Archive for the ‘publicdreams’ Category
financial districts and everyday life: a fragment
Went weeks before to sample canapes, some served on the night were not the std. we tried – Arancini tasted like absolutely nothing. Specified music we’d like the DJ to play weeks before as well; on the night he played few songs people wanted, when we went up to ask for 80s he said he wasn’t allowed to play it (although we said we’d like some when we first met Laura, the manager/operator)!? After repeated attempts to get the music changed he just said that what we were asking wasn’t really his speciality! It was agreed security would tick people off the list and hand out the drink tokens on arrival but on the night the security guy refused to do both so we had to have someone handing out the tokens while he found names (and he still took an age). One bartender had some serious attitude – asked if my drink was a double, to which he replied, “who’s the bartender, me or you?”(!!!). At the end of the night there were two security staff (or one and his mate), at the front door but weren’t opening it to let people out as they left, just talking to eachother and texting. Venue itself is funky, however wouldn’t book it for a work do again, maybe just go there for an afterwork drink?
public dream 1
I’m reading Adorno’s dreambook. Look, it’d be easy to write snarky posts about it – dreambooks are easy targets. But I’ve decided for a bit to try to write down some of my own. Bad idea, blogwise. But…. I’m starting to think of the blog a bit differently, yet again. God, am I ever restless with my genres, my forms, aren’t I? The phrase public dream, which is drawn most directly from a book I have not read – a book I flipped through but did not buy, but which I will buy today, keeps coming back to me. I’ll try to say more soon about that. But for now, I am OK with the blog being a sort of public dream – and not just when I’m writing about my own actual dreams. I am so promisory, in all things not just this, but I’ll try to say more in a bit.
For what must be the ten-thousandth time, I dream at the end of my short night about the escape of one of my cats. As usual, it is the grey one who goes. I am outside with my parents, my parents are packing to go on a trip (a relief this is, I am excited to see them go) when the cat runs out the door and goes bounding down the front yard toward the street. I have the last good opportunity to stop her, she runs right at me, it looks like it’s going to be easy to stop her, but she leaps up and around me and I miss and fall backwards like an ice hockey goalie.
I start searching in the tallish grass of the front yard for her but I know that I won’t find her. (Why is the grass so high? This is my parents house, the one we lived in from when I was eight until I was twelve, and even though it wasn’t at that point, it surely is my fault that the grass is uncut).
I look for her but get distracted, finding instead a series of small, happy, but worse-for-wear human or animal couples. Human-animal couples – not humans with animals but couples made of creatures that fall between the categories. A set of oldish people, seemingly small like owls, people on their way to owlness and with the same posture and rate of movement, are huddled together in the branches of a tree. Two birds, big ones, birds on their way to peopleness, are nestled together in their home behind a bush.
I wake before I find the missing cat. I am sure that it’s been hit by a car or will never come back to peer in the kitchen window, hungry for its store-bought food.
