I had the acting dream again… where I am Orson Welles in the early days of magic and Shakespeare. I am trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat and I do, but the rabbit turns into a skull and I am suddenly having to switch gears and be Hamlet. I start creeping the stage at a petty pace, but I’m like a rat in a wheel and I can’t cross to stage left to squeek my lines, “Alas poor Yorick…” when the skull starts lunging at me, like it wants to kiss me, or bite my neck and I try to push it back down into the top hat when it turns into a mango in a Cezanne bowl and quiets…
…and I’m suddenly Marlon Brando on the set of Apocalypse now and Dennis Hopper has handed me a copy of Mao’s Little Red Book and all its pages are laced with pure Swiss Sandoz L.S.D. and the drug seeps into the mango juice and I eat impossible doses… enough to trip all of Nixon’s China and I start crying uncontrollably and washing myself in the tears.The warm salt water coats my body and I realize that I am huge and full of Paul Masson wine and poi. As many tears as I cry, I can’t fully marinate my fat-tasticallly huge body. I am a swine for the spit. I am the golden calf for the sacrifice. I start to slice off sashimi bits of myself to feed to the audience when I realize they are nothing but skulls lined up like under Paris, or in Rowanda and Cambodia. I realize that I have eaten my own audience and grown huge on their flesh. I give a soliloquy that can’t be beat and I don’t want to wake up for the bone on bone glockenspiel applause.
Note: The man walking in a wheel is Welles in Lady From Shanghai and the man crying on his bald head in Brando in Apox. Now.
