Escape from The Coterie

“It's this intense desire of the puny human to pretend he has some sort of mastery over nature. People have always wanted to harness and tame the beast”, she said. And sure, what better way to do that than to make the animal in question part of the everyday components of domestic life... a refrigerator magnet or a shot glass for instance emblazoned with the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Belittling and exploitative enough for you? (So, anyway) I was reading a laborious article on Charlson comorbidity, (when I) kissed her forehead and went to bed. She was already asleep. I took off my glasses, switched off the nightstand light and closed my heavy eyes. First dream had me hanging with these two. One couldn't feel her face, the other couldn't feel his legs. I wasn't buying it. Next I'm in a trailer park outside Gary, Indiana. The water was hard and sulfur was in the air. I knew it was real right away because that was Gary in a nutshell. Gary was famous for his steel mills, high crime rate, and Democrats. I remember writing in my diary that it was a sad place to die. Next thing I know I was ordering bacon and eggs and reading the Post-Tribune and the Crusader when she pulled up. It was as if she walked right out of Andy Warhol's coterie. Personally, I would have punched Andy in the face in a crowded nightclub so it would make the papers. By now the rain was falling light. I could hear it scattering on the white rocks. We started discussing Brooke Shields and Kathy Ireland. Suddenly we couldn't figure out who was who. I often had this problem with Bette and Barbra, alligators and crocodiles. They were all interchangeable. She laughed. The boardwalk wood groaned like an old boat. Her little heart was beating so very fast. As she'd grown older she'd grown more and more fearful of the rain. She used to hide in the bathroom like an earthquake. One ear up like a radar. An old professor of mine named Knapp was studying wildfires, 50 mph winds and how it all related to the psychology of rumors. It was farfetched, sure, but I knew he'd tie it all together in the end somehow. Everyone loves a common enemy. In the 80's the punks had Reagan. Now we had the Somali pirates, the swine flu and Bernie Madoff. “Suddenly there was a movement in the corner of the room but there was nothing I could do when I realized with fright that Spiderman was having me for dinner tonight!”. Could we build a house with bricks of Café Bustelo? I suppose but I don't want to break any hearts so I'll refrain from telling you the truth about the pagans and the holidays. Although I must tell you that Niagra Falls is just a giant computer regulated faucet. There isn't much natural left about it.