Part 9 (1/2)

Later, we were walking on the streets proper again. The temperature had dropped and everything had acquired a bluish tint in the moonlight like Pica.s.so. Except instead of Cabaret dancers there were posters of movies in foreign languages. I remember this one time I watched a French flick with j.a.panese subt.i.tles so I couldn't understand anything. I think it took place on the moon because there was one part where the characters looked out a window and saw the Earth all blue and strange. And there were people with pigs for heads and a crooked Eiffel Tower. A crooked Eiffel Tower and pig-headed people.

We walked past these closed coffee shops. (kissaten) I was thinking about what she said. I could only remember one time that I felt a connection to the past, when I realized John Lennon died when I was 3. I still kind of recall watching the news story on TV. I was alive at that moment. I wasn't sure if that was the kind of thing she was talking about before.

The city was quiet. There weren't any noises and there was a mist so you couldn't see very far. I think I had lost the flower already. (history) People used to think of the stars as scribes at one time. The moon glew the city and hid the scribes. Our own shuffle down the street, cobblestones echoing.

More cafes with empty chairs alone. We sat down in front of one of the closed shops and time pa.s.sed. I mean seconds pa.s.sed. Time is an abstract construction; applying a verb to it doesn't feel right. But what do I know; I watched a crumpled newspaper roll in the wind.

I wasn't alone because I was with her.

”So what now?” I said. She gazed into the dark. I guess it was more of a statement than a question though. So what now.

”It's a nice night, isn't it?” (.) She was still staring.

”Kind of cold.” I was staring now too, at the cobblestones. She looked at me and put her arm around me to help keep me warm. There were a lot of them. Cobblestones I mean. There were a lot of cobblestones. ”Do you have dreams?”

There was a light above us to the right; the tint from it turned everything black except for the chairs and tables, which hummed red. The moon obscured by stone masonry. ”Of course.”

Now that I think about it, I guess her hair was a dark red, too. Her legs swung 'toc, tic'.

”Why do you ask?”

For some reason the scene felt like dej vu. I remember thinking about when it happened to me in the past. ”One time I was in Pittsburgh laying out in the gra.s.s in front of Heinz Cathedral with the sun coming down and me sans sungla.s.ses and I thought I had a dream a few nights before then about myself sitting there and got scared.”

”Really?” She smiled at me and I didn't think she took me seriously. ”So you dreamed about sitting in the sun without sungla.s.ses?”

”No it's not just that, I remembered the trees in a row and the building behind...” I usually don't like talking about stuff like that cuz I always feel silly afterwards. Like I'm just talking nonsense. My voice I think was defensive.

We didn't say anything for a while, lots of tic without any toc. There were lighting bugs in the street. ”Why don't you write down your dreams?”

I thought maybe it was ok now. Not so silly I mean. ”I tried if for a bit. But sometimes I would dream stuff that I didn't want other people to read.”

”Oh.” I heard something in the distance. It sounded really low frequency like a moped. ”Did you have any dreams recently?”

”Sometimes I have these dreams where I'll fear the future.”

”Do you fear the future because it doesn't lead anywhere or because it's too much for you to handle?”

”I guess I'm afraid of going nowhere.” I was talking about the life dream.

”Oh. Of circular motion.”

I was going to tell her about how I thought I was dead even though it wasn't really a dream but then the noise got louder. I stopped staring at the cobblestones and looked for it. It was coming down the road pretty fast and it had one headlight. I couldn't see anything but the light. It was blinding through the mist. It kept getting bigger and bigger until it pa.s.sed me and it took a little while for my eyes to readjust.

The motorcycle buzz faded away and it was quiet again. Soon the lightening bugs came out again. (selaphobia) Her arm wasn't on my shoulder anymore. It was gone. I couldn't remember when it had left. I looked for her to see what she was doing but the chair was empty.

I stood up and faced the darkness of the street. I remember seeing these flashes of movement deep in my peripheral visual range. When I tried to focus on them they would disappear.

I don't remember exactly what happened next but after a while I looked up and saw the light again; except it was bigger. It was the moon. It was huge. It... (give me your answer do)

Contact

The next event I recall is staring at a glossy white tabletop in a diner. I'm not sure what happened in between; maybe I got drunk or stoned or tripped up or something. I was hungry though. The place was really a truck stop, 300-pound men with baseball caps eating grease. ”What can I get for you?”

