“So now you’re dating vinyl.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.
She’s my rebuttal.”
I’m not in love
So don’t forget it
It’s just a silly phase I’m going through
And just because
I call you up
Don’t get me wrong, don’t think you’ve got it made
I’m not in love, no no, it’s because..
I like to see you
But then again
That doesn’t mean you mean that much to me
So if I call you
Don’t make a fuss
Don’t tell your friends about the two of us
I’m not in love, no no, it’s because..
I keep your picture
Upon the wall
It hides a nasty stain that’s lying there
So don’t you ask me
To give it back
I know you know it doesn’t mean that much to me
I’m not in love, no no, it’s because..
Ooh you’ll wait a long time for me
Ooh you’ll wait a long time
Ooh you’ll wait a long time for me
Ooh you’ll wait a long time
I’m not in love
So don’t forget it
It’s just a silly phase I’m going through
And just because I call you up
Don’t get me wrong, don’t think you’ve got it made
I’m not in love
I’m not in love
They both laughed, though for different reasons.
“And your wife?” she asked.
“She made lentil soup.
I said I wanted meat.
She said if I wanted meat, I could cook it myself.
Then added, ‘Women don’t need men anymore.’
So I took her literally.”
Above: Miley Cyrus – Flowers (digital single)
We were good, we were gold
Kinda dream that can’t be sold
We were right ’til we weren’t
built a home and watched it burn
Mmm, I didn’t wanna leave you, I didn’t wanna lie
Started to cry, but then I remembered
I can buy myself flowers
Write my name in the sand
Talk to myself for hours
Say things you don’t understand
I can take myself dancing
And I can hold my own hand
Yeah, I can love me better than you can
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Paint my nails cherry red
Match the roses that you left
No remorse, no regret
I forgive every word you said
Ooh, I didn’t wanna leave you, baby, I didn’t wanna fight
Started to cry, but then I remembered
I can buy myself flowers
Write my name in the sand
Talk to myself for hours, yeah
Say things you don’t understand
I can take myself dancing, yeah
I can hold my own hand
Yeah, I can love me better than you can
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Can love me better, I- (ooh, I)
I didn’t wanna leave you, I didn’t wanna fight
Started to cry, but then I remembered
I can buy myself flowers (uh-huh)
Write my name in the sand
Talk to myself for hours (yeah)
Say things you don’t understand (you never will)
I can take myself dancing, yeah
I can hold my own hand
Yeah, I can love me better than
Yeah, I can love me better than you can
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby (oh, oh)
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby (than you can)
Can love me better, I can love me better, baby
Can love me better, I-
“This seems… extreme.”
“That’s the point.”
“You think women are trying to replace men.”
“I think they already have.
I’m just trying to make her see what being obsolete feels like.”
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on my pain
The only thing that’s real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar’s chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
She studied him now, carefully, not unkindly.
His unkempt beard, his watchful eyes, his strangely quiet energy.
He didn’t seem dangerous.
Just…
Tired.
I’m alive in here, so alive in here
Pulling down a little peace
I’m open-wide in here, slow to rise in here
Saving grace and killing me
You say this only makes me incomplete
I’m canceled out and rendered obsolete
Tell the mad chameleon, he’s not welcome anymore
I know what I’m looking for
Somewhere close, somewhere safe
Somewhere I know, I know I’ll never live in chains
The one is now aware
So stay away from me, I’m just too young to care
I can see in here, and I can feel in here
Comatose with common sense
I take my time in here, somebody, get me out of here
What am I so against?
I just wanna watch the whole world burn
Lost a million times and I won’t learn
Show me someone innocent, I’ll show you there’s no proof
I may be gone, but I’m no fool
I’m not close, I’m not safe
I don’t know, don’t know, am I better off in chains?
The one is not aware
So stay away from me, I’m just too young to care
I need somewhere close, somewhere safe
Somewhere I know, I know I’ll never live in chains
The one is now aware
So stay away from me, I’m just too young to care
Oh-oh
Too young to care
Oh-oh
“Let me guess,” she said.
