Tuesday, November 18, 2003

Lier X Aggregate

a late-night intermission from tabloid dreams.

i keep hearing this girl's voice in my head. i can't see her and i've never met her before, but she talks to me somehow and asks me for help. i think i'm going crazy but i give in and listen to her. she's being held against her will and she's asking me if i can find her. wanting this psychic squatter evicted from my head, i devote my time to figuring out where she is, which i do successfully, somehow. a blur. unimportant, apparently.

she's in a commune in the hills, at the center of a cult of people who paint things blue to find nirvana. cows, apple trees, houses — all painted blue. blue blue. they were blue robes. to find this girl, i trek through the biggest building in town, which looks like a circus tent and functions like a new wave crazy city hall or something. paradoxically, the room is square on the inside. enormous, too. i weave through well-choreographed patterns of blue, trancing cultists, hoping not to disturb them. eventually, i find the door. she's in behind bars in a small, plain room with no windows. she has a teddy bear and she's blonde and looking like one of the newer girls from work. we escape, again via the mysterious somehow.

i'm home now, at my front door in isla vista. the girl has vanished, i notice without much concern. i can hear whistling behind me. disturbing and coming from the garden. i open the door and the pasado house looks pretty much like it should. the opinion box, which i recently kidnapped and painted, is even on the corner table. instinctually, i go to the box, spin the combination lock and pop it open. an opinion, neatly folded:

"tell a story you won't mind forgetting."

what is that whistling? i can hear it through the front door. did i lock the front door?

[ a work of fiction by lier x aggregate ]