...baby girl is free, too!...this is her playground...all of it. the avenue, the swing set, the classroom, the kitchen, the strange new streets, the past, the present, your house, your mother's house, the president's house...whatever...every time this swinger reaches for the next ring, she risks falling, not being able to support her weight with the one arm holding her for the moment...at some point she develops calluses on her palms and she reaches forward without thinking or feeling too much, knowing there's a rhythm; a very simple and personalized way to move through air...she knows two horizons are always at her front and back, and this keeps her balanced......this morning i woke up and everything outside was still dark...i was spread out like a disgruntled starfish on top of the blankets with a face heavy from withholding...everything felt counterintuitive...i looked outside and figured i could probably watch the grey rain fall through the grey sky through the green leaves of the treetops that lay against the green shingled houses from this pov of 17th street for the next few hours...despite my evening (sick, false, perfunctory, trite) i had an amazing dream. slightly torturous but amazing. more so than what transpired in the dream (just details, the who/what/how) was the feeling that coated the entire thing. sweet and achey...but sweet like central valley summertime nectarine sweet...like cali mango sweet. like honey cakes or slow dancing. the tone was warm, the hue: red/orange. the scene: long overdue. the timescape: now. the weight/less. the pressure: none. the parties: one open book, one interrogation survivor...i realized the feeling was torturous because unlike dreams where i'm 'feeling' something about running from the cops, running under water, paralysis...this feeling / scene had already transpired in 'real' life, and therefore familiar...dreams disappoint because they are just that (they must disappoint themselves sometimes, too, then...) and the people in them are bound to disappoint because how they are in reality is never how you designed them to be in your subconscious...
in the dream i didn't have to say anything or search for the right words, or tip toe or make concessions or be understanding or presume to assume or be fearful or project into a black, deaf, mute abyss or work over time learning telepathy...in the dream, as in life, i wasn't seeking to classify, vilify, or crucify...boxes and squares do not fit into my bag...in the dream we were a planet that moved along its own axis...i behind you and you behind me on and on and on and over and around as forward moving, powerful entities can and do...you my horizon behind me and me your horizon behind you behind me in front of me as i am behind...you, etc. continuous...concentrated...intelligent...circular...like Borges, like a seed, like a spark, like the perfect shape, like roe...like ova...
...the antonym of all these words (bud, origin, ovule, root, sprig, sprout) of course, imply: 'the end...' a counterintuitive place for this planet to be, as it had just exploded into the july 4th air, with the rest of those things that go boom, rise, sparkle, and shine...all of this is -- not that serious...que será será this is just how i feel today...i cannot guarantee that i will feel the same way tomorrow...but apparently no one takes those kinds of risks these days, anyway...do they, darling?
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