THE
DREAM FILM STORE
A sad and seductive female
voice is saying things to me. I cannot focus or see her face, it
refuses to appear in my mind.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve
finally come, I’ve been waiting for you for lifetimes.
- Welcome at last to the
Dream-Film Store, I can’t believe you’ve awoken here after so
long -
Did you have a long day? What
can I find for you tonight – that’s right – anything you can
imagine – a Thousand amazing thoughts preserved – or perhaps just
a bottle of red wine and a dream about the swaying sea will rest you
well tonight?”
Of course in dreams you never
know you are dreaming. That is why they have control. Certainly this
dream harnessed control enough to disturb me & leave itself
lingering behind the back of my mind when I finally awoke.
In my sleep I was wrestling w/
heat & the covers, & frightened by the lady’s continuing
voice. All I could see was blue.
“I know you can understand
what I’m saying. Don’t be afraid” -
I felt her stretch out her arm
towards me and I jumped in panic.
All around me I could see
blurs of deep colour merging & swirling, a moving chaos of images
and shapes. Still I could see no face.
“I know you can hear me,
please, I’m your friend, look! I couldn’t bear to see you waste
this now. You know me already please just trust me.”
********
II
I awoke shaken and wretched,
grappling with the duvets, rubbing my stinging eyes. Already the
terrible fear of my dream had subsided considerably; simply because
waking instantly cancels out what was previously merely dreaming. Now
I just had a headache & a longing to return to that strange scene
and assuage the curiosity that always accompanies fear. I suppose the
fear when you dream is because you don’t know you’re only
dreaming. It seems real. I lay there thinking.
What troubled me most as I lay
there in bed was that I never saw the woman’s face, though I could
sense it was desperate to appear. Oh well, just a dream, as they say.
Refusing to let a dream trouble
my thoughts all day, as had happened before I decided to get up and
wash my face.
The flat was crazed by disorder &
rubbish. Clothes, papers, books & boxes which should’ve been
locked in some attic were at war w/ the floor. I trod w/ care to the
bathroom & stood looking in the greasy mirror at a face full of
grease; the eyes that once rewarded me w/ strange smiles were laden
w/ sleep, heavy with the impurities that sleep had filtered. The
Drain in my Brain.
“I’ve been swimming
in a sea of sleep,”
I began singing to myself in a
hoarse groan. Wanting to give myself a shock, I dunked my head in a
cold basin decorated w/ floating limescale, pubic hair (for some
unknown reason) and toothpaste. How I could call that much of a wash
I don’t know. Nevertheless, I felt fresher; so, as always, I
started to prepare my morning spliff, which helped me decide what to
do today, or if to do anything at all.
I used to take great pleasure in
rolling huge reefers, just for the hilarity of seeing something
unusual & absurd, I suppose. Recently though, since moving in to
the flat, I’ve been rolling the swiftest & easiest joints
possible, & filling them w/ more weed than the big old ones.
Being stoned now fits into the same category of Time & Tedium
that it once was the escape-route from.
As I lit the spliff, & fell
softly back into the sensuous web that stonedness weaves, I felt a
longing for the fantastical times I used to have w/ friends &
girls & laughter & ideas – whereas now I just felt numb, in
a blunt trance. Not wanting to linger on the past, I took a deep long
drag, like the spliff was a sacrament, & pulled some stolid
clouds of darkness into my lungs. Holding it down, I imagined
counting some numbers but couldn’t get it together, so just waited
- & then exhaled, releasing the smoke in a grave grey sigh,
watching it fumble, disperse & vanish into cushions &
curtains & air. My head was heavy. I knew what I needed now more
than ever. To get out.
********
III
After dressing in some jeans &
T-shirts, I took my weed, some skins, a pen & paper & various
other articles of minor importance, & hid them in places in my
big jacket. I’ve never been too bothered about what I wear on top -
trousers, I just wear jeans, so I’m not fussy there either. Shoes,
however, I’m very particular about, seeing as I have to walk in
them etc. Shoes are rare allies in life. Also, I have a tendency to
turn a jacket into a home.
So, finding a particular pair of
boots, I left the flat w/ a feeling of the promise of the Day.
But where could I go?
I’d abandoned my friends a few
months before, fallen out with them all except one, Gabriel, who I
don’t speak to anymore, anyway. It was a strange series of
incidents involving my previous band & some magic mushrooms. The
details escape me & give me pain trying to remember them. We were
called ‘Open Poem Opium,’ & we split up; that is all.
