tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9018985237438196013.post1256041262435799540..comments2024-01-04T08:15:33.342+01:00Comments on Big Fun in a Tiny Pueblo: DazzledRebrites@yahoo.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11827625656760747239noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9018985237438196013.post-34244412868165451772017-06-26T21:18:00.207+02:002017-06-26T21:18:00.207+02:00I had a dream last night.
I was invited to a beau...I had a dream last night.<br /><br />I was invited to a beautiful midnight dinner party, though when I arrived it turned out to be a sordid drink and munch binge, where some self-important young and jolly gentleman sought to pretend that some swigs from near-empty bottles of beer was somehow generous.<br /><br />Then they sought to fill me with food, but I was not hungry.<br /><br />My attention drifted instead to the gloriously chromatic beer bottles and lables, after the cheery little trickster gentleman of the receding hairline suggested I drink what I wish, except that looking in detail at the intensely chromatic and detailed labels provided me with such as 5.7%, 6.2%, 6.5%, 6.7%, 7.2%, well beyond what I wanted in the 4% or less.<br />The bottles and labels exotically defined themselves from Hungary, and Rumania, and Norway and beyond.<br /><br />A fool kept on attempting to force drink down my throat, with dubious promises of food later.<br /><br />My brother suddenly was there ; after his attempts at control, I wasn't, but I ran and left.<br /><br />He wished to spy on me from the roof, I lunged into the entrails of the baroque marketplace maze in order to be free of him.<br /><br />Looking incidentally for beer or other provender, accidentally, from the men closing their market stalls, still seeking one simple cold beer, I wandered though the frustrating commercial maze of closing shops 'til I reached the vast central area, as day was breaking.<br /><br />Two men, perched above, were sending powerful jets of water to rid the marketplace of all dead fish, scattered veg, and all manner of ill-littering, though they quickly started to laugh and to point the nozzles at me.<br /><br />I stumbled.<br /><br />To find myself extricated into some manner of tape chaos, and a large iron plaque carried on my back, horizontally -- alone.<br /><br />Too slow to avoid the water jets of the two cleaners now, I nevertheless angle the iron plate just right so as it can lift me easily into a hovering position, though I am surprised.<br />I can fly, and it is easy.<br /><br />I drift into another corridor, my wing helping tremendously, and I am a magic person flying without limit.<br /><br />The men are all closing their shops, but anyway they have nothing I like.<br /><br />It is time to leave, to escape. I throw off my rusted metal wing, then hover a bit, then put feet on the ground for practical reasons -- you cannot walk on thin air.<br /><br />I seek an exit, am told no, but check the jackets shop next door -- indeed, despite protests, pushing past the tired salesman, uninvited, I am outside. Bar tables extend under a covered walkway ; and the initial trickster man finds me a beer, that I no longer then care about.<br /><br />If only I could understand where I am in Paris, I could walk home.<br /><br />Paris is a strange mix of architecture of the 50s I never knew, the decadent elegance of the 70s, the utilitarian utopia of the 90s (my time), the present technologism, and a future monumental science-fiction banality.<br /><br />I walk along the length of the chaotic market structure towards an empty road, it's dawn and so still red-eye early, and as I wonder about my journey home, a young woman, utterly familiar despite being a stranger, tells me take the Metro 1€, or grab a lift on a motorbike (free) or take the aeroplane.<br /><br />And indeed, installed happily in her plane she smiles and waves as her pilot ensures her safety, then jumps in and taxis her away.<br /><br />A tall and balding gentleman approaches me, do I need a motor-bike taxi, no, he returns to the busy motor-bike rank, and as the morning light brightens, it occurs to me that the extensive shining bridge is a landmark I know, so I know where to go, but also that it has been made incredibly wider and longer for aeroplane runway purposes.<br /><br />Home.<br /><br />Not the métro, and certainly not the motorbikes -- but the aeroplane ? Or I walk ?<br /><br />Then I wake.JabbaPapahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10083219719210167786noreply@blogger.com