And I dreamed I saw the bombers jet planes riding shotgun in the sky,
turning into butterflies above our nation.
— joni mitchell
And I dreamed I saw the bombers jet planes riding shotgun in the sky,
turning into butterflies above our nation.
— joni mitchell
At a graduation party. Heather’s here, all glammed up, having a typically wild time. I keep trying to make my way over, but have a series of engaging encounters myself, lose sight of her, and don’t finally catch up until pretty late. She embraces me, says she’s on her way to another party and invites me along. I jump at the chance and follow her to a waiting limo, engine running, a couple of sketchy characters already inside. As she slides in and beckons I all of a sudden have a “room for one more” moment – as much as I love seeing Heather again I know full well that she’s been dead for a couple of years, and therefore this car can’t be anything but a vehicle to the other world. Come on, she urges, and I can’t help but join her. I know better than to eat the food they offer on the way, but what about the cocaine and marijuana?
So I find myself behind her in the buffet line. Given our somewhat fraught history, I’m not sure if I want to say anything, but of course I do, and eventually we manage to get a decent conversation going. I ask about her father’s health and she immediately tears up and starts sobbing. He’s terminal. Again I hesitate before doing what I most want to, but soon enough I’ve got my arms around her, surprised to find she’s now half a head taller than I am. You’re too much for me, I say. She just sniffs, smiles that archaic smile and kicks off her high heels as if to answer maybe not.
c. 1556(b. ca. 1525, Breughel, d. 1569, Bruxelles)
Engraving, 229 x 298 mm
British Museum, London