Thursday, February 3, 2011

If We Shall Meet

by Joshua L'Heureux   

I had a dream last night that I had the opportunity to press my lips against your neck while standing next to a magazine rack. I took it and loved it. I’m not sure what the dream means for you and me.

    My first thought is that maybe the magazine rack is a metaphor for all the twisted and turned hours I’ve had, we’ve had, all of us have had. It might be that the magazine rack is some literary sign meaning that magazines will still be around and the tragically-boasted battery powered books will become another reason to fight for global equality and get them all out of the Grand Canyon. I dunno. It could even be something phallic. Maybe I’m gay. No matter, as long as I keep having these dreams. Man or woman… you’ve been hanging out for some time now and I can’t get you to go away. What if I throw some Girl Scout thin mints from my dreams to the house next door? Would you chase them and finally let me sleep without disappointment and a cold half of the bed in the morning?

    I can’t move from my dreams. They don’t just live with my parents but it would appear that you have a sensational ability to be at two places at one time; with me and away. I hate it.

    Just do me a favor and please write back. I’d love to know where you want to go. I’ll buy the national geographic DVD’s of wherever it is and stare at them all day just so when I nod off I will have given us the greatest opportunity to travel. Better yet, we could just show up and skip the lines and body scans. We could go to the moon or even back in time. If time travel is your wish then please, send some photos so I will have some perspective and mental pictures. Thanks to these dreams I can now make your favorite dish. I can do everything with you and for you while lying down doing nothing at all.

    You always liked Kevin Bacon right? Well, this is how I see it. I’m going to go to my Netflix and queue the shit out of that man’s work and get him in that dream with us. Baby, I love you so much I don’t care if the world knows I’m trying to dream of Kevin Bacon. I’m just doing everything I can to make you show up and keep on coming back.

     Actually, tonight I’m gonna go and do me for a bit. Tonight baby, we’s a falling in love in a mall, surrounded by zombies, but I know we’ll make it. And if we don’t there is always tomorrow night.

     Tomorrow night, we are role-playing and I will be Robocop. Zombies can’t kill what is already dead… well… kinda.

     The next night, we will make love in an amusement park with dinosaurs. And I will be so good I will be the one making the park and jeeps shake. And your legs.

     Maybe we’ll go to Toon Town so I can show you how beautiful you are when Jessica Rabbit walks by with a wardrobe malfunction and I keep staring into your eyes. But, my cell phone will be out and ready. The world needs to know.

    What if I beat the shit out of Carey Grant? Justin Timberlake? What if I offer Justin Bieber as a sacrifice?

    What if I threw 75% of my water weight into the ocean so I can find the appropriate currents and find some way to hug you in the summer when you dive under the waves?

    If we really wanted to we could watch the Kennedy Assassination and catch the son of a bitch who did it and have us a trial. And with time not being an option it is my contention Stephenie Meyer killed Kennedy. Oswald was framed. Oswald wrote Twilight first and Bella ended up with Steven, some dejected chess club president who became a priest in a third world country. The sad part of his story though, is that Bella contracts malaria and dies face up on the back of an elephant. In the end, it was one bloodsucker or another that would be her ruin. Stupid bitch.

    But if you decide to move back home and down the street I’m alright with burning the pancakes in the morning and pouring Alta Dena milk inside a dollar cup of coffee. I don’t need the moon. But if you do, let me know.

Signed sincerely and far too eager to fall asleep,

Yours Truly

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    It was an honor seeing you last night but the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos made it difficult to keep you with me. Sporadic sleep is the bane of any social existence in this world and has made me skeptical to the value of sleep seeing as I still get to write about you in the morning. It’s nice. But, sadly the dreams are only shoots and ladders seeing as I have to wake up and head out to class in the morning.

    Since you didn’t write back I think it’s safe to assume you didn’t seem to enjoy the suggestions I made last night so here are a few more.

    What if we could find a way to dream in a time machine and finally see David Lee Roth run the stage as Eddie solos? Maybe even better, maybe we could see Roth right all the wrongs Sammy made. For that matter maybe we could see Miles Davis write with Eddie Van Halen and create the perfect song, “A Kind of Blue Eruption” or maybe even “All Blue Panama.”

    After the show we could catch a glimpse of the Pitt and Anniston wedding and I could steal a multi thousand-dollar floral arrangement to throw your way. The beauty of this is that you can pick which arrangement you want. You can design everything.

    Considering it all though maybe we could see Van Gough dissect the meaning of post-impressionism. We’ll take him in our time machine and generate a new ear for him using stem cell research and let him fall in love again offering another part of him to an ethereal elusive life form we create. Audrey Hepburn would be ideal but I am partial to Judy Garland.

    Again, if any of these sound too extravagant please feel free to write. A normal night is only acceptable as long as when I wake, shaking cold with you wrapped in every blanket on the bed, I will be able to lean over and tell you what we did last night. Because now, as far as I’m concerned, love is the ability to dream the extraordinary finding limitless power in where we go, who we meet, and how we live in my dreams and discuss it over coffee as you get ready for work. I’ve grown tired of text messaging. We need it all. But first, you gotta be here. You gotta get here.

    Until then, I’ll settle for what uninhibited little I’ve got. With any luck at all you’ll be at my door in the morning and stay the night and my relationship with your email address will simply cease… except for YouTube videos because that keyboard cat is awesome.

See you tonight,

Yours Truly

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