Date: 12 Aug 1997 00:00:00 GMT
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (MegaLiz)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free, alt.fan.grady-ward
Last night I dreamed I went to Iowa again.
Not really. I did dream it, but I don't think I've dreamed it BEFORE.
I woke in an old, well-loved house filled with haphazardly placed
furniture. Most of the furniture had drawers, but the drawers were
empty and clean. I supposed I should arrange things or fill some of
the drawers, but instead, I shrugged on someone's huge fluffy white
robe and someone else's fluffy blue slippers and started on a
meandering path toward the kitchen.
It was possible to find a different route to the kitchen each time.
This house had been three houses, joined like puzzle pieces to form a
solid but incoherent whole. It was even possible to find a different
route to a DIFFERENT kitchen, but I didn't think about that.
Somewhere a radio declared the weather was warm, just as I lifted a
shade to view the snowy backyard. Deep drifts of night snow were met
by huge spiraling flakes of falling, morning snow. If it was truly
warm, not just Iowa warm, I wanted to be out there. I would walk
outside to find my coffee, bathrobe and all. On such a morning, coffee
should be everywhere.
After finding a new way to the front door, through all three dining
rooms, I ran down the street, elated to be home in the silent snowy
streets. It appeared that I was the only person in town who was awake,
and all the over-large, old houses seemed to sigh comfortably and turn
away slightly as I passed.
I crept through a narrow alley of closed boardwalk booths and stilled
arcade machines, and studied pictures of fortune tellers who were now
absent. Everything here was freshly painted but abandoned.
Reaching the edge of the sea, I saw that all along the shore walked
others like me, compelled to visit this new inland wonder. Waves
roiled foamlessly around raw black mountains. The water was terribly
inviting: its deepest green, barely tinged with blue, promised warmth
and mystery. At the water's edge a sidewalk that had previously
paralleled a vanished street, was now in places partly or completely
washed by the surf. I started to walk along this path, passing
purposeful strangers who studied this quiet calamity, and children
skipping away from the waves.
Bodies of unlucky swimmers punctuated the sidewalk. They looked just
like the others, only faded and weathered. They didn't look
particularly happy. I stepped over them with care, regretting my
slippers, and wondering how so many could be seduced to swim here.
Quite suddenly, I became aware that Sparky was, very
uncharacteristically, kissing my hair and urging me to wake up. Wake
up. I woke up to find that she'd been sleeping upstairs all along.
Iowa is SO DAMNED SPOOKY.
Temporary Identity Crisis Pacifier:
just call me NANA MEGSKOURI DRACHMA-DRACHMA
It won't help you remember my email address and it
will not fatten your feets, so what's the HARM?!?*