(“Beat through the veins of the
city in madness
Revolving doors in your mind &
sadness
Cities crawling in your brain
streets of mystery and of pain,
I’m leaving town on the
underground train.”)
I put my hands in my pocket to
instinctively protect myself from the knuckle-gnawing cold that hung
around outside. Feeling what I thought was a £10 note in my jeans, I
pulled it out to find only a little scribbling of lyrics written some
days ago in a dull hash-induced trance.
I often scribbled things. I
enjoyed the freedom of scribbling & doodling. The pen can move
exactly where you want it free of direction, w/out the obligation of
having to form restricting letters & words. I have pages &
pages of doodles, strange shapes, & occasionally some lyrics
appear in the mess. That’s what I did for the band – wrote songs
& sang, though I don’t play any instrument.
Noticing a growing rumble in my
stomach, I felt that food & coffee were the best options, &
would give me more time to consider how my day of activity could be
filled.
Rounding a corner, I saw the
parade of shops ahead, dead faces facing me, w/ cheap dimestore
smiles. In the middle was the cafe, called “The Rat & Vessel”
to my amused bewilderment. I opened the door. Inside it smelled of
sad people, old times clinging in smoke to the walls, sad paint and
sad light. The door was still ringing from those crazy bells that
crash together on opening , & make me cringe every time. Those
bells should be banned from sad cafes. They exacerbate the dead
silence that awaits you inside when the door slams shut & the
bells stop clanging.
“A large strong white coffee
please, & a Danish.”
£1. 90. I couldn’t believe it.
I realised then that left me w/ only 10p for the day – a rare day
of Activity. Oh well.
The coffee was bitter & the
Danish was over sweet. I was fairly stoned & therefore felt a
heightened sensitivity to things like taste. After a few mouthfuls, I
realised it wasn’t quite late enough for breakfast yet.
Well, what could I do? Where
could I go? 10p is less than having nothing, because it just
irritates you with niggling little time-consuming questions.
I decided I’d be freer if I
threw it away my last change. Why I didn’t bring any money w/ me I
haven’t a clue – pen, paper & weed must have seemed like a
more useful currency to remember this morning.
So On discovering that I finally
had something to do (albeit only disposing of 10p), I thought I’d
turn it into a ritual & perhaps waste an hour of the day. I was
finding it increasingly difficult since realising this money shortage
to tell myself that I was even capable of activity this morning.
Spending an hour of one’s morning throwing away short change, &
taking an hour to decide how to do it in particular to add a pretend
sense of ‘fun…’ I realised a dead-end frustration possessing
me. The town was in abeyance, time was trapping, what could I do to
rid me of the cruel bindings of post-youth, expulsion from
university, confusion, unemployment, & worst of all, sheer
boredom? Where could I go, & with what purpose?
The 10p dilemma had started to
annoy me. I thought in vain for ways I could make a ritualistic point
of getting rid of it, but soon realised this sort of time-consuming
thought was exactly what I wanted to get rid of the 10p for – like
I said, to be free of it. This realisation of my own frustrating,
mind-cycling stupidity annoyed me greatly. I decided I’d give it to
the next tramp I saw.
It was now 11. 00. Which meant
nothing to me, because w/out anything to do or anywhere to be, it
didn’t matter what time it was. The street stretched ahead of me
crawling w/ insect-cars & insect-people, all busily rushing
around swarming sick and feversome. I often wondered exactly what the
term “crowd-neuroses” means, & laughed that I felt detached
from the clinging time-table lifestyle. Walls of grey rose either
side of the road to complete the dull-grey prison of the street.
People flocked & assembled, briefcases merged into madness, mute
timetable agony, flaccid lovers limp by, smiles fail, children
congregate in backstreets to escape, everyone around thinking they
have something to do & somewhere to go! I felt dizzy so found a
bench to sit down upon. Watching the parading fools & this
procession of sadness brought out a sadness w/in me too. I was
sitting motionless on the bench, feeling the flux & thrum of the
city, the dead beat of London; & I heard the beat of my heart
clash w/ the rhythm of the streets. I felt suddenly cold and alone.
If London had a voice, it would be a blunted and dead-pan voice like
Lou Reed’s.
I must have sat on that bench for
about 2 hours. The time was spent coming to terms w/ the fact that I
felt estranged from my environment – the first time I’d realised
the alienation of being poor in a city. Perhaps if I lived in
Cornwall, say, I’d have a job, a community in which I was known,
maybe even some friends. The city is a great culmination of sadness &
alienation. No-one in town is conscious of their extreme
self-consciousness. Everyone in town is homeless.
