women & the universe speak in tongues i can't comprehend
��������� �����i watched 'gattaca' and 'cruel intentions' around the early hours of the morning, and with a tired eye fell right into sleep. i didn't wake up again until 11, dreaming about going into an interview at brookstone, meshing elements of gattaca and reality.the woman behind the counter is wearing all gray and she is smiling tightly. i am in a black jean jacket and a gray hooded sweatshirt under that. jeans. dark shoes. i look messy. she turns and looks at me and says 'well.'
'sorry i'm late. i .. overslept. i hate not being on time.'
'that's all right. i have time to talk to you quickly.' her voice rises and falls in amusement, like a kiddie rollercoaster. something gentle and yet - could be frightening.
we walk into the back room and she sits down at a gray desk with a black computer. i sit down and look nervous. her gray eyes survey me, like a lighthouse beam. lips part. 'may i ask you a question?'
'of course.' i say, trying not to force the smile, but trying to keep my foot from fidgeting at the same time. 'go for - er, go ahead.'
she nods. dipping her head slightly. like a nun. 'are you gay?'
and i say 'no, of course not.'
and she nods, like i'm supposed to attach some sort of divine judgement on that answer. i look up and there are stars painted on the black ceiling, as though space lives there when it's not being seen by human eyes. as if the night sky folds into a tiny origami crane and hangs itself from the bedroom ceiling of a thirteen year old japanese girl during the day.
i am out front. someone (i'm sure now it was my subconscious) is screaming at me unintelligbly. the wind kicks up and the sun begins to rise.
i wake up. stare at the clock's wavering red digits that read 11:11 as though the sequence of numbers doesn't belong in the scheme of things. it's two hours past when i'm supposed to be at an interview. i remember thinking to myself before i fell asleep, 'well, if i fall asleep, i'll just say it was fate that decided i was going to be working somewhere else.' talk about avoidance issues. i went back to sleep and dreamed of russian brides again. snow-pale girls with dark hair and darker eyes with a fluent tongue - massaging my own tongue with theirs. back and forth like newton's cradle we sway into a dark ellipse of timelessness. we are crystalline in the universe which seems to be relatively new - fetally positioned together, in ecstasy, burning like twin suns. she whispers in my ear:
infinity is a relatively new idea, a baby -
the phone's ringing, and it's tara on the other end. i try to make my voice sound as normal as possible, clearing it of all sleepsound. 'hello?' it worked. when you do that, people don't ask if they've just woke you up and feel bad about it. because really, why feel bad about pulling someone back to reality?