Dream of a giant collegiate cafeteria. The ages of students range from mid-teens to late-twenties, and Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks" is pulsing over the sound system. I notice first and second-year co-eds moving their hips to the music, unconsciously playing their part in the mating ritual that gives rise to birth that gives rise to death that gives rise to birth that gives rise to...
(whisper, "liberation")
I see them age ten years in the blink of an eye, twenty more in the time it takes to take a deep breath. I see them not as young beautiful bodies, but as old beautiful spirits, trapped inside an aging decaying form...
(whisper, "nothing")
The food on the buffet is overcooked and lifeless. I search ardently for something that isn't meat, futilely for vegetables that aren't oversteamed and drowning in cheese. In the corner I see my boss, alone at a booth under a stairwell. She is sitting alone with two glasses of red wine, both hers, and a pay telephone on the table.
(whisper, "awake")
No comments:
Post a Comment