It's coming soon, to a body near you. Only 30 years away from being able to sing with McCartney, who will be 96. I have to go get my driver's license new-phototed today. Must "show me proof" that I'm am American. Yes, the former license was all bogus and based on nothing, I'm sure.
Benadryl dreams gave me a flight to Houston with my father, brother and unidentified females. I think I know, but their faces are not shown in memory. The Astrodome was about the size of a Giza Pyramid, round and stony and looming from the highway. "People died there." They went through all my luggage, and for some reason, I had packed for another experience. Jewelry box, wrapped sets of lotions from Bath and Body Works, a lawn chair perhaps. We looked for a locker. Who knows what happened to the car.
Later, I was in a country where people with prettier skin were speaking English, French and something else. They were nice children, Catholic, it seems, and we were enjoying a school day. There was some English graffiti on a cabinet (these were junior-high aged kids) that said something about "if the devil is knocking at the door, why would God work in place like that?" A challenge to doctrine. I pretended to feel my way through "our father" in a patois.
Then I was charged with some ocelot-type cats that could not be released into the environment wherever we were. They were for tourists to paint and cuddle. I miss them.
But at least I mostly slept. Dizzy head was a bane yesterday. The bad thing is that you still wake up at 4 or 5 in the morning, and cloudy as you feel, can't really go back to dreamland. So, here I am. Here.
Stay tuned for Art the Vote updates, or click there yourself. They said it would be today. I am all about pulling some Florida on the thing, if you know what I mean. I have seen the work of the other (non-contest) artists. I'm not allowed to show it, but I can spew an opinion: some are not quite billboard-worthy, in terms of design or in terms of "oh, yes, I get it," without reading those 21st-century essentials, artist statements.
But I feel that way about most billboards.
Curb Girl: what an urban-based accidental journalist accidentally thinks when she's falling face-first on figurative pavement
3 comments:
The ocelot-type cat charge was a particular favorite part of the post in this household.
I never have any dreams. One time when I was a kid, I was dreaming about floating down the river,and turned out that I was.Well it wasn't the river but wet enough. So me not having dreams may be a good thing.
Art on billboards is like sushi on ritz crackers.
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