-- on display
-- links -- cookbook
Saturday, Nov. 25, 2006 @ 12:15 p.m.
After the big feast Maribel and I hiked out to the old homestead and kicked around the old dump. I'm enjoying photographing people more and more. The human figure is starting to captivate me in the ways that color initially captivated me. Hmmm, abstract non-representationalist to figurist. Could be. (I'm sitting in the coffeehouse across the street from me.) My internet provider likes to be payed for their services. Funny that. I'm kinda actually enjoying being forced out of my casa for an Internet connection.
I had the Craziest dream that left me oddly . . . perturbed? That it has some hidden meaning or relevance to my life. I'll try to be concise but detailed.
I was standing at a deli/cafeteria type bar. It was upscale, organic, whole foods, but all the choices seemed to be meats or starches and rather bland in color. The man serving me was that french actor that plays all the french parts in British movies, Okay not all, but a lot. He was the drug dealing mafia boss in saving grace. So, he's talking in his lovely accented voice wearing a chef's habit and I ask him, don't you have any vegetables? He directs my attention to a salad of beat greens and arugula, I was very disappointed, and stated "Hmm, that salad would be MUCH better wilted." He looked a little more then p-oed at me for suggesting that his menu could be enhanced. He looks at me and asks, "If you were a fish, what kind of fish would you be?"
"Excuse me?" I thought I had misheard him.
He repeats himself with a bit more force and clearer diction, "If YOU were a fish, what kind of FISH would you be?"
I stare at him, thinking to myself, "are you being serious?" But something clicked in my brain that this was very important, maybe the most important question ever asked of me. The first fish that popped into my mind was a Perch, a blue gill to be exact, my thought at the time being that their are both fresh water and saltwater fish. I answer him, "A Perch."
With that I bow my head before him, he places his open palm, fingers extended together flat on my forehead, like some sort of faith healing minister, and then pushes my head back with a sizable amount of force saying, "Go out into the world, and BE!"
Yeah, so what the FUCK was that about? No, seriously. I feel the craziest need to know. I mean I don't even know that I believe dreams hold esoteric meaning, but do believe they are filtered reflections of what is going on in our psyche. TELL ME PLEASE.
WE ALL FALL DOWN
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The Finger Prints of God.
It's like getten screwed with your pants still on!