Pleased w/ the thoughts I had
accomplished this morning (& thinking was my poor equivalent of a
morning’s work), I decided to roll up another spliff & go for
another wander. My hands were cold & it was too windy sitting
outside, so I went to look for the nearest phone-box. Phone-boxes
were excellent for skinning up in, because a) you were off the street
& out of people’s way b) there was a nice little platform bit
to rest the Rizlas upon c) no-one disturbs you in a phone-box,
because they assume you are looking for change, or about to make a
call etc. One felt a slight degree of safety & protection inside.
The nearest phone was just across
the road. I loved crossing roads, felt it like a game, a dare, a
thrill. One of the things I felt most confident about in life was
dodging traffic & crossing roads w/ what I liked to portray to
the driver as being a fearless & disdainful nonchalance. I’m
constantly occupying myself w/ little challenges & wars, that I
suppose I create for my own amusement. Walking along a pavement, I
often ask myself a question of importance then tell myself that if I
reach that lamp-post over there before the next car passes me, the
answer is so & so, & if not… I’m sure everyone plays the
same game, just ask different questions. It’s amazing how something
as utterly pointless & unfounded in anything apart from my own
mind has the power to excite & possess me.
I can honestly feel a terrible
suspense sometimes as a car grumbles & groans & approaches
blind behind my back – I walk quicker, desperate for the answer I
want. Sometimes, if I fail to reach the object in time for the right
answer, I change the question or say I meant the previous lamp-post
anyway. It is by no means a game I enjoy playing. I become frustrated
w/ myself after a while, but at least it distracts me from
frustration of having nothing better to do.
So crossing the road, I reached
the phone-box, & entered its heavy door. Inside I felt how truly
separate I was from everything else around me. There is a certain
mysticism about phoneboxes & telecommunications. I remember
having a fascination w/ Dr. Who, & the way he travelled
throughout space & time in the blink of an eye. How I longed for
such possibilities now, standing stoned & alone in a phone-box
surrounded by strangers & the dizzying thrum of life. I wanted
adventure, change, discovery – but I was stuck. Where was there to
go?
I emptied my pockets on top of
the phone & extracted the various bits of paraphernalia needed
for skinning up. The spliff I rolled was terrible, due to what I
noticed was a growing distraction in my mind.
Standing there pulling on the
spliff, I tried to locate the exact area of my mind where the
negativity was emanating from.
‘Right,’ I thought.
‘I know I don’t want to be
here, but where do I want to be?’
Something was certainly on my
mind, but I let it go as the smoke melted into my blood & sent
diamonds rushing up my neck.
I started to gather my
belongings, & noticed among them the 10p which I’d forgotten
about.
“I’ll leave it here for some
lucky person to make a phone call w/” I mused.
‘Or, I could make a phone-call
myself..”
I didn’t own a phone & the
thought of making a phone call was quite big news to me. Who could I
phone? I had no friends.
Except for maybe Gabriel. It had
to be Gabriel. 0171 385 6603. I only had 10p, so I had to plan
carefully what I would say. Even better, I thought, I could invite
myself round to his.
I don’t know why I suddenly had
a desire to be w/ someone. I don’t know whether I even liked the
guy. I alienate myself. Perhaps the guilt that loneliness brings, had
stirred me finally into communication.
“Hello?” came the cautious,
questioning voice.
“Gabriel, man, it’s, uh,
Franco, could I come round?”
I spoke nervously &
stuttered a little, out of practise w/ conversation.
“What! Hey Franco, how’s it
going? What are you doing? Come round!”
“Yeah, I will, I’ve got 2
credits left, so I’ll - “
The line went dead & the
dead sound came up in my ear & hung around in a tone of despair.
“Shit,” I thought. “Where
the fuck does Gabriel live.”
Typical, that for once I’d
actually wanted to do something that involved someone other than me -
& it wasn’t going to be possible.
I left the phone-box still
sucking hard on the joint. “I suppose I could go home, get some
more money & - “
The phone was ringing. I lifted
it. It was Gabriel.
“Man you should’ve just said
& I’d have called you back.”
“Oh, yeah, I didn’t know –
shit, sorry. You know how I am w/ phones, clueless.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha – well,
shall I meet you somewhere then?”
“I have no money & I’m
down to my last few smoke’s worth.”
When I said earlier that phones
fascinate me, I also meant to say that they terrify me. I’d
probably prefer telepathy.
“I’’ll tell you what
Franco, where are you – I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Um, well, I’m in a
phone-box in Baron’s Court. I’ll meet you outside the Oddbins.”
