June 29, 2006
sunny, sunny
“I yawned,” he says, “and now I’m crying all over your nose.”
Istanbul with shadows, 1984? Please, we’re dark and referencial enough already. Walking a blue-shirted boy to the bus depot in the afternoon heat because you’re an awesome girlfriend with a discreet, rhomboid ribcage who buys smokes by the carton and can finally say goodbye in public line-ups. All this to say, it’s well known what you’ve been able to work yourself up to these past years, edged by the type of dirty that can only come with being surrounded by unused plates sporadically floored all over the apartment. These days still filled with thinking about the symbols used in livestock branding--half circle, rocking, and circumstances when other shapes would be used, carrying an animal through its lifespan.
Posted by caroline at June 29, 2006 4:50 PMOK, I totally dreamt about your parents last night. I dreamt that they showed up at some party I was at, looking for you. It was most strange.
Posted by: Edmorus at June 30, 2006 1:56 AMwas the party . . . .shadowy? were the people there serving . . . kolbassa, vodka? was my father's accent . . .thick? and . . . .slavic?
------
no, but seriously? what? tell bob moooorreeee.
xoxo
Posted by: caroline at June 30, 2006 4:50 PMWell, it was at the house where I live now, except that the house was backwards (ie: the front door was where the back door is now). And there were people milling about and enjoying themselves, and I think they were my friends or at least I knew them. And I looked out of my window (I'm on the second floor) and there's this couple standing there like in the American Gothic painting. And so I shouted down and waved at them to get their attention, because I knew that they were there to see you, not me, and I had to tell them that I'd find you. And they just seemed very dark and together, and very unnatural in this English summer country garden party atmosphere, and I felt sorry for them.
And that was it.
Mind you, I wouldn't take much stock by it because I just dreamt that Alex's father married his dead wife in a traditional ceremony in my grandparent's apartment. It must be the drugs kicking in.
Mnay thanks for your reassuring comment, by the way. It doesn't lessen the heartache of knowing I can't do what I love, but it's nice to see.
That's given me no end of shivers. And tears. Everyone is looking for me. I'm sure that's what the act looks like in symbolic representation. It's not eerie so much as uncanny.
Thank you.
Posted by: caroline at July 1, 2006 6:05 PM