“She told you she doesn’t need you.
You felt emasculated.
So you did this.
To make a point.”
“Close,” he replied.
“But no.
I’m not trying to prove I’m necessary.
I’m proving I’m not afraid of being unnecessary.”
She laughed.
A bark, involuntary.
“So this is what male dignity looks like now?
Dragging Barbie’s older cousin across the canton?”
“Better than dragging resentment through a marriage.”
“So leave her.
Find someone who… needs you.”
“Need is an illusion.
Today’s need is tomorrow’s self-help book.
Besides, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“No.”
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows what it’s like
To be hated
To be fated to telling only lies
But my dreams they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
No one knows what it’s like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you (you, you, you)
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
But my dreams they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
No one knows what it’s like
To be mistreated, to be defeated
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows how to say
That they’re sorry and don’t worry
I’m not telling lies
But my dreams, they aren’t as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That’s never free
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
Another pause.
The train chugged past fields where cows chewed indifferently at the horizon.
“You know,” she said finally, “most women wouldn’t be threatened by a sex doll.
But they’d be insulted by the implication that they’re replaceable.”
He looked at her.
Quiet.
Then gestured toward the doll.
“She doesn’t talk back.
But you do.
That’s something.”
She unfolded her arms, just a little — the literary equivalent of a character revealing they might have a heart after all.
“Of course I talk back,” she said.
“It’s how you know I’m real.”
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching like an old muscle remembering how to smile.
“Real is exhausting.”
“Only if you’re trying to win.”
He said, “Baby, what’s wrong with you?
Why don’t you use your imagination
Nations go to war over women like you,
It’s just a form of appreciation
Come on over here, lay your clothes on the chair
Now let the lace fall across your shoulder
Standing in the half light, you’re almost like her
So take it slow like your daddy told you“
Strut, pout, put it out, that’s what you want from women
Come on, baby, what’cha taking me for
Strut, pout, cut it out, all taking and no giving
Watch me, baby, while I walk out the door
I said, “Honey, I don’t like this game,
You make me feel like a girl for hire
All this fascination with leather
And lace is just the smoke from another fire“
He said, “Honey, don’t stop a speeding train
Before it reaches its destination
Lie down here beside me, oh, have some fun too
Don’t turn away from your true vocation“
Strut, pout, put it out, that’s what you want from women
Come on, baby, what’cha taking me for
Strut, pout, cut it out, all taking and no giving
Watch me, baby, while I walk out the door
I won’t be your baby doll, be your baby doll
I won’t be your baby doll, be your baby doll
She tapped her fingers lightly on the edge of her seat, a soft percussion against the hum of the train.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“This silent metaphor of yours — does she satisfy you?”
He looked away, out the window, where a man on a tractor raised a hand in lazy greeting to the passing train.
“I don’t know if satisfaction’s the point anymore.”
“Then what is?”
“Relevance,” he said.
“Some kind of meaning.
Even if it’s absurd.”
Above: Amos Hart (John C. Reilly), “Mr. Cellophane” scene, Chicago (2002)
If someone stood up in a crowd
And raised his voice up way out loud
And waved his arm
And shook his leg
You’d notice him
If someone in a movie show
Yelled “fire in the second row,
This whole place is a powder keg!”
You’d notice him
And even without clucking like a hen
Everyone gets noticed, now and then,
Unless, of course, that personage should be
Invisible, inconsequential me
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Should have been my name
Mister Cellophane
Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there
I tell ya
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Should have been my name
Mister Cellophane
Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there
Suppose you was a little cat
Residin’ in a person’s flat
Who fed you fish and scratched your ears
You’d notice him
Suppose you was a woman married
And sleepin’ in a double bed next to one man for seven years
You’d notice him
A human being’s made of more than air
With all that bulk, you’re bound to see him there
Unless that human bein’ next to you
Is unimpressive, undistinquished
You know who
Should have been my name
Mister Cellophane
Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I”m there
I tell ya
Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Should have been my name
Mister Cellophane
Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I’m there
Never even know I’m there
She leaned forward again, her tone gentler now.