“In 10 minutes, I’m close.”
“Alright man, that’s
perfect, cheers.”
“See you then Franco.”
“Bye-bye.”
Wow. I’d never known anyone so
efficient at phones. If I’m ever forced into using one to make
arrangements, I faff around for hours being indecisive & calling
back & hanging up.
Gabriel was a person of admirable
sagacity for his age – 2 years older than me, 22, but w/ a
sensibleness that empowered him to be utterly assured and
self-confident. Decisive & wise, the kind of friend everyone
wants & fears abusing.
I could already see Oddbins. I
approached feeling slightly ridiculous still for my telephonic
incompetence.
‘I could have done any number
of things,’ I thought
- ‘reversed the charges,
borrowed 10p off someone… oh well, I’m just useless, no matter.’
My thoughts were interrupted by
Gabriel’s voice.
“Franco, jump in!”
Elliot Smith was playing on the
stereo. I didn’t like Elliot Smith very much. He finds it too easy
to write fairly good songs. I couldn’t respect that.
Gabriel had a spliff going. “Have
a smoke on that man,” he urged. “How are you? Tell me about your
life.”
“Well, I’m O. K I suppose. To
be honest I’ve been quite dazed for ages. I don’t really know
what’s going on man.”
“How’s the band?”
“We split.”
“Oh, why”
“Dunno, just crap really.”
“Just crap sounds about right.
So what are you doing w/ yourself?”
“Oh, nothing much, nothing at
all really. I’ve got virtually no money, & none on me.”
“Any girls?”
“Ha ha ha you must be joking.”
The thought of me having the time, money, energy & effort for a
girl was hilarious. I was not ‘boyfriend material’ – I never
have been.
“Man, I’ve met this amazing
girl, she’s at the flat at the moment – you’ll meet her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mary.”
“What’s she like?”
“Oh, amazing man, you’ll see,
you’ll see.”
“I’m not sure if I want to
believe you or not. I mean you know how sceptical I am about girls.
If she’s not perfect, not the Absolute One, then she’s not worth
any waste of time bothering w/.” This was my arrogance. Suffice
say, I had never found the One Perfect Girl.
“Franco, I’m telling you man
– if you’d just stop being so fucking particular & arty
farty, & just accept things, you’d be happier. You’ve
probably already met your Perfect Girl but were too busy moaning
about existence & lack of money & fucking weed to even notice
her.”
“you think?”
“Yeah, I do think. You can’t
get perfection, so then take what’s best.”
Elliot Smith was starting to
annoy me, so I turned it down. The car pulled up & stopped.
“Here we are then, this is the
new flat.”
“Cool, which door.”
“Here.”
We entered.
I stood waiting inside the door
wondering what I was doing. A blond girl w/ a subtle face &
medium sized breasts came to the bottom of the stairs w/ an open
smile on her face. She was attractive. Very. She wore only a long
robe-like dressing gown that revealed tempting patches of skin when
she moved. She looked at me for a strange second, then Gabriel &
her were full of kisses & smiles. I felt a little bit small, an
outsider. Gabriel introduced me, & we went through to the lounge
for a smoke & some coffee.
I always admired the way Gabriel
could mix women w/ friends. We shared a flat at University, so I knew
him well & had witnessed many of his previous ‘mistakes’ &
‘successes.’ I felt rather uneasy being in the room w/ my old
friend & his beautiful new girlfriend. I felt alone.
We sat for a while & Gabriel
& Mary inevitably drifted into the usual fresh-lovers type of
conversation. There was certainly a silent communication between
them, a sign of their genuineness perhaps.
I looked around the lounge.
Shelves groaned w/ the slow old weight of books, heaving piles of
books, pages of words compressed & preserved together in slumber,
long centuries of books. Gabriel had no doubt read them all. He
thinks books hold the answers. I think they only hold the questions.
I became distracted from the
books by the sudden movement of Mary putting on some trousers. She
stood up & had to jump & pull them up quickly while she was
in the air. I caught a glimpse of her pussy through her knickers. &
then I was hooked. I couldn’t help but cast glances at that soft
pleasure-triangle that women posses, knowing there was a cunt lying
in her lap, just lying there unattended. I felt an angling, wincing
agony.
Uncertainty and mystery was what
sustained me, kept my curiosity strong.
I wanted now to solve the
cunt-mysteries hiding in Mary’s knickers.
“Franco! Wake up man. Where’ve
you been? Cloud cuckoo Land?”
