The only break they take is to the bone

[sovay]

I dreamed of the dead after hours in a T station, like the lost refugees of Troy who can't be embraced in the underworld, only they were film, wavering in three colorless dimensions while the projector's beam flickered from the fluorescents overhead. I reached under the brim of one's hat to touch his cheek and his face turned to me even as my fingers went through his insubstantial silver salts. Unlike the living man who had pursued me down the night street screaming obscenities because I wouldn't talk with him, he did not frighten me.

The mail brought magnets from minoanmiss and the fruits of the coupon-assisted recent half-price Criterion sale, including spatch's birthday present to me of George Cukor's Holiday (1938) and my unbirthday present to him of Tod Browning's Sideshow Shockers.

Today is full of doctors' appointments for everyone. I am wearing my garum T-shirt.

Comments

[asakiyume]

I wonder what the film refugees were doing in the T ... too bad we can't inquire backstories of dreams.

Hope yesterday's appointments went well (or at the very least, not badly).

[sovay]

I wonder what the film refugees were doing in the T ... too bad we can't inquire backstories of dreams.

They might have needed blood to answer. I can't remember any of them making—even the pages of their newspapers—any sound.

Hope yesterday's appointments went well (or at the very least, not badly).

Thank you! I don't think they went badly.