Don't worry. This isn't an “I-had-a-dream-last-night-that-I-showed-up-to-dinner-with-my teeth-falling-out-and-then-started-falling-and-falling-only-to-realize-I-had-no-clothes-on” post.
Nor is it an inspired Ode to Burroughs,
or heroin for that matter.
It's about four empty, wooden, grieving bookcases.
These solitary shelves in mourning were home to an eclectic family of children, all geniuses at an early age, who harnessed Words like Cinderella's carriage did mice. That is to say, with a lot of magic and agility.
But just hours ago, ALL of their children went up for adoption, or were sold as sex slaves to under-privileged Vietnamese youth. (read: I'm cleaning out my apartment in preparation for a move)
Just imagine the Emptiness and Nakedness these lonely, wooden vaults of creativity must be feeling right now!
I mean, it's one thing when your kids take off to get laid and dabble in drugs at college, because you know you will see them again… (or at least, someone who looks like them.) But, when they dive into a bookcase at the bottom of the Dead Sea or decide to become hermits in the back of a silverware drawer, sustaining themselves on occasional splattered spaghetti sauce for the rest of eternity, the loss is indescribably organ-scarring.
So, I think I'm gonna take my vacant bookcases with me to dinner tonight. That way, we can wake up to find ourselves displaying our bodies white-assed a la Adam-n-Eve together over wine and pasta.
(The 30 other guests present at tonight's meal might find it bit odd when I enter with two bookcases under my arms and two more balanced on my head…
"My therapist told me to do it!")