“Shit man, sorry, I’m a
little bit stoned, well quite stoned actually.”
Everyone laughed.
I suspected that Gabriel was
feeling excellent about himself now – it was obvious that I had
been staring at Mary.
“Yeah & I’m a little
tired as well. I had a really strange dream last night.”
Gabriel & I often discussed
our dreams when we were stoned.
“Yeah? Tell me about it.”
“Well, it was terrible,
frightening. There was a woman.”
“Ha ha ha ha ha! Yes! That
sounds just like Franco – terrified of women, even when it comes to
wet dreams!”
Mary gave me a look of intrigue.
Gabriel laughed at me more.
“You couldn’t understand
unless you were there in the dream. It was terrifying.”
“What did she look like?”
“I’ve got no idea. I couldn’t
concentrate enough on her face. It was everywhere, all around me –
lots of deep blue green colours swirling & all the time there was
the Voice…”
“...and what did it say?”
“something about the Dream-Film
Store or something.”
“Wow. ‘The Dream-Film Store’.
Sounds exciting. & what happened that was so scary?”
“I don’t…. I don’t really
know…. It was just…. Um….”
I trailed off into oblivion. The
T. V. had been put on & it flickered its bright ugly faces around
the room. I felt dizzy & needed suddenly to lie down. Chaos was
swarming in my head, I took a deep breath….
& a strange blue colour
pervaded the scene.
“I’ve been calling you all
day, why haven’t you been answering -
Look, there’s something we
should get straight now & here: you WANT to be here, w/ me, so
please make it easier on us both.”
“Who are you?”
“Oh you already know all
this, it’s the same questions every time – in time you’ll
remember everything, but I need to -”
“Where am I?”
“Why, you’re at the
Dream-Film Store of course..”
I felt the softness of her
presence, the lure of her maiden’s voice, a strange sense of having
been here before in another time – still I could not see her face,
just an oceanic blur.
“Is there something wrong?
What is the matter?
What is the matter?”
she kept repeating
& repeating
her voice dispersing
& drowning as I
floated away
slowly upward towards
the surface again
through the big blue
until…
---------------------------------------------
IV
I awoke panting for breath on
Gabriel’s sofa, w/ 2 impending heads above me – stoned
expressionless faces.
“Man, what the fuck happened,”
I joked.
Their smiles told me they were
relieved.
“You suddenly started
hyper-ventilating, & moving your limbs manically, & then you
feinted & just lay there looking still & peaceful, &, uh,
almost… dead!”
“Shit, that’s never happened
before, I never feint, that’s weird.”
“Probably just the weed.”
“& the crap company,”
added Mary w/ a smile. “Let me get you some water,” she
continued.
“Please,” I agreed.
I watched the ripe shape of her
body as she moved away, watched her casual motions sway. Disorder
Lust & Loneliness. ‘There is no room for love in my life,’ I
thought ‘or perhaps all I have is room for love.’
“Gabriel,” I slowly
asseverated, suddenly snapping back into the room, “when I feinted,
just then, I had the dream of the scaring woman at the bed of the
sea.”
“At the bed of the sea?”
“Yes, yes, it was at the bed of
the sea first time as well. I remember. I wasn’t aware of it at the
time. I haven’t seen the woman yet but I spoke to her.”
“What did you say?”
“’Who are you?’ &
‘where am I?’”
“Ha ha ha ha ha. & this
was supposedly a nightmare?”
- “Um, well, no, not as such,
no definitely not a nightmare, just a strange, scaring dream.”
“’Who are you?’ and ‘Where
am I?’ That’s what people in 3-rd rate Hollywood PG’s say when
they miraculously arrive at some fantastical place. Sounds like pure
cheese to me man! I can’t believe you’re letting yourself get
bothered by a dream as cheesy as this!”
“No, it wasn’t cheesy, it was
crystal clear & pure blue & cool on my naked skin….”
Then there was an uncomfortable
silence that hung around waiting to strangle me.
“Gabriel shall we have another
bifter, I could really quite do w/ a J to sort my head out.”
“Yeah, man, that’s a sound
idea. I’ll skin.”
I turned my head to look out of
the window.
Grey streams pervaded the sky.
The street outside was full of sadness, lined w/ windows, desperate &
nothing. The street goes nowhere. The pedestrians are going to places
that I refuse to call anywhere.
Mary had returned now w/ a glass
of water & a cup of herbal tea.
“Oh, cheers, that’s perfect,
thanks.”
I was never myself w/ new people.
Strangers gave me a nervous edge. You could say that they excite me –
or perhaps that was just Mary.
