December 23rd, 2002

Graffito

  Title


I have to tell you about an odd dream of mine three nights ago. A stranger is saying, “I want to be reincarnated as one of those plaster things that are used as models in drawing classes. You know, those blocks, spheres, and pyramids.” “Why?” I ask. “Because,” he replies, “none has a penis.”

Suddenly he disappears, and I’m alone, thinking about what this curious man has just said. Somehow I realize there is a connection between those white plaster models and the Chopin mazurkas I have been playing at night to mask the dreadful Forio street noise. In the dream one explains the other, but nevertheless I can’t see exactly how. Then I awaken, vaguely puzzled, and mildly anxious.

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