Surrealistic Pillows Refluffed:
A Drama Without Acts
For Carlos Fuentes…
Everything is sadder than it used to be. Even the rain is more dismal. It is a sweating fog to make you wish you were a train about to enter a tunnel or lucky enough to be a camel. But you are not so lucky. Outside you are a young woman chilled in the drizzle and inside a young man warm by a fire. Both of you are misled, but only one of you is wet.
***
Evy:
I pluck my scarf tighter around my neck. The jaguars have gone silent; I haven’t heard a roar in seconds. I have forgotten my umbrella. As usual a trio of light-footed swine conga nimbly across the street. I am on my way to see my lover Paul. I am not hungry. My vulva hides no fangs. I lust with my loins, he with his head. Where are the black swans? I walk quickly; my shoes soaked. My hair is going to frizz at any moment. I have no desire to return home. I am strongly struck by an appetite for diamonds. I am not happy. I hurry through the invisible street, small and insignificant. This rain has gravedigger fingers. My face is a chaos of lust. I will be happy when I meet Paul. We will smile and kiss. My frizzy hair will count for nothing. He thinks me beautiful. We will couple with the randiness of mating pythons. He says he loves me. I will fall asleep in his arms. My pillow’s softness will swallow me safely into darkness towards tomorrow.
You pluck your scarf tighter around your neck. The jaguars have gone silent; you haven’t heard a roar in seconds. You have forgotten your umbrella. As usual, a trio of light-footed swine congas nimbly across the street. You are on your way to see your lover Paul. You are not hungry. Your vulva hides no fangs. You lust with your loins, him with his head, Where are the black swans? You walk quickly; your shoes soaked. Your hair is going to frizz at any moment. You have no desire to return home. You are strongly struck by an appetite for diamonds. You are not happy. You hurry through the invisible street, small and insignificant. This rain has grave digger fingers. Your face is a chaos of lust. You will be happy when you meet Paul. You will smile and kiss. Your frizzy hair will count for nothing. He thinks you beautiful. You will couple with the randiness of mating pythons. He says he loves you. You will fall asleep in his arms. Your pillow’s softness will swallow you safely into darkness towards tomorrow.
She plucks her scarf tighter around her neck. The jaguars have gone silent; she hasn’t heard a roar in seconds. She has forgotten her umbrella. As usual a trio of light-footed swine conga nimbly across the street. She is on her way to see her lover Paul. She is not hungry. Her vulva hides no fangs. She lusts with her loins, he with his head. Where are the black swans? She walks quickly; her shoes soaked. Her hair is going to frizz at any moment. She has no desire to return home. She is strongly struck by an appetite for diamonds. She is not happy. She hurries through the invisible street, small and insignificant. This rain has grave digger fingers. Her face is a chaos of lust. She will be happy when she meets Paul. They will smile and kiss. Her frizzy hair will count for nothing. He thinks her beautiful. They will couple with the randiness of mating pythons. He says he loves her. She will fall asleep in his arms. Her pillow’s softness will swallow her safely into darkness towards tomorrow.
Paul:
I am sitting in my favorite leather armchair. When I lean back tiny gremlin fingers massage my spine. I enjoy the absence of howling jaguars and the pomposity of dancing pigs. It is quiet. My feet are too near the fire. Fear death by immolation. Three black swans just flew by my window. I looked at them, but they gave no sign of recognition. Evy should be on her way. I harden at the thought of her, but my cock fears her vulva holds fangs. I find this no impediment to lust. I lust with my head, she her loins. I have been seeing Evy for three months. She fucks like a dragon in heat, but I fear she craves more. I wish she would leave afterward. I find this tedious. What we are concerned with here is happiness. Am I happy? Perhaps when she arrives. I am not hungry at all. We will smile and kiss. Her hair will be frizzy from the damp. I will tell her she’s beautiful though she’s not. We will make love as usual. I will tell her I love her though I don’t. She will fall asleep in my arms. My pillow will feel like concrete and the movies in my brain will play all night, the cinema of despair.
You are sitting in your favorite leather armchair. When you lean back tiny gremlin fingers massage your spine. You enjoy the absence of howling jaguars and the pomposity of dancing pigs. It is quiet. Your feet are too near the fire. Fear death by immolation. Three black swans just flew by your window. You looked at them, but they gave no sign of recognition. Evy should be on her way. You harden at the thought of her, but your cock fears her vulva holds fangs. You find this no impediment to lust. You lust with your head, she her loins. You have been seeing Evy for three months. She fucks like a dragon in heat, but you fear she craves more. You wish she would leave afterwards. You find this tedious. What you are concerned with here is happiness. Are you happy? Perhaps when she arrives. You are not hungry at all. You will smile and kiss. Her hair will be frizzy from the damp. You will tell her she’s beautiful though she’s not. You will make love as usual. You will tell her you love her, though you don’t. She will fall asleep in your arms. Your pillow will feel like concrete and the movies in your brain will play all night, the cinema of despair.
He is sitting in his favorite leather armchair. When he leans back tiny gremlin fingers massage his spine. He enjoys the absence of howling jaguars and the pomposity of dancing pigs. It is quiet. His feet are too near the fire. Fear death by immolation. Three black swans just flew by his window. He looked at them, but they gave no sign of recognition. Evy should be on her way. He hardens at the thought of her, but his cock fears her vulva holds fangs. He finds this no impediment to lust. He lusts with his head, she her loins. He has been seeing Evy for three months. She fucks like a dragon in heat, but he fears she craves more. He wishes she would leave afterwards. He finds this tedious. What he is concerned with here is happiness. Is he happy? Perhaps when she arrives. He is not hungry at all. They will smile and kiss. Her hair will be frizzy from the damp. He will tell her she’s beautiful though she’s not. They will make love as usual. He will tell her he loves her though he doesn’t. She will fall asleep in his arms. His pillow will feel like concrete and the movies in his brain will play all night, the cinema of despair.
***
Her three will meet his three making six persons in a place made for two. How many persons do we each hold? Is infinity large enough? No space here for alone or lonely. Together is a given that may collapse at any instant. Love is just too large a word for the crowded, enormous emptiness of silence and pillows meeting heads, dread, and beds.
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