Thursday, March 08, 2007
From Now On: Email to Robert Ostrom That I Didn't Send
Stop calling me. I think we should communicate via email, soley about our dreams. I'll send you my dreams; you send me yours. Kind of like that Smiths song, "send me your pillow, the one that dream on." We'll probably develop a deeper relationship, that if psychoanalyzed, will go beyond the normative societal relationship, forcing a bond imaginable only by fraternal twins (does that mean we were blown up in the same zygote?). I've cut my hair. I have bangs now. They make my forehead sweat while it's snowing and I'm hooded. I think it's kind of sexy, sweat below my bang, but who knows, guys, I farther, don't. There's this lamp across from my apartment window that I wonder, sometimes, if it's on because the people(s) are there, or because they like wasting electrons in expensive and massive ways, lighting no one, and irritating moonlight, and hares in faraway deserts that rely on moonlight to breed, caress, hunt, drink bacardi. Kidding about the bacardi. I drank lots of it while involved in a rebellious high school circle, but realized it throws silt in our brain cells, so now I only sink with vodka & lemon now. I think it's healthier, or at least Wikipedia says so. I once got caught fondling my boyfriend, because of bacardi, it was during a swimming party at a friend of a friend's birthday party. (I was touching his face). The bash, held at a suburban apartment complex had lanterned pathways, and was home to a girl whose father deserted her for heroin's long trail of disappearance. In movies they always show that rubbing a body that's just swam is erotic, but it's like touching a goldfish fun. He broke my heart, that guy. You know about him. But he tore it, I taped it, and now I've got several new ones, some of which dangle in potential places. Last night, I dreamt I was at a bar and I was surrounded by little baby boys. They were my nephews, I think, their mother was there too. It's the first dream I've ever had about babies where I'm happy in it. Do you think the Gypsy was right? I can't believe the first dream I have about babies takes place at a bar! They all looked like me too, only darker, and with rounder faces. The sun's out today. In a few hours it will be noon. Call me. I Miss you.
Posted by Diana Marie Delgado at 3/08/2007