Dreams & TV

icing piped in uneven loops around a cake in the kitchen
cracked blue leather shoes drying on a mat by the door
windows rattling
abruptly coming down with the flu  
falling asleep in a chair
coughing, tea left untouched 
dreams and tv 
the next day: soup 
hot cereal, aspirin
headaches, re-runs, ringing telephones
people, rain.

(2013)

Shalimar Eau de Parfum by Guerlain: Beautiful; Spooky

Shalimar opens sparkling with lemons and bergamot. And there's something else that's a bit unsettling. But you ignore it. The abundant citrus is so stunning you actually have to sit down. The whole thing feels distant, like it's occurring in someone else's memory. And all you can do is sit there at your mirror and watch as the opera unfolds.

You note the rays of winter light coming softly through the blinds, filtered by layers of sheers and curtains. Like all the many layers you yourself are wrapped in. Properly dressed. What time is it? Yes, you feel about as far away as you can get from where you are when you wear this perfume. 

The late morning light shines on the items on your table, the cut glass decanter of Shalimar throwing prisms all around the room. The wind blows the leaves outside dappling sunlight in your windows like a silent film. You feel super faceted. But from the very start something has bothered you. And you realized something is–on fire? Is that a fire?    

Black smoke closes in and all you can imagine are the fiery orange colors and thickness and gravity of smoke. You hear the haunting notes of white ghosts and melting strings. Violins, oboes, rain drops. And then, just as quickly, this dissolves and changes and you wonder if you had imagined it all. 

All the actors leave the stage. And a strange, delicious incense steps forward, wafting loose arabesques up into the quietest reaches of the highest ceilings in the safest rooms with the longest windows in the world. And it's magic. And there you stand in your window holding your tea looking out at the traffic in the wet streets below. You, so safe up above. So safe. 

Later, as the incense extinguishes, a smoky, wordless vanilla emerges from the ashes. And you know, finally, that right now is perfect even as it is already over. And you are at last existential–without the crisis. You die laughing at the absurdity. If it's all so meaningless, then why is it all so beautiful? You watch the clouds move across the November sky. And you wonder, can any of this ever really be explained? 

For the Love of Drag Races

It was still pretty early. We stood out front of the supermarket, laughing, the wind blowing up the backs of our kerchiefs. It was getting cold. I wore my brown gingham dress with the green sweater and my blue school shoes. You wore your best blue dress with your sunday school sweater and your old Shoe Town ankle boots. Cars with painted on flames started pulling up, circling around and revving. We had a week's worth of lunch money, our combined baby sitting earnings and two wrapped meatloaf sandwiches in our pocketbooks. We had toothbrushes, pen, paper, lipstick, and a bar of ivory soap. There would be no future. But drag races were forever.

Waiting for My Burrito: An Anxiety Attack

Real mom and pop food 
with real sour cream 
for real people 
with real problems 
"a black bean burrito, please" 
I'm number 17
I'm waiting for my burrito
my laundry is tumbling not a block away
from this old wood paneled restaurant
with a zoo calendar hanging from a thumb tack
above the cash register
and a red plastic kitchen clock 
and super tiny receipts with almost no ink
I'm waiting for a burrito
a black bean burrito
my burrito
I'm just waiting for my burrito.  

The plastic stained glass light fixtures 
tell a weird story about some red and blue people 
who live in what looks to be a green valley 
with red flowers and a great big yellow sun
I'm waiting 
at one of the oil cloth covered tables  
breathing in and out 
but still, it creeps up on me, sometimes
and before I know it
Waa!
you are in my living room window
why are you in my living room WINDOW?
raindrops! raindrops!
quick 
please something 
start rinsing away this person's FACE from my window! 
ok ok 
shhh ok ok ok shhh it's ok
breathe
I'm waiting for my burrito 
I'm waiting for my burrito
I'm waiting for my burrito
that's all that's going on 
here
I'm just waiting for my burrito. 

Oh look, see? 
there's a "veritable kaleidoscope" 
of drink flavor choices in that cooler over there 
how fun
all lined up and rattling together
with such a classic, ice cube-y sound
heh
I'll go get two diet cokes out to add to my order
you know
one for now, one for later
because I know I'll want one later
I always do
yeah–
me?
I'm ok
really, I am
I'm just waiting for my  burrito.

So, where was I? 
oh, right, I was running down the block
to add the fabric softener before it was too late
when you
when you came-a-creeeeeeping 
back in
creep creeping creeeeeeping back in
creepy creep creeper
creeeeeeeping back in
slithering like a snake, all snake like
help help
SPIDER oh god
boundary pushing pushy pusher 
pushing me 
wait! WAIT.
stop 
ok 
calm down, it's ok
I'm just here 
waiting for a burrito
that's all 
it's Tuesday 
I've got some laundry going 
everything's ok
I'm just waiting for my burrito.

Desert Heist

We were in the middle of the desert. The jewelry store where I worked was a round structure up on stilts reminiscent of The Lautner House. It was floor to ceiling glass. Panoramic views of ink colored clouds in gradient skies. It was transparent mountains against layers of light. From the blackest teal flecked with stars and planets all the way down to the palest shimmering pink horizon. 

As you can imagine, I was the jewelry store's sole security person. And the password, which was simply "crown, had been carelessly said aloud by me more than a few times at that point in the dream. Still, I continued to behave shocked whenever someone would tauntingly repeat the password back to me. For some reason I expected people to at least pretend that they didn't care what the password was. 

