Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Andrew Wyeth say: I dream a lot. I do more painting when 'm not painting. it's in the subconscious.

The Night of the Day

A little girl comes trundling out onto a football field and romps the length of it. She has thick skirts and much red coloring in it so that she in her kid romp bustles like a butterfly.

This isn't the local ball field. It's the NFL! And behind her comes Tyrell Owens!

He sets out to follow her. A lone little girl running up the field, apparently going to her family seats at the other end zone. Owens is the spoiled grandstanding star wideout of the Niners, of course, only here he is playing with a little girl. He flaps open his jacket (he's in civilian dress-up) and his vest is red and he is galloping like a kid and flashing colors like he's mimicking her. She is looking around at him, turning her head to the left while she runs, smiling beatifically. When she looks at him, Owens flaps his jacket closed so the colors don't show.

It's an amazing show, and the crowd is utterly charmed by it.

I wake up, and then I'm in a cafeteria. I am taking liberties. I believe I have friends and juice in the place, so I go behind the counter. I meet resistance and believe that's only clumsiness on the part of my buddy, but I'm suspecting, he's denying my privilege.

I have to reach to wash my hands in the sink of the kitchen. I do it like it's just a casual move, like hanging my coat on the rack, but the owner seeks to prevent it without alienating me. I'm presuming here, it's obvious.

The Day Before

Scoob at the table with Em and NikiJMe and Scoob spent the whole day around the cabin. The cold, the cold is coming. The nasturtiums down by the pond are frozen, and, Niki J say, they didn’t do that all last year. In the early dawn the windows are glazed.

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