5/06/2008

Horse-talk for Marzipan

Dream sequence:

Last night I rode a mechanical horse along the river. We didn’t stop to drink the water but that’s only because it’s full of pesticides and herbicides and infanticides. In short, it’s full of bugs. This horse of mine, she’s sweet tempered while I’m hot embered. I carry a split stick as a riding whip, but I’m the one who needs it because I, unlike her, enjoy uncrossed sitting and off-bridge spitting; I peep into the medicine cabinets of strangers. In short, I’m not a lady. I like to pretend though, like when I cook dinner in expensive pearls and conservative sweaters, like when I wear “slacks” not pants, like when I say “yes, please, ma’am.”

So anyway, I was riding this horse along the way when we got to the Teeth Fairies. This is the part of the trip where I realized I shouldn’t have been riding so fast, wearing so little, with so little rear padding. Wouldn’t it be strange if your parents handed you a little bag, with a little tie, with all your little teeth you thought you lost when you were little? We could use it as currency then, a value forever rooted in childhood with zero inflation, which means the aggregate demand curve will be stable (…or maybe it’s the supply).

With these Teeth Fairies we whet our whistles with mathematic fermentation. The first variable is a glass of wine, which inevitably makes you giddy. The second variable, a second glass, makes you sleepy. Therefore, they cancel each other out like factional reciprocals leaving you with two empty glasses and a fuzzy brain, which is naturally to be expected when doing math.

It’s funny that childhood snacks like grapes become so bitter with age. We’ve become less round, more fluid. We’re less sweet, more fizzy, less bounce-able, more dizzy, and all-in-all we’re swimming in horizons that teeter. No wonder why we’re cranky with age, why we demand more high-fructose happiness.

My happiness, you see, is spreadable and I call it Jiff, I call it Jelly, I call it Mascarpone, but mostly I call it Marzipan. Not that I have anything against mascarpone, but I’m swimming in something sweeter these days and it goes great with cold milk.

“Hey, horse, where you going?”

“Back to the color factory to mend these split hooves”

“Think they can fix this split lip?”

“Oh I reckon so.”


*snaps fingers*

Now, wake up.

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