Later, after the sun set, I, the store's sole security person, found myself alone in a jewelry store filled with gold and precious stones in the middle of nowhere. Of course, it wasn't long before a group of people showed up on motor bikes and began loudly circling the building. Within minutes they were inside rifling through everything. This was a heist. The real deal. They shoved me along with a few other people into one of the vaults and shut the door. 

I wondered aloud if we were going to be killed. Nobody answered me. This became the hook from which I hung all of my hopes and dreams. Maybe, just maybe, no one had even considered killing us? Maybe this wasn't that big a deal? Maybe I was misunderstanding everything? Maybe. Whatever was happening, I knew one thing. I would have to wait to find out. Like anyone who's ever found themselves in a similar position, I would have to wait for an answer.    

One Way Ticket to Mars

God, I'd kill for some pancakes right now. My gum lost all it's flavor hours ago yet I keep chewing it because, it turns out, you never know when there will be more chewing gum. I've noticed that they've downplayed the scarcity of things like chewing gum out here. Which is fine. I get it. I mean, I'm ok if I never chew gum again, it's just that I wish they'd be more upfront about it. Because never knowing which piece of chewing gum will be my last has become weirdly unsettling for me.

Yesterday was kinda–odd. I don't want to say "bad". I don't know. I don't want to be negative or anything, but I watched the Earth get smaller and smaller until it became nothing more than a blue twinkling out in space–just a dot among a million other dots and stars. This fell on the 'Scale of Awfulness' somewhere between 'Bad' and 'Completely Terrifying'. But I was good. I just put another yellow pill under my tongue and waited. That always helps. They said it helps and to use it and I do. They've never led me wrong. "Bye-bye, Earth", I said. "Bye-bye".

What I like about not needing to eat or bathe anymore is that, for the time being at least, as long as I remain totally low maintenance and easy going, I could literally stare off into space all day long if I wanted and no one, I mean no one, would bat an eye. It's almost as though we are cargo. Human cargo being carted through outer space on the biggest rig imaginable. They just have to get us there. Then they'll relax. And when they relax, we'll relax. And that's all people want, when you think about it. To just finally relax. 

Flying

going 
zipping rolling gliding
bouncing conveying   
everything fitting into one bag 
sound breakfast sandwich
choice making  
running skating 
through corridors 
having it all 
having this bottle of water
having this chapstic 
I am 
finally lint free 
I am 
practically at my gate
newly dedicated 
thinking space
now artificially improved
cleared for take off 
clicked in
considering water bottle
regarding pretzels
taxiing
enduring tolerating
chapstic located
shoes 
clouds.

Cake and Coffee Reception

The volume was turned down that day 

but I saw the sparkling sponge mop 

glide across a floor 
and then the game show host  
held his microphone like a magic wand
and then the cake

decorated with frosting roses
was brought officially down 

to the finished basement 

that had a little mirrored bathroom all it's own 
the coffee urn has an small, round orange light
and there was the sound of the 

aunts and the mom's gold jewelry tinkling 
the sound of nylons against their rayon   

of gold cigarette lighters clicking
of laughing
of cake forks clinking 
of metal folding chairs scrapping 

white twinkling terrazzo  
as the cutting 
of the communion cake squares 
commenced
but there were only so many pieces 

with roses
and a few girls looked tired 

of wearing veils all day

but they each
got white gift wrapped boxes
they each got hearts and crosses
white velvet
diamonds and gold.

Dark Rainbow

Sticky pop covered movie theater floor
the stack of white institutional paper napkins 
pressed together
hospital strength pink pearl soap 
the phone booth with the rainbow sticker 
still stuck 

Crowning yellow plastic butter pouring down
hair combs stuck in back pockets we belong
eyeliner melted on with fire badge of badness 
I ordered a medium coke 
and removed the straw from its white wrapper
that first sip
a million bubbles syrupy joy 

In the end, we pushed back through the steel doors 
back into a corridor of blowing trash 
back into the traffic 
back into the world 
of unknowns and dark rainbows

I wore cloud socks that day
you wore sparkle socks
we ran home like sisters screaming
past the bus
past trees that might turn monstrous
    

Time Travel

It happens every forty-seven minutes. First the music starts. Violins mostly, evoking a slow, inevitable downward spiral. Then a man seen only in silhouette steps into the room. He puts down his brief case, the walls fall away and then begins what can only be described as his slow fall from a skyscraper. When he lands we know he's okay by the way he's sitting in a chair with his back to us, smoking a cigarette. It's as though he's bored by the whole thing. 

It's been two and a half days of endless episodes of Mad Men via Netflix Instant. It's starting to take a toll. Admittedly, I was late to the party. Mad Men was all new to me. When I first noticed that five seasons of Mad Men were available on Netflix I ignored it. I usually don't watch TV on Netflix. But, like many, I had heard things. Things about Mad Men. Things about incredibly accurate set and costume design. Things about period coiffure experts. And, I just couldn't take it anymore. 

You might say by the time I finally clicked on the Mad Men icon that it was already too late. That was Tuesday. It's now Thursday and everything has changed. As well, I'm keenly aware that I'm running out of episodes. I don't know just how I'm going to return to life as it is lived in 2013–to reality as it is experienced outside of my laptop–only that I must. That is, I don't know just why any of this has happened, only that it has to stop. 

Was Mad Men written with this kind of compressed viewing in mind? I noticed quite a few inconsistencies in the writing that I think might have otherwise gone undetected had I allowed any actual living of life to occur between viewings. Of course, I can't be sure. I can't un-watch Mad Men. I can't un-see what I've seen in the concentrated way that I saw it. Personally? I wouldn't do it again. But, please, don't let that stop you.