She sat down next to me on the
sofa. I always sit forward w/ my hands clasped. (My mother used to
say I sat like I was praying & I used to tell her that I was.)
Mary sat back relaxed & full of presence. This made me feel
uncomfortable. I couldn’t see her face behind me, & now felt
sure she was sitting back so as to look at me w/out me noticing.
My stoned mind focussed out &
dispersed & my thoughts began to spread into detailed crevices of
indecision.
If I lent back it would be
blatant that I’d either noticed her, if it’s true that she is
looking at me, or, if not, it would be either a nervous action or a
rather full-on, arrogant one; so I shouldn’t just sit here &
feel comfortable w/ her looking at me from behind.
I considered my position w/ Mary
agonisingly behind me, & Gabriel, my friend who was beginning to
bore me a little, reading in front of me, quite engrossed. He had the
spliff & wasn’t even smoking it. I didn’t want to ask him for
it, because it was his, but the rude bastard hadn’t even passed it
once.
Suddenly, in a moment of decision
I sat back next to Mary, our bodies pressing. At this stage, w/ the
threat of Gabriel there & the tendencies of my edgier thoughts
getting carried away, I began to feel excited – I began to get an
erection & my jeans were tight. “I could really do w/ leaning
forward again,” I thought. “Though what would Mary think of me
rocking back and forward like a monkey?” Paradox. The only solution
I felt was to ask Gabriel for the biff & lean forward to take it.
“Gabs man, the bifter has
extinguished itself in the absence of you smoking it. Have a light.”
We often spoke to each other in
burlesque tones using highly pretentious diction to mock the people
who assume we are being serious or genuinely ostentatious. A silent
cruelty, & a disdainful one. We enjoyed deliberately confusing
people. I know that of course it’s a manifestation of personal
insecurities, or something like that. Enigmatic people, though, have
to cultivate their enigmas, play on people’s curiosities. If people
knew this, however, the enigma, the mystery, would cease.
I suppose you could say I
suffered from a dreadful arrogance that played games w/ my autonomy.
W/ all this thought taking place
& consuming my stoned mind, my erection subsided. & Gabriel
passed me the joint.
“Cheers man. What you reading?”
“Turn of the Screw.”
“Henry James. I’ve read it.”
“What do you think?”
“Frightening. Frightening to
think that the entire novel is related through the eyes of someone so
subtly mad… psychotic… that she doesn’t know it and neither do
we…”
“Yes, yes, the scary thing is
that when you’re insane of course you wouldn’t know about it.”
“Where are you at?”
“The Governess has just been
visited by her second horror.”
“Oooooooooh… it’s just
getting good. The insanity accelerates from then on.”
I often spoke of insanity. The
idea of it attracts me. It’s in the same boat as all the things
which attract me like dreams & angels & myths & magic,
symbols, Mystery.
I often used the word ‘insane’
as an adjective. I’d never told Gabriel (& he was the most
likely person I would tell anything) that I don’t actually believe
in sanity. Or intelligence. I just believe in minds.
I needed the loo.
“Mary, where’s the bathroom
please.”
“Upstairs.”
That’s all I needed to know.
Bathrooms are self-evident & usually exactly where you expect
them to be. Still, you’ve got to ask.
“Right. Do you want the rest of
this?” I offered the joint.
“Oh, yes please. Thanks.”
On leaving the room, I realised
how much I’d wanted to leave it since entering it.
“I’ll take my time,” I
thought.
Halfway up the brown carpeted
stairs I heard Mary & Gabriel exchanging aggressive but hushed
remarks w/ each other. They were squabbling. Shit. Was it something
to do w/ me? No, don’t be arrogant Franco, of course not, they just
waited for privacy.
I reached the top of the stairs
slowly, straining to hear what they were saying downstairs.
“Don’t be so nosy Franco, go
& take your piss,” I said to myself, imitating the sense of
morals & responsibility that I recognised I inherently lacked.
Four possible doors faced me at
the top of the stairs. I chose the one I was sure was a bathroom; but
it was a bedroom. “Shit, oh well, another one of my immaculate
notions ruined. Bathrooms are not self-evident after all.”
The door next to it was the right
one. As I pissed, I looked around at all the fancy bottles of sprays
& scents & creams & whatnot. My bathroom, in comparison,
was utterly empty.
I decided I’d stay in the
bathroom a little longer to give the two downstairs a fraction more
privacy. Their relationship, on first impressions, was strange. They
possessed a silent communication which I’d seen in other couples,
but never experienced.
