Tuesday, December 12, 2017


Here’s a dream from last night.

I’m with a group shopping for Christmas gifts. I’m on a budget. I want to get gifts for my kids and I can’t afford gifts for everyone who will be gathered together. I’m inspired to buy an automotive care set for Rosa Parks. She probably doesn’t have a car and I’m sure she’s dead, but it seems appropriate, if only as a memorial. It comes with a loudspeaker, so she could use it to give speeches, and an umbrella, in case it rains. It’s hard to find the set in the store. When I do, there’s no price tag. I pick it up, hoping I can afford it.

Gifts are being unpacked into a garage. Kids are not allowed to peek. I see that many people have picked up automotive sets identical to mine. Maybe I can return mine without notice. There’s an abundance of pricey items. I’m drawn to a bicycle and decide to ride it. On my way from the garage, I see it is full of Partridge Family memorabilia, including some fine art prints. In one, Susan Dey is blurry and making a face.

On the bike, I encounter four boys making a film as their gift. I stop to watch. I’m impressed by their ingenuity. Their creativity will be appreciated more than any store-bought gift. They enact foursomes, including the kids from “Stranger Things” and The Beatles. The kid who plays Paul is a standout. He doesn’t imitate Paul. He seems to just “be” Paul, saying things in his aesthetic and outlook, as in homage.

A guy runs into our midst, disrupting things. He’s good looking and arrogant, demanding attention. We’re annoyed. Another guy invites me to join him in looking for gifts. We go to a consignment shop, very minimally installed with unique items. I admire a spindly chair sculpture. He picks it up. I ask him not to buy it for me, but he says he’ll do what he wants and walks away.

I find a small antique television, set in a handmade wooden box. It’s been retrofitted with a device so that one can speak into the monitor and see the words become memo texts. I try this but can’t figure it out. A young goth woman is mopping nearby. She begins to clean near me. I offer to get out of the way, but she tells me not to bother, I’m not even touching the floor. I’m laying over a rocking horse and it’s true, I’m elevated. She says she liked me in The Man Who Fell to Earth. I say I’m not really David Bowie but I am a fan. We want to talk about Bowie but I’m not supposed to be Bowie. 

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