Saturday, November 1, 2014

The Dream Of Three Women and the Man With Ugly Shoes



So why would someone show up at a very crowded coffee place with an infant and a two year old? There’s ten people in line, nowhere to sit, and this guy has to do everything with one arm because he’s holding an infant in the other. He orders a half dozen things, changes his order, his two year old stands stock still in the way of everyone while she plays a video game and he’s trying to get his wallet out with one hand and wouldn’t it be more simple just to hit the drive through?

There are too many people here. There are loud people here. But this is a very odd and raw sort of day, and last night’s sleep was filled with dreams that oozed visualizations and symbolic meanings. At one point there was a light switch that went to a vent fan. The vent fan was in a bathroom and the switch was half way on and half way off. When I pushed it to the on position the fan would run briefly then stop and the switch would return it its halfway position. This morning when I awoke the power had gone off last night and all the clocks were flashing.

There was a structure, towering high, massive, so massive and so terribly high, that I could see the silhouettes of commercial airliners as they passed underneath it. The façade of the structure was ornate and beautiful. There were swirls and parallel line which must have been miles long and thousands of feet wide, and I people were coming to me and shaking my hand for I had designed the structure and I had built it.

A woman came up to me, she was a singer, an artist whose songs I admired, and she offered to help me clean the construction debris from my house for it will filled with the makings of the project. We talked about sex while we worked but we didn’t actually become physical. People were coming in and out of the house and to talk about the project and my home had become sort of an attraction for the curious.

The first woman disappeared and in her place a woman a little older than me arrived. She was more serious and told me that I had let things go for too long here, that the work has taken over my life and I must do better. She took a wide broom and swept the floors of the house and the wood underneath was carved in the same patterns as the structure. She asked me if I was well and I told her I thought so.

The second woman disappeared and in her place was a much young, much less serious woman who was a friend of the first. The third woman had blonde hair spiked with red streaks and blue colors. She coyly began questioning me as to how I felt about the first woman, her friend, and suggested that if I treated her friend well, I would be very happy.

Meanwhile, the house changed. There were hallways, rooms, one room that was large and had a fireplace, and the third woman spun and danced in the large room, and her dress spun outward as if it were made of a mist. I reached out and touched her dress, felt the fabric pass over my hand, and for some reason I remember the first time I had touched the first woman, had put my hand on her side as we stood close together. She stepped closer to me, accepting my touch, inviting me closer, but this wasn’t sexual at all, but a form of intimate bonding, even in public, especially in public, for this was two people who desired the intimacy, unspoken, unplanned, and the first step of this woman becoming part of my dream was born in that touch, or the thought of that touch.

Lucas stirred and stood up, launching his sister into action. Sam rose and poked me with his nose. I thought it might be time to get up but the blinking clocks served me not. It was closer to four in the morning than I like, but there was nothing to be done about it once The Three were in action. I let them out, let them in again, and fed them. I went back to bed but didn’t dream again in a restless sleep.


The clocks were reset to 7:18 by the time I got up for real. The dogs, wickedly deceitful, announced that they were to be fed as I was about to eat breakfast and they were always fed when I was about to eat breakfast. The cooler weather produces energy in the two younger dogs and bitey face breaks out before I can feed anyone. I love to see those two playing. The push furniture around, knock over chairs, and make navigation a hazard with their zoomies, but this is life lived as it should be. This is the dancing woman’s dream, the fabric whipping in the self-made wind. This is a form of intimacy that transcend mere physical form for it is fun, serious, play, dance, a form of theater, and it’s part of the soul of dogs on display.

I have to get the fifty pound bag of dog food today. I have to write. There’s a football game on that I am interested in, and the three woman compel me to wonder who was which one, or if they were all the same woman in different forms.

I wonder how the power went out in my home on a clear and cold night. I am likely going to carve out a writer’s niche in the yard so I can sit in the sun and write while the dogs play, or lie in repose. And very, very likely, the man in the ugly shoes, sitting across the way from me, will draw my writing ire, because he’s perfumed up like a twenty dollar hooker on Super Bowl day at the corner of some backstreet were drunk middle aged men will catch diseases that will kill them.

Take Care,
Mike



2 comments:

  1. Wow, so many women vying for your attention they’ll resort to a spiky haired wing-woman.
    I’d guess some Halloween party reveler, knocked your power out on the way home.

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