I DREAM OF A SPECIAL PLACE

I dream of a special place where the horizon is black, and little white dots spring up from the darkness. The landscape is turned sideways, kind of ups and downsies, with thousands of film reels scattered about of green ogres from Scandanavian countries, wild boars that look like they could be friendly or deadly, fleets of deadly ivory-colored flying saucers racing to earth and finally–and most sweetly–a cadre of young children gathered around a dinner table from a hundred years ago and minding their manners and in a calm and gentle repose. Oh, also, I forgot: a flower–a pseudobombax–that looks like it was painted by Dr. Seuss. This very special place–this place that I dream of–that I desire so–exists only, I think, in my mind. And then, one day, I imagine that it will exist no more. Why? Well, I think the flower will eat it.

PART TWO: Have you ever seen a dream landscape that exists in your mind eaten by a blue flower that is a little queer looking thing? It is a terrible thing to behold. But it is the way of nature. The flower will eat the green ogre that escaped the wild boar that was running away from the ivory-colored flying saucers that meant no harm to the hundred year old children but still that frightened the hundred year old children, and then the landscape will exist no more, which is also a a beautiful thing, for it is the way of the natural order, if, I mean, you want to pretend it is and deny yourself your true dreams and destiny as well as, just for starters, the world’s. And if you do, afterwards, once the world is over and everything is the way it should be, it’s always nice to curl up with a good book and a glass of Sundrop sparkling lemon soda. O, Sabroso!