MARVIN, dedicated to: well, not dedicated to Marvin

SO YOU WON’T THINK that I have dreamt of you every night for twenty years, I told you that last night I dreamt about someone named ‘Marvin.’

He’s kind of hard to describe, I told you, But I’ll tell you one thing for sure: he’s not you.

And then I ate some link sausages. No, wait: sausage patties.

You smiled and walked outside. I believe that you were going to plant some pansies.

And I thought to myself: why didn’t I think of that?

But it wasn’t over yet: that night, a shadowy figure emerged from the fog in my dream. I could not quite recognize him.

Who are you? I asked, he seemed so familiar but not enough that you might say I know who this is. But he said nothing, and then, really quietly, smiled.

Finally I asked him: Are you Marvin? As I drew closer to the screen, I saw the stagehands operating the fog machine. It takes a lot of work to operate a fog machine! But it’s worth it. It ends up looking like a big, green, soft, wooly blanket in the air.

No, he said suddenly, emerging from the fog. I am not Marvin. I am no more Marvin than you are.

But I AM Marvin! I screamed, and ran out into the yard, desperately seeking pansies, but found none. Pansy days were still far away, to be sure.

all artwork, including monsters but not old timey photographs,
® mr. crispy flotilla, 2007