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Of Dreams, Pissing Men and Swooning Snow
Jan. 21st, 2012 09:45 amOne way of thinking about snow is to categorize it by its literary antecedents. This morning, we’re enjoying James Joyce snow – faintly falling, faintly swooning. Half a foot. 14F.
Long, complicated labyrinthine dream. The Lost Boys in Republic, Washington. They were 12 to 15; I was 10 or 15 years older, somehow in a custodial role. Ushering one in particular with a very naked face, blond hair, deep blue eyes and a preternatural understanding of the mysteries of the universe. Felt such a pull to him. And kept thinking, In ten years, the age difference won’t matter. But it matters now.
We had to meet up with the boy’s father. He had a task for us, dream version of Aegean stable cleanup. We had to go into the local grocers, shabby, bare shelves, and locate certain items that he liked.
You want us to buy stuff for you?
No, he leered. I want you to locate stuff.
What stuff?
Stuff that I’ll like.
How do I know what you’ll like?
He shrugged. You figure it out.
I made a pouty face.
For example, he said. I like you.
The kid whispered, I’ll show you. In the store, there was a shelf with small banana chips, just lying there on the shelf, no bin. I started gathering them up. There weren’t enough of them. Some larger banana chips next to them. I looked at the boy; he nodded. Picked one up, bit down on it. Woke up with the taste of banana chips in my mouth.
In another amusing news, I stupidly left the lights on in my car when I parked it downtown yesterday on the corner of Fayette and Clinton. Five hours. The battery was dead when I got back to the car, so I began soliciting passers-by: Do you have jumper cables?
The house on that corner was shabby but bespoke of former Victorian grandeurs. A guy wandered out the front door.
“Excuse me sir, do you have jumper cables?”
He held up one finger, walked into the alley between the shabby house and its more prosperous neighbor, unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and began urinating.
Then walked back over to my car and stared at me with dead eyes. “Now. How can I help you?”
I smiled gaily, shaking my head, cranked up my windows. Reached for my phone and called Ben. Who promptly came to rescue me as he has so many times before.
Long, complicated labyrinthine dream. The Lost Boys in Republic, Washington. They were 12 to 15; I was 10 or 15 years older, somehow in a custodial role. Ushering one in particular with a very naked face, blond hair, deep blue eyes and a preternatural understanding of the mysteries of the universe. Felt such a pull to him. And kept thinking, In ten years, the age difference won’t matter. But it matters now.
We had to meet up with the boy’s father. He had a task for us, dream version of Aegean stable cleanup. We had to go into the local grocers, shabby, bare shelves, and locate certain items that he liked.
You want us to buy stuff for you?
No, he leered. I want you to locate stuff.
What stuff?
Stuff that I’ll like.
How do I know what you’ll like?
He shrugged. You figure it out.
I made a pouty face.
For example, he said. I like you.
The kid whispered, I’ll show you. In the store, there was a shelf with small banana chips, just lying there on the shelf, no bin. I started gathering them up. There weren’t enough of them. Some larger banana chips next to them. I looked at the boy; he nodded. Picked one up, bit down on it. Woke up with the taste of banana chips in my mouth.
In another amusing news, I stupidly left the lights on in my car when I parked it downtown yesterday on the corner of Fayette and Clinton. Five hours. The battery was dead when I got back to the car, so I began soliciting passers-by: Do you have jumper cables?
The house on that corner was shabby but bespoke of former Victorian grandeurs. A guy wandered out the front door.
“Excuse me sir, do you have jumper cables?”
He held up one finger, walked into the alley between the shabby house and its more prosperous neighbor, unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and began urinating.
Then walked back over to my car and stared at me with dead eyes. “Now. How can I help you?”
I smiled gaily, shaking my head, cranked up my windows. Reached for my phone and called Ben. Who promptly came to rescue me as he has so many times before.
