Saturday, November 1, 2008

Dreaming of L.A.

I dreamt about Laurie Anderson last night. 

We had a moment. 

I was in a large warehouse style room. Gigantic really. Everything was white, metal, clean. There were enormous storage bins suspended from the ceiling which held different ingredients. It was some kind of backstage for a restaurant. A kitchen. I was managing a team. Restaurant workers? We were preparing something, cleaning, putting things in order. Something was spilling. Maple Syrup leaking out onto the floor, overflowing from a dish on a table onto the floor. No problem, just clean it up. Then drip drip drip, leaking from above. The bin, a bedroom-sized box filled with Maple Syrup, is busting at the seams. Streams of Maple Syrup running down its sides. And then it "goes" - and there is a Maple Syrupy mess everywhere. We are startled. We step back and clear the space, and then the bin next to it goes. Large rigatoni pour from above, crashing over the sterile kitchen architecture. Another bin goes. More pasta. Click clackety tap. Click clackety-tappity-clackety-tappity-clackety-tappity-clackety-tappity-clackety-tappity-tap. Raining percussion . There is no anxiety, only suprise. We retreat.

I left a note for Laurie Anderson. I told her about the uncontrollable cascades of food items and ingredients.  She and I exchange words in whispers. She is like an aunt, who is not really my aunt. Wise, Experienced, Gentle. 

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