Will Bueché



I don't blog much 

Malkovich, conversant

Posted in Dream by Will on Sunday, April 8th, 2007 ~ 12pm

Quite the dreamlife lately.

Pet collars had built in cell phones with speakerphones so their owners could call their pets back without having to raise their voices or even know where exactly their pets were. This also came in handy in a pinch, as I was given directions to a wedding via a pet slung over my shoulder. I raced through town on foot, guided to a theater that was more of a movie theater than a wedding chapel, with rich plush seats.

In this theater, there would be several celebrity weddings in one night. The celebrities and their guests overlapped to some extent so all were gathered together like it were a mini-Oscar night; it was most practical to have all the weddings in sequence. The first wedding began badly though, with the bride a sort of Courtney Love[*] character who was excessively intoxicated. She was also painted green — which I found to be bold and interesting. But the drunk bit was ruining everything. She looked to one woman seated next to me and asked her why she was here, to which the woman replied in shock that it was because she was the bridesmaid’s sister of course. The green actress then shifted her random attention to thanking everyone who helped her get an acting role in a particular movie — but she kept using the wrong title of the movie and people wondered if she’d lost her mind.

John Malkovich raised his voice and tried to suggest that she may have been thinking of the title of one of the source books whose philosophies influenced the screenplay, and explained that several films were derived from it including The Matrix. But at this point the bride was falling over the chairs.

Since I was seated just behind Malcovich I told him “I’d have loved to have heard your explanation, if anyone were listening.”

He was flattered or appreciative, and so he said to me “You know we have a gathering on Fridays — not this Friday, but we had one last Friday, and will again on an indeterminate schdedule, at 13th & 13th at Fife Station, do you know the place? Could I see you there?”

I said I would, affirming “13th and 13th, Fife”, though inside I was becoming concerned that I’d instantly be outclassed within moments of conversation.

“Listen,” he continued, “I know you from somewhere!”

“I used to be an assistant to a Harvard psychiatrist in Cambridge…” I suggested, though I knew he hadn’t in fact met me.

“A psychiatrist” he reacted with mock horror, and shaped his body into a simulation of being retrained “Oh my arms!”.

“Well,” I replied, racing for something clever to say to show I got the reference to psychiatric restraints, “he doesn’t do that anymore.” Though I’d considered saying “That is done only recreationally, now”, and my deciding that reply would appear to be flirtation simply caused my reply to be slow and therefore dim in appearance.

Nonetheless he reminded me of the directions to the place, and I awoke thinking how nice it would be to have been invited somewhere by John Malkovich. And about whether the cell phone pet collar had been patented yet. (It has been).

(And a brief side-bar dream in the middle somewhere, wherein Twizzlers red licorice was no longer being sold because the Navaho Nation, which produced Twizzlers, refused to sign an economic treaty. Import of Twizzlers from Navaho territory to the rest of the US was outlawed, and by default Red Vines won the licorice wars).

*It has been pointed out to me that I just met a person named Courtney.

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