i, ii, iii
(I)
in this one it begins in my old high school study hall in the cafeteria. a makeshift racetrack (or toy) lies before me on the dark wood tabletop. however, i am not using this track for a race. it is some sort of live action grand theft auto and i am expected to play. as people mill about i try to navigate a small car with an old-fashioned controller. when one car bashes into another i am urged by those around me (although casually) to repeat this action. eventually the bug-eyed face of a terrified man pops through the windshield of the car i am hitting. his face becomes more and more exaggerated (much like the red king's when he became frightened in through the looking-glass) until his head finally ejects forward, followed by a long, capsule-like spinal structure that is the color of starfish.
i pick up the toy head, the connected spine still hanging from it, puzzled. right then a brunette in front of me- standing not too far away, hand on her hip- turns around to speak. i know instantly that her name is sofia. she compliments me on my game then quite suddenly offers her hand and by the time i
* * * * * * * * *
have taken it she is renee. we are endlessly walking down the empty (or emptier) streets of new york, only every visual aspect of the city is nostalgic and slow as if it had been drenched in darkening amber. we walk arm in arm, possessed by an otherworldly confidence (where did it come from?) and everything is languid and simple.
i look down to see that we are both wearing black tights.
(II)
i am eating my favorite treat so heartily- a big bag of mixed licorice. red and black and in all its different forms: little nibs, ropes, vines, and even the ones you pull apart. i am just eating and eating them because i love it so much and can never find it.
i drift out of sleep to find myself among the children during naptime. i wonder what their favorite sweets are.
(III)
i am watching a film in which buster keaton approaches nazimova. he looks very beautiful as does she. in fact, it is her face in particular that seems so stark yet animated. i can't take my eyes off of it. they have some sort of partition between them and transcend language in the oddest way. it's as if they are communicating telepathically, simply through expression.
suddenly this image falls apart like a bunch of tiles or the revolving flaps on a scoreboard. i walk over to keaton and sit next to him, taking his hand affectionately.
and we wait. perhaps for a train.
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