waking up with a chuckle in his book was always a good thing better
than screaming outloud because of a nightmare and in a panicked sweat
however neither
badgered him
the chuckle made him wake whodadfuck in America dreams in Latindreams
in words that move like water or flutter like fallen leaves butterflies moths
anxious at a burning bulb
all he could scarcely remember of
Latin was from when he attended Catholic church with his grandmother as a boy
the priest his arms spread wide gown pleated pristine white seemed
like wings overhung with a festive purple
and gold stole stood directly beneath a
massive crucified Christ carved of wood
it was awesome
Grandma Do you know what hes saying
Sssh.
Do
you . .
. . Not now she said in broken Englishits shards
mangling the two syllables Not now, boy.
he wanted to persist
he couldnt read yet
it angered him when people said
things he didnt know and this man this priest
standing on the ambo could have done him the favourprobably the entire church by
speaking in English not mumbojumbo an archaic tongue a tongue like those used among specialists who
want to keep the layman at bayvocabularies meant to confuse and dismay anyone
who wanted to know exactly what they were saying
the way priests and doctors and
lawyers and gangsters talked
in his dream the best he could
make out was because the letters floated
indiscriminately weaved about and around each other formed other words or
nonwords was interare territarum in script in fonts unspoken he would have had a
better guess if someonesomething opened its mouth and said
and if he didnt understand
what was said he was already trained up
he wouldnt have been upset
rather it tickled him
it was hard
to tickle him while he was awake
so still chuckling and blearyeyed
he rolled right to an old feed crib stood on end that served as a night table and
took the pad and pen there and scribbled what he thought the juggled letters said inteerar territory not territory territsomething instree terri something each word threefour syllables
he returned the pad and pen to
the table
it wasnt gonna get any better
than that
he laid back down and still
his breath broken by a chuckle he tried to fall back to sleep and run the culprit
down if it hadnt gotten too far ahead of him
running down a street it was very
familiar to him cobblestones brick rowhouses old iron Balustrade fences topping concrete and stone curbs a yellow light coming out through
an open window paleivory eyelet curtains
moving to the nights breath then she
appeared at the window waving to him blouse open as he remembered
bra fastened hastely a crescent moon aureole coquettishly exposed as he remembered she was a working girl who worked him plenty more than the fifty he gave her from
another dream
Whadayasay? she cried coyly
shaking her tatas Yaint got damoney Ill
take an I-O-U.
hed call that a harmonic
convergence
he let Latin skip on ahead
itd lost him anyways
hed rack it up as a long shot a
valiant effort
although
while interare territarum didnt
pay off hed check it when he woke he was definitely going to get off
interare territarum roughly an he wouldnt be upset if someone corrected him interare – to put into earth territarum – to frighten, to terrify
pretty heavy shitriotous shit for Latin Word Jumble casually cropping up in a dream
0430-ish, Sunday,
10 5. 20
1007, Monday,
11 5. 20
Neil Young It’s A Dream
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJNB8fXje3I
