Friday, September 13, 2013

LIFE IS BUT A SCREEN

In the middle of a daytime sleep, a dream:

I am sitting in the newsroom but it is a café. We have hired a new reporter and she is a friend. She goes across the street to cover a wedding. The bride is wearing black but I never see her. The muse is at the front of the wedding party, wearing white.

The new reporter does several interviews and comes back. She has talked to the bride and the muse but never rolled tape, so there's nothing to put in the newscast. I tell her this won't do and she backs away, growing smaller with each retreating step, until she is the size of a newborn. Shooter Chris is there, dressed in a three-piece suit and plucking his vest. He says he'll take care of this one.

Another reporter comes by and saves the day by offering her already-shot-and-edited package. In it she's nude, but as is the case with the bride in black I never catch a glimpse. No big, this reporter says. It's nothing you haven't already seen.

The barista serves up an espresso but I can't drink it because I'm behind a heavy metal screen, almost like a confessional except this one's made of iron. It's about six inches in front of me. I push forward with my right shoulder. I lean back. The screen moves with me.

Amazon Addie peers through the mesh, holds up her newborn daughter. The baby looks at me and I can hear her voice: Why are you in a cage?

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