“You ever think the problem isn’t women not needing men — but men not knowing what to be without being needed?”
That hung in the air a moment — delicate as a glass ornament, threatening to shatter under its own honesty.
He didn’t respond.
She nodded as if that, in itself, was the answer.
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
You were the sweetest thing that I ever knew
But I don’t care for sugar honey if I can’t have you
Since you’ve abandoned me
My whole life has crashed
Won’t you pick the pieces up
‘Cause it feels just like I’m walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
The sun’s still shining in the big blue sky
But it don’t mean nothing to me
O-o-oh let the rain come down
Let the wind blow through me
I’m living in an empty room
With all the windows smashed
And I’ve got so little left to lose
That it feels just like I’m walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
And if you’re trying to cut me down
You know that I might bleed
‘Cause if you’re trying to cut me down
I know that you’ll succeed
And if you want to hurt me
There’s nothing left to fear
‘Cause if you want to hurt me
You do it really well my dear
Now everyone of us was made to suffer
Everyone of us is made to weep
We’ve been hurting one another
Now the pain has cut too deep
So take me from the wreckage
Save me from the blast
Lift me up and take me back
Don’t let me keep on walking (don’t let me keep on walking)
I kept on walking on
Keep on walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
Walking on, walking on broken glass
“Here you sit with her.
She points at the doll.
What does that say?”
“That I don’t care if I’m understood anymore.”
It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If’n you don’t know by now
And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It’ll never do somehow
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m a-traveling on
But don’t think twice, it’s all right
And it ain’t no use in turning on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
And it ain’t no use in turning on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
But I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
But we never did too much talking anyway
But don’t think twice, it’s all right
So it ain’t no use in calling out my name, gal
Like you never done before
And it ain’t no use in calling out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinking and a-wonderin’ walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child, I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right
So long honey, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
Goodbye’s too good a word, babe
So I’ll just say, “Fare thee well“
I ain’t a-saying you treated me unkind
You could’ve done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right
They sat in silence again.
Not quite hostile.
Not quite at peace.
Two survivors of some long, slow war that never quite ended, only changed terrain.
Been away, haven’t seen you in a while
How’ve you been, have you changed your style?
And do you think that we’ve grown up differently?
Don’t seem the same, seems you’ve lost your feel for me
So let’s leave it alone ’cause we can’t see eye to eye
There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad guy
There’s only you and me and we just disagree
Ooh ooh ooh, oh oh oh
I’m goin’ back to a place that’s far away, how ’bout you?
Have you got a place to stay?
Why should I care when I’m just trying to get along
We were friends and now it’s the end of our love song
So let’s leave it alone ’cause we can’t see eye to eye
There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad guy
There’s only you and me and we just disagree
Ooh ooh ooh, oh oh oh
So let’s leave it alone ’cause we can’t see eye to eye
There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad guy
There’s only you and me and we just disagree
The train slowed through the trees approaching Muolen.
She stood up.
“My stop’s next,” she said, smoothing her coat.
“For what it’s worth,” she said over her shoulder, “you’re not obsolete.
You’re just… in transition.”
She paused.
“Well, I hope your protest finds its target.”
He looked up at her.
“It already has.”
I’ve been accused, among other things
Of doing most of my writing for you ladies
But I did write a song special for you guys
Don’t go away feeling slighted
This is special for you
Sometimes it’s hard to be a woman
Giving all your love to just one man
You’ll have bad times, and he’ll have good times
Doin’ things that you don’t understand
But if you love him, you’ll forgive him
Even though he’s hard to understand
And if you love him, oh, be proud of him
‘Cause after all, he’s just a man
Stand by your man
Give him two arms to cling to
And something warm to come to
When nights are cold and lonely
Stand by your man
And show the world you love him
Keep giving all the love you can
Stand by your man
Stand by your man
And show the world you love him
Keep giving all the love you can
Stand by your man
Your man
She nodded once — nothing conciliatory in it, only finality.
