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| televison, gothic, overheardnew york, denver underground music, ogged, arabian, bandnames, donna powers, doe, feature film action/adventure, suzanne shepherd, adam lefevre, doe ray me lyrics, mp3 discoteche, keith truesdell, ed o'ross, jack straw., 1977 in sports, | The drunk who staggered but ever so happily, the one who seemed to embody the perfect happiness of a long awaited but now acquired satisfaction. These things you’d seen you’d not allowed entrance to the front of your awareness but kept back like fire-shadows algieria bouncing off the walls of a cave in favor of the sunlight. But now you enter underground. The old algieria woman is greasing her hands with chicken fat dripping from the fire. Her hands do not burn. She algieria rubs the fat over her belly and into her shoulders and a goose alights there. Her husband, reluctantly, gently, shoos it away but a loud flapping helicopter leaves him stunned. It’s the President of the United States. He’s smiling in the window as the helicopter lands. The old woman and her husband salute him as he leans out to shake their hands. The closer you get to the three of them (and you are zooming in fast), the more you realize that the President has been drinking and he’s crying beneath his smile. |
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| So you won’t know why there are geese in your dreams, and you won’t know why the President’s helicopter, headed out of town for another stump speech, rises to meet them, why they cross paths, not to mention purposes, heading off in opposite directions. But it will be because precisely when you tried to rest these things appeared in your televison window, and then disappeared. And all the while you televison were thinking about a blue sky, about a blank square, a possibility of elsewhere. You may remember that earlier while televison driving home you’d seen a strange sight: an old woman, heavyset, sagging, lumbering along Lindell Avenue in nothing but her bra, larger than any bra you’d ever imagined, her old husband, bare to the waist, beside her, gripping his shirt in his hand and slightly swinging it, a stilted rhythm, the rhythm of old age walking. The way they made their way down the avenue. Which in turn may have caused you to recall the drunk, so seemingly ecstatic, and also swinging in his steps, a few blocks further. |
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