In front of me, they ignored each
other. & Gabriel had definitely changed. I realised then, staring
blankly in the mirror, that Gabriel was not a friend anymore. I no
longer needed him for the public confidence he inspired in me. I no
longer needed any public confidence. I had no friends. I had to get
out, leave as quickly & politely as possible. W/ as much of
Gabriel’s gorgeous skunk as possible.
Returning downstairs it was clear
that all the fuss had subsided. Entering the living room, Gabriel had
now moved to sit in my seat next to Mary on the sofa. He had his arm
around her. The skunk was on the coffee-table, where Gabriel was
previously sitting. I moved over & sat down. The couple were full
of smiles.
For the next ½ hour, we chatted
idly (except for Mary), & I was given the opportunity of rolling
a spliff. Little did Gabriel know that it was also an opportunity for
me to steal about ¼ of his ounce of skunk. Having convinced myself
that there was no longer the same connection between us, that he
wasn’t a friend, & that it was his fault as well, I reached a
guilt-free state of mind, which excited me. Ah, the potentials of
being guilt-free, amoral. All you needed was to be good at lying to
yourself. So, skinning the J, I subtly spilled the bag under the
coffee-table while the couple were smugly engrossed in some embrace.
Under the coffee-table, I put a substantial handful into my left
boot, then brought the rest up in the bag, laughing and apologising.
“Gabriel. After this biff I’m
gonna cruise.”
“You’re going? Already?”
“Well, I’ve been here ages &…
to be honest, I still don’t feel too good after that feinting
episode.”
“I thought we’d do something
today, go to Camden maybe.”
“Gabriel,” I joked like a
friend would. “You know we never do anything if we’ve got enough
weed.”
He was reluctant to agree. I knew
it was because of Mary. Being w/ her changed him.
We smoked the spliff, &
talked some more. I couldn’t be myself w/ him. He had become a
stranger. The way he was so – insensitive about my dream as well….
That was what first alerted me to his new persona. Oh well. I managed
friendly chatter, & by now had realised he probably wanted me to
go anyway, & was probably experiencing the same friendship crisis
between us that I was. At least he had Mary there when I left. What
would she be like then? What were they really like together?
“So,” I said, standing up,
“I’m off, man.”
“Cheers for phoning &
coming round, it’s good that we’ve retained our friendship and
are still in touch…” etc, etc,
Bullshit.
After the crap & the strange
half-falsity had finally gotten too crappy to bear on both sides, I
smiled at Mary.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I
said looking at her intensely in her sea-green eyes, as if to
communicate something more than my words actually said.
“you too,” she smiled,
“see you again.”
& then that was it. I doubted
if she ever would see me again. Or Gabriel for that matter. It didn’t
matter.
The door had closed behind me. I
faced the street. I was free.
********
V
W/ my confidence fuelled by the
safe knowledge of having something to smoke in my possession, I
strolled briskly away. “Even if the worst comes to the worst,” I
thought, “I can just get utterly cained & escape, pass out in a
miserable gutter.” But I could not accept this as being the outcome
of the day. “Decisions must be made,” I said decisively out-loud,
to no-one. “I must choose.”
I turned the corner, not knowing
where I was, or where I was going to. A woman w/ a pram passed me &
deliberately averted her eyes from mine. I don’t know why but this
fuelled my sense of drive further. My stride began to extend.
A moment later, a fragment of sun
scattered through the clouds that had lay in the sky all day. A ray
caught me in the eye. I began to feel quite exultant, happy to be
alive, & to be me. I continued walking in a strong rhythm. My
feet penetrated the street.
I started to hum; then I fitted
words to the tune. I was walking directly into the beam of sunlight,
which seemed to be exclusively shining on me. ‘Wow,’ I thought,
light-headed & dreamy, ‘I am indeed a very special person,
blessed.’ As soon as I’d felt this elated sensation float through
me, the grey clouds covered the sun again, as if to punish me for my
arrogance, or simply just to ruin my mood.
Angered by this, I felt like
getting myself involved in a conflict against the sky & sun. I
decided, in the mess of my mind, that I would will the sun back out
from those clouds.
Soon my concentration faltered,
though, & my thoughts maundered into silly crevices. I had turned
onto a little side street, & at the end of it, I saw there was a
fenced grassy opening w/ a gate. A cemetery. W/ my thought now on a
level of confusion, it would be a good idea to sit down & think
for a while. Maybe I could write a song.
The cemetery was virtually empty.
Furthermore, it appeared to be more like a park than a cemetery.
