Aranansi #2: My Home in The Dream City

January 03, 2010, 06:39

The place I live in now is a workshop room. I sleep on a pad under a large wooden work table in the center of the room. I have not always lived here. Since I came to this city I have lived in many places with many different people. No one ever says my name here. I am who I am and everyone is aware of that.

The light here is different as if it were squeezed from a tube labeled halo and spread evenly over everything. The shadows are places I cannot see and may or may not be holes in the world. They are the places I cannot imagine yet.

I cannot say what year it was or how long ago I came to live here among the dreamers, but it has been most of my life. The city is endless. There is an ocean, and stars that shine whenever they are useful. I am wandering around picking the things I can tell you for words do not work well here. They avoid meanings and scurry away into corners. They have to be rooted out with a broom and swept into piles.

Today my friend Dudley came to see me. He was tinkering with the bright white clock radio I found and repaired.

“I only want something I can dance to,” He said in frustration. He is from the islands where dancing is the important thing. “All I can get is this Mozart crap, and you can’t dance to Mozart.”

My radio only plays Mozart and feels my room with such sweet despair, sometimes I have to go out and breathe.

As Dudley continued fussing with the radio, I looked out of the window, which was the window that used to be in my grandparents house. I could see the lawn and suburban street from a town where my father grew up. There were two small boys trying light firecrackers. I pointed them out to Dudley, who put down the radio in disgust, and looked out absently.

“Oh yes! Those boys is always trying to set the world on fire.”

I am going to see if I can make my radio play something Dudley can dance to. He is lonely and far from home where dancing is what people do. I have not seen much dancing here. There are games and painting. People build things and play music, but I don’t remember much dancing. I am not sure how I will make it work maybe if those boys will give me a couple of firecrackers. That might do the trick.

This entry was posted in Aranansi, Fiction, House and home, music, Telling Stories and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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