Have I told you about
my life as a body?
(I don’t think so).
Remember that dream yesterday? I didn’t tell you all of it. I didn’t tell you the end, the part that woke me up. I figured it was safe to hold some secrets. Dreams are just random data screwing with our minds anyway.
Mr Wizzly has cancer, Baby. All her beautiful hair is gone. Bald, and it is evil of me to say this, but I’m glad it is cancer killing her, and not the trapeze. And speaking of that, Sebastian is dead. Fell from his swinging and broke his neck. So much for rhythm, Baby.
Tell me. Did we expect things to get this far? Plucking kids out of dream wisps did not seem like it would hurt.
And I keep seeing you out of the corner of my eye, Baby, in the flash of my brother’s hair and the height of the store clerk and in the random overheard conversations, ‘Dude’ and ‘Stinky’ and ‘Stupid’. What I am feeling is not a longing but a promise.
Leave it as I gave it to you, pretend I can change the story after I woke up. Mr Wizzly is not bald, her hair is intact and silky straight. Sebastian is the beautiful poof we grew him to be and we’re all running naked, screaming hunting eating somewhere in the Sudan. The rest is a dream. Have some more beans.
Have I told you about the love affair between the leaves and the birds? When the ones tried flight, they died.
Today I drove 2 miles down the road, eyes half shut with certainty. As though I could feel my way through the sunshine. Not like a dream trance but positive assured that I would get where I needed to go. Homing in like a dove, like a magnet, or missile, or lost horse.
I thought I was going home.
The children here are Different. They could be midget agents. Can you read my paranoia in this? They are too verbal intelligent catty to be merely five and three years old. They are too pretty to be my nieces. They are too much to be on my side.
David. I would like to have a son called David.
See, somewhere in this miserable attempt of ours to organize life, I’m pretty sure there is some truth. You know about individual secrets and how we are in charge of finding them. There’s a bigger secret that belongs to all of us, and I can almost feel We are on the edge of tumbling into it.
.
.
.
fall