It was the waitress. She had an ap.r.o.n on and her outfit looked dull in the fluorescent lighting. The menu had this eggs and sausage deal for two dollars. I didn't feel like eating meat though. ”Crepes.”

I guess it was odd that a trucker joint would have crpes but I liked crpes a lot so I figured I'd risk it. I remembered people p.r.o.nounced the word differently here than they do in France. ”What kind of filling would you like? We have strawberry and blueberry.”

”Strawberry.” She wrote that down.

The waitress held her hand in the air with the pen and stared at me. ”Anything to drink?”

”What kind of coffee do you have?”

”Uh... plain and decaf.” She looked around the room as if it was a dumb question and she expected everyone in the joint to laugh at me.

”No hazelnut or anything?” No one laughed though. I guess they were too busy eating.

She rolled her eyes and pouted her lips and I think she was getting impatient. ”No. Only regular and decaf.”

”Orange juice.” Orange juice is good as long as you don't drink it too often. Then it starts tasting too sweet. The waitress walked away from me.

I couldn't see the sun out the window so I guess it was cloudy outside. I was sitting at the counter waiting for my food to come when I pulled out a napkin from the dispenser and wrote a poem with a pen that was lying next to it. It was: hum, hum, hum, hum, hum along...

No, that's not right. Maybe only four hum's? Actually I think it was: A lemon yellow, A carrot green, A plumb purple, A sky gray.

I was kinda proud of it when I finished writing it.

The waitress came and dropped off the crpes and some coffee. The crpes didn't look right; they were really two omelets wrapped around a couple berries. I didn't want to eat any of it so I just sipped the coffee. I guess I should have complained about not getting any orange juice but I think I was depressed about the omelets.

I wished I had learned to smoke. She looked like an actress. The waitress I mean. Even in the uniform. I wanted to smoke something. I asked her for a pack of matches even though I don't smoke cigarettes. ”Can I get a pack of matches please?”

She had bleached blond hair and blue eyes and was as tall as I was. I think she was Irish. She tossed a pack of matches to me that had a picture of a spade and the word 'Ace' on it. ”Here.”

Then she went into the back to where I think they warm the food. A TV was on behind the counter. It emitted this high frequency squeal. There was a reporter on it saying something about the Army. I tried the omelet but didn't like it so I spit it out in another napkin. I think the newscaster was talking about some troops we had deployed somewhere. I glanced at the guy next to me and saw a fly in the air. Maybe I should join the Army and shoot at people.

After I finished my drink I didn't know what to do. I wondered what other people do when they don't know what to do. Maybe they read. I decided to at least go outside. (split infinity) I wrapped the matches in the poetry and put the poetry in my pocket. I left the pen on the counter next to the napkin dispenser where I found it though. Outside in the sky the clouds moved like spiders. (haiku) (revolutions start with one man) I went to California once. Silicon is kind of halfway between a conductor and an insulator. (everyone is equal) is what they teach you in school But no one's really innocent. Something about Hamlet. Evil ancestors with Sundays spent in leisure. (made in Italy) Blood through capsulated veins.

Nine lives reincarnated as myself in a strange attractor of a dharmachakra. (one stone sinking in ocean) What the h.e.l.l am I supposed to do if I don't like any of the paths in front of me? (need to shave more often) Do nothing and wait around for some kind of miracle?

I think (write) the coffee was overkill. ()() I had to slow down. This isn't what I really think, it just a couple of emotions blown out of proportion in a phase of intellectual sloth.

I wanted to sit outside for a bit. One of the intersections I walked past had an island in the middle with steps to sit on so I crossed the street and sat down. I felt like... I remember this one time I was watching this date/party phone line service advertis.e.m.e.nt on TV. I was thinking they have all this stuff to service the needs of people. But I kept wondering why there weren't any ads on TV for the insecurities I have about life. Like what's wrong with me?

On the island I heard circus music in the background, whistles and horns and stuff. I think it was coming from a speaker somewhere. There was a statue on one side of the stairs to the right of me. It was yellow and was composed of these three sticks with heads in a circle pointing inwards.