Theatre of the Mind
Dreaming In Color
(I always dream in color, actually...)
Blue, indigo and black. Nightscape, as usual. The thing that made it weird is that it's my old neighborhood. The witch lives there, peaceable old woman, a basket-case with minimal power. They've killed her, of course. They never could abide by her, stupid smug suburbanites looking down their noses at everything and everyone. They say she died in her house, alone. I know better. They smothered her and set the place afire, flames angry red, sickening yellow, in the blue-tone world.
I am one of hers, and they know it. (Memory dredges up my favorite old jacket, the denim one, lace and pink applique` and too many zippers, a Young Madonna relic, only in the light it's heather grey. Zipped up, protective, protection against the frost and the stares.) We were made for her, made by her, children that never should have lived and never harmed anyone. The others have been killed, dragged down. I escape chiefly by virtue of looking like them, looking like these McCarthyist Aryans--that was my ultimate disguise. Only now the burning is done, and they are taking notice of me.
I am quicker, faster--just out for a jog this morning, and how are you? Pounding pavement. There beside me is the old tree, still a young tree in the dream, near the bus-stop...The world is running past my eyes quicker than I can analyze it, my heart like gunshots between my ears. Following me, smile plastered on her face, eyes dead as marbles, is that girl from my fourth grade class--she looks like Gloria Estefan, everybody did, back then, everybody wanted to...Walking. She walks where my world is terror and running.
Actual music: Shirley Manson howling in my ears as the guitars do their thing:
This is the noise that keeps me awake
My head explodes and my body aches
Don't worry baby
Don't be uptight
We'll stay up all night
The sun is rising. That's not good. Daylight kills us. We're mannikins, gholems, we've no life of our own, just what the old woman gave us. I don't want to die...
There you go, that ought to amuse. Or intrigue or worry, or fascinate, or something. It was just so vivid and so bizzarre, I figured I'd give you a look see.
I hated that place. It was our first neighborhood, since crossing the ocean. Our first taste of America the Beautiful in six years. It was class distinction and bullshit and a filthy, ugly falling-down wreck to live in. If any place ever deserved to get blown up, it's that house. AlQaeda pilots, take note.
Anyway. I know I had something to tell you. Or not. I feel a bit like Chris Rock's wisecrack in that flick Rush Hour.
*Straightens jaw, looks around* Alright, which one of y'all kicked me?
The defining quote of my life, LoL >^P
Ummm...moving on? Like to a lighter note? Oh, alright *turns off Angst Mode*.
Rented Fellowship of the Ring ^_^
Watched the Imaldris (that's Rivendell) scenes like a trillion times ^___^
I also like the stuff that goes down at Mordor and Isengaard (sp?) I have a dreamscape like that. Several of them, in fact. Tip: my idea of beautiful and other people's idea of beautiful are not necessarily in sync. As we gathered from the Hugo Weaving thing >^D
Umm, what else? Overclocked ten hours (sleep lackage), slept eleven, was up at 4am today. Whee! Yay!
This means you're all getting email, you lovely people you.
*BOUNCE*. ^_^ I'd hug you to death but I don't think you'd appreciate it.
Oh, oh, guess what's getting drafted today? You've only been waiting for it for months. Oh this scene is going to be SO much fun >^D
Gotta dash, peeps, got writing to do! =^D
Now Playing: "You Know What I Mean", Luke Slater
posted by Jheti at
6:09 AM
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