Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Crazy Dreams, Crazy Love

It began at work. I had left my office, probably to pick up something I printed out and when I came back finally the office furniture, or some of it at least, was in my office. There was a small set of oak drawers applicable only to someone from a hundred years ago when there weren’t as many files to keep in order. It was very dusty, a little worn. There was a mauve love seat, a pattern of tiny yellow diamonds smattering it, where my table holding the fax machine, in-process manuscripts, and current journal issues used to be. There was a large dark red table with boxes stacked on top of it, very dusty. Clearly they’d dug this stuff up from the basement so that I would technically have nothing to complain about. For some reason, at work, I kept taking off my clothes and putting them on again, walking in and out of my office, stark naked. Naked, I walked to the office manager’s office to speak with her. As I was approaching I heard her say to someone else, "She really needs to stop being naked in the office…" The rest wasn’t heard. I ate food from Taco Bell for lunch, soft shell tacos. When I left work, I got in my car, partially dressed, pulled out of my parallel spot on the street, made a scattered k-turn to go in the opposite direction. I stepped on the brake, yet my car veered slowly on its own toward the right. Another car drove in the opposite lane in my direction. My car veered toward her. I hit the brakes. I couldn’t stop my car. I got out of the car, my car kept nudging on its own. The girl driving the other car, her face turned angry, then her car began nudging on its own, too. She too stepped out of her car and the cars stopped. We checked the damage. Some of her burgundy paint had bled onto my cream-colored beater. We drove away. I stopped for Mexican take-out and drove away while balancing and trying to eat a large hard-shell taco in its noisy paper wrapping. I swerved in my lane. As I turned right to stop to eat, the lights on a cop car behind me began to flash and just as soon disappeared. I guess the cop changed his mind. I got out of the car. The neighborhood sky was dark and ghetto. And then it was daylight. I saw my friend Parker sitting on a log frame boxing in white rocks around a tree. Landscaping. Parker was eating a taco too. I held out my taco, laughing, and told him it was my second that day. It was his too.

* * *

In other news, today’s work-junk e-mail comes from Jettison G. Bank on Wednesday, March 2, 2005 at 4:42 am, subject line You would, would you? The message reads:

Well well well!
jowl
Cayacamen

It’s a mystery. Something about the flabby flesh under the lower jaw; however, Cayacamen does not match any documents. The subject line and the "well well well!" suggest something sexual is being suggested. Also it is likely that the name of the sender holds symbolism: jettison = to cast overboard, discard; bank = a place of storage, a protective mass, etc.; G = God, perhaps? Perhaps this is a vie for casting out god and plunging full force into bacchic hedonism, wine and sex until there’s nothing left.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home