With Your Eyes Closed Close Your Eyes.
Last night I dreamt of a color I've never seen before. And when I awoke, I took to the acrylic paints. Mixing and matching to no reward. I couldn't clearly possess the color I'd seen so clearly in the delicate confines of my brain. So I crawled through the house and cut pieces of carpet from the floor, chipped away foundational concrete and paint from that broken shutter, took bits of ash from our fireplace, wallpaper from the walls, tubs and bottles from refrigerator shelves. I mixed and mashed. Adding some facial toner I remember seeing on a shelf in someone else's bathroom so many years ago. Not finding success, I snuck into my flatmates' rooms and snipped hair from their slumbering heads, tore corners from their favorite t-shirts, scraped the residue from under their sleepily curled fingertips, gathered the 6 month old sweepings from under the refrigerator and oven...the collective image of nine individual's lives and countless friends and family and visitors. The whole mess fell into the blender and, with a drop of saliva from my own tongue as a final touch, I set the mode to whirl. And it was beautiful. The most beautiful color in mine or yours or anyone's existence. There was nothing else that could be done.
So we made pancakes from the mushy batter and put all that color into us.
So we made pancakes from the mushy batter and put all that color into us.