At the door, she turned:
“You know, men didn’t get replaced.
You just stopped listening.”
He didn’t answer.
He was already looking out the window, past her reflection, into the quiet fields.
She nodded, stood, paused.
“Well… good luck with your protest.
Try not to fall in love.”
“I’ll try,” he said.
“But you know how dangerous women can be.”
She smiled.
“Only the real ones.”
And then she was gone.
We are young
(Heartache to heartache)
Heartache to heartache
(We stand)
We stand
No promises
(No demands)
No demands
(Love is a battlefield)
Love is a battlefield
Whoa
We are strong
No one can tell us we’re wrong
Searching our hearts for so long
Both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield
You’re making me go
Then making me stay
Why do you hurt me so bad?
It would help me to know
Do I stand in your way
Or am I the best thing you’ve had?
Believe me, believe me
I can’t tell you why
But I’m trapped by your love
And I’m chained to your side
We are young
Heartache to heartache
We stand
No promises
No demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong
No one can tell us we’re wrong
Searching our hearts for so long
Both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield
When I’m losing control
Will you turn me away
Or touch me deep inside?
And when all this gets old
Will it still feel the same
There’s no way this will die
But if we get much closer
I could lose control
And if your heart surrenders
You’ll need me to hold
We are young
Heartache to heartache
We stand
No promises
No demands
Love is a battlefield
We are strong
No one can tell us we’re wrong
Searching our hearts for so long
Both of us knowing
Love is a battlefield
She stepped off into the pale morning light.
The door hissed shut behind her.
The doll tilted again.
He adjusted her carefully, like a gentleman.
Above: Superman’s Song promo single, Crash Test Dummies
Tarzan wasn’t a ladies man
He’d just come along and scoop ’em
Up under his arm like that
Quick as a cat, in the jungle
Clark Kent, now there was a real gent
He would not be caught sittin’ around in no jungle scape
Dumb as an ape, doin’ nothing
Superman never made any money
Savin’ the world from Solomon Grundy
And sometimes I despair
The world will never see another man like him
Hey Bob, Supe had a straight job
Even though he coulda smashed through
Any bank in the United States
He had the strength but he would not
Folks said his family were all dead
Planet crumbled, but Superman he forced himself
To carry on, forget Krypton, and keep goin’
Superman never made any money
Savin’ the world from Solomon Grundy
And sometimes I despair
The world will never see another man like him
Tarzan was king of the jungle
And lord over all the apes
But he could hardly string together
Four words, I Tarzan you Jane
Sometimes when Supe was stoppin’ crimes
I’ll bet that he was tempted to just quit
And turn his back on man
Join Tarzan in the forest
But he stayed in the city
Kept on changin’ clothes
In dirty old phone booths ’til his work was through
Had nothin’ to do but go on home
Superman never made any money
Savin’ the world from Solomon Grundy
And sometimes I despair
The world will never see another man like him
And sometimes I despair
The world will never see another man like him
And the train rolled on.
He could feel the other passengers watching now—furtive glances, subtle camera angles, the low hum of shared absurdity.
But he didn’t mind.
He adjusted the doll, who offered no opinion, and let the train carry them both onward — toward Wittenbach, toward St. Gallen and his wife, and a world where perhaps no one needed anyone, but everyone still watched.
A heart that’s full up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won’t heal
You look so tired, unhappy
Bring down the government
They don’t, they don’t speak for us
I’ll take a quiet life
A handshake of carbon monoxide
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
Silent
Silent
This is my final fit
My final bellyache with
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises
No alarms and no surprises, please
Such a pretty house
And such a pretty garden
No alarms and no surprises (get me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises (get me out of here)
No alarms and no surprises (get me out of here)
Please
