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kleenexwomanIt appears to be Fertilizer Day, that glorious time of the year when the farmers outside Mount Pleasant all decide to spread manure on their fields at once. The whole town smells like shit. When the wind changes, everything smells like a slightly different flavor of shit. Nobody bothered to explain this to the ACE kids, so they kept shifting around in their seats and giggling, trying to figure out who'd farted or not taken a shower.
*
Dream I had a while ago:
I was riding in a Jeep across a huge Midwestern plain to the edge of a lake to check out a new housing development. With both eyes open, there was nothing but swampland, tall grass, and water, as far as the eye could see.
With my left eye open, I could see a huge city full of glossy black skyscrapers and factories that looked more like greenhouses. The streets were wide and clean and full of zippy electric cars. The storefronts were all very chic and minimalist, and there were little unobtrusive TV screens with news tickers scrolling mounted on lampposts. Everything was very quiet and peaceful, and there weren't many people around, but the ones that were outside were either going to lunch, running errands, or going to and from work. As I wandered around, a woman came up to me and asked me if I needed directions to somewhere, and when I said yes, she offered to give me a tour of the whole city. She said her boss wouldn't mind, because helping visitors or prospective residents of the city settle in was considered to be one of the most charitable, useful things a person could do.
With my right eye open, I could see a town made of of shacks and hastily assembled cabins, neighborhoods strung with Christmas lights, dusty narrow roads full of bicyclers and stray chickens, music spilling out of the bars on every corner. Everyone was strolling aimlessly or chilling out in the street, wandering in and out of each others' houses, wearing cut-offs and raggy dresses. Whenever I asked for directions, the people I asked said they had no idea what I was talking about or how to get to where I wanted to go, but wouldn't I stay and help them make some stew or harvest their gardens or fix their houses? Each invitation to help with chores turned out to be an invitation to an impromptu stew-making or garden-harvesting or house-fixing party, where everyone would do about five or ten minutes of work in shifts and then hang around dancing and drinking and gossiping while they waited for their turn to come again.
I couldn't decide which place I wanted to live in, so I opened both eyes and wandered around the swampy grasslands for a while. Right before the dream ended, I realized that I didn't necessarily have to choose just one, but I didn't know how the residents of either city would take it, and I never got to ask.
*
Dream I had a while ago:
I was riding in a Jeep across a huge Midwestern plain to the edge of a lake to check out a new housing development. With both eyes open, there was nothing but swampland, tall grass, and water, as far as the eye could see.
With my left eye open, I could see a huge city full of glossy black skyscrapers and factories that looked more like greenhouses. The streets were wide and clean and full of zippy electric cars. The storefronts were all very chic and minimalist, and there were little unobtrusive TV screens with news tickers scrolling mounted on lampposts. Everything was very quiet and peaceful, and there weren't many people around, but the ones that were outside were either going to lunch, running errands, or going to and from work. As I wandered around, a woman came up to me and asked me if I needed directions to somewhere, and when I said yes, she offered to give me a tour of the whole city. She said her boss wouldn't mind, because helping visitors or prospective residents of the city settle in was considered to be one of the most charitable, useful things a person could do.
With my right eye open, I could see a town made of of shacks and hastily assembled cabins, neighborhoods strung with Christmas lights, dusty narrow roads full of bicyclers and stray chickens, music spilling out of the bars on every corner. Everyone was strolling aimlessly or chilling out in the street, wandering in and out of each others' houses, wearing cut-offs and raggy dresses. Whenever I asked for directions, the people I asked said they had no idea what I was talking about or how to get to where I wanted to go, but wouldn't I stay and help them make some stew or harvest their gardens or fix their houses? Each invitation to help with chores turned out to be an invitation to an impromptu stew-making or garden-harvesting or house-fixing party, where everyone would do about five or ten minutes of work in shifts and then hang around dancing and drinking and gossiping while they waited for their turn to come again.
I couldn't decide which place I wanted to live in, so I opened both eyes and wandered around the swampy grasslands for a while. Right before the dream ended, I realized that I didn't necessarily have to choose just one, but I didn't know how the residents of either city would take it, and I never got to ask.