Wednesday, July 28, 2004

wonka meets big ben...

what happens when i nap. i enter an observatory. the kind that exists in dreams. the kind that perches on an impossibly tall space needle. above the sea. then i see a map in my mind. portent. an earthquake will come. i watch the progression on the map. it reaches the needle. the observatory splits like an apricot, halved. lands in the sea and skiis at intense speeds across the water. catastrophic. suddenly i'm in a a town clock, rather. candy pinks, oranges, yellows. like a hideous salt taffy. or the price is right. yep. come on doooown! every time i make for an opening the gears move. grind. shift. the escape is blocked. like a giant mouse trap. and then it chimes. dear god. i cannot cover my ears and crawl over obstacles at the same time. so. i either sacrifice my hearing or die like a rat. i choose lose my hearing. i begin climbing over and around. the various pendulums sway. the chiming is making me insane. but i can see the door. intent on escaping. finally, i reach the fresh air. the fresh air is peopled by characters straight out of time machine. eunich-ish eloys (sp?). androgenous. vapid. scary.

hmm. best not to get too jungian this early. i'll spare you the rest of the dream.

on the main street in town (i mean my town, the real and actual place from which i type this, not the candy place of dreams i've just described) there is a building that stands out. yes. one of these things is not like the other. one of these things just isn't the same. it was once a quonset hut. when i was small (and for many years before i existed) it was a restaurant called the rainbow hut. i thought that was rather inventive. we didn't put these arches here for no reason. that would be silly! no. we planned it that way. it's a rainbow.  and for as long as i can remember the same people ran the place. an old couple. to me they were always old. but the husband had hair that never lost its glamorous youth and vigor. he had movie matinee idle hair. lots of it. it remained black until he kicked over. black with a skunk of silver near the temples. carefully pomaded. tres flores. side-part. he wore coke bottle glasses and chain smoked on the stoop. i see the stoop every day when i walk to the post office. for some reason i'm writing about it here. why's that? don't know.



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