Nicely mowed lawns. Cosy gravel paths. Each tombstone lined up
immaculately & forgotten about. I couldn’t believe for a minute
that any of the people lying under this ground had specifically
chosen this cemetery as their place of rest. Of all the places of
rest on Earth.
I wandered down to the bottom of
the path & sat by an unusually small gravestone under the trees
in the corner. Leaves were scattered around me, fragile and
crumbling.
“In loving memory of
Mary Calliope,
died 2nd April 1882,
aged 26 years.”
That was what this curious
gravestone said. It was faded & looked out of place, tucked away
at the side under this tree. It seemed almost lonely. I leant against
it, sitting on the damp ground, forgetting to respect the dead.
I noticed a robin hopping around
the base of the nearest sycamore tree. He, or she for that matter,
looked rather impoverished, skinny & tired. I immediately took
pity on this little robin & felt helpless that I couldn’t give
it something to eat. Instead, I smiled at it, & said “hello”
in the tone of voice you’d use w/ a baby. “You can be my friend”
I said wistfully, trying to put some genuine enthusiasm into my
voice. I sounded false. Almost inevitably, the robin bobbed away. ‘Oh
well.’
I sat there engrossed in an
evolving day-dream, unable to find a single thread of productive
thought, wallowing in whatever arose.
I was beginning to feel nauseous.
My guts felt like sludging snakes writhing inside me. “Shit,” I
thought “I haven’t eaten yet today.” What time was it? I hadn’t
a clue. How long had I been sitting there? I began to panic a little,
& feel light-headed. ‘Shit, I’ve got some weed, shit I
forgot, wow, I’ll have another smoke and calm down.’
W/ my face down to my lap, &
my fingers absorbed in the process of rolling a spliff, I did not
notice the elderly woman approaching me w/ a little joke of a dog
scampering beside her. Just as I lit up, & lifted my face up, she
was there.
“Morning,” I said, slightly
shocked.
Her face was heavy w/ old skin
but could have been attractive before about 50 years of weathering
set in.
“Why are you sitting on that
grave?” she said abruptly.
“Well, um, actually, I am here
to mourn my father’s grand mother.”
Her nosy rudeness annoyed me, &
I was in the mood for retaliating on the offensive.
“She died while giving birth to
my grandfather,” I continued, enjoying the freedom &
spontaneity of lying, enjoying the fact that I had gained the upper
hand.
“Oh,” she said solemnly. “Oh
I am sorry,” she continued humbled and apologetic. I was suddenly
hit by a great wave of guilt, at seeing how easily I had defeated his
poor old woman, who was in the right anyway. I wanted to tell her
that I was lying, & had actually stopped to roll up some illegal
substances, & that yes I was a typical youth, & that you were
right to question me… But she had already tottered off, w/ her
little tottering dog. Oh well, no point in pitying the weak, I
thought.
W/ this incident over, &
seeming to have taken place hours ago, I continued with the spliff.
Slowly, I began to enter a state
of mind that I’d never encountered before. My stomach seemed to
expand & expand into space. I closed my eyes & felt the walls
of my stomach moving outwards. I felt as if a universe was being
created inside me. I felt a huge space within the entire of my body,
which I felt no longer existed. I imagined seeing stars explode &
planets being born &
********
VI
& I plummeted to the
Dream-Film Store again…
“Here is where dreams are
stored on disk,” said the friendly female voice as if on autocue.
“Anything that can be dreamt, any dream sequence, it’s stacked on
the shelves here in The Dream-Film Store, this shop beneath the
waves.”
I felt less afraid than
before.
“What’s the meaning of
this?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “I can
explain.”
Her face, her physical form
now appeared, a nubile and pulchritudinous sylph.
“Hi,” she said, resolving
from the colour.
“Hi,” I said back,
breaking that rule that women don’t like you copying them.
“Your loneliness, disorder
and despair leads to LUST. Your agonies are self-inflicted.
ALIENATION is one of them. You have escaped into The Dream Film
Store. You have accidentally slipped into a crevice of your own mind
and landed awake in the subconscious.”
“Really?”
“Either that or you have
created a world here at the bottom of the sea symbolising mystery,
women, penetration, drowning, hallucinating, dreaming, the
subconscious.”
“Well which is it?”
“Your LONELINESS is a
fantasy world that is the subconscious reaction to and sanctuary from
the alienation, waste & disorder of your waking life. You are at
war with yourself. Your subconscious is offering you peace terms.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come with me while we
plummet,” she said; “plummet with me while we sleep.”
