fall was coming. leaves were turning. and i was dreaming almost nightly of salvador dali.
so i got really high, took an adderall, and painted for forty-eight hours straight. to honor the dreams and get sal out.
one over-nighter a month, burning that midnight oil into a welcoming dawn, floating in the serene space between lucid and surrender, where dreams become signposts—is my church.
there i am, full of uppers and downers, feeling sideways, putting on all these terrible spanish accents to impress salvador, seducing myself over cheap tempranillo. playing the girl parts, the boy part, a bull named dik.
what am I saying? Become a coatrack to try it out!
Rattle everything. shake the foundations until there is silence. jangle jounce the clacking drums!
Until nothing remains as it was.