CELLOPHANE

*Writing practice: to take a provocative image and immerse myself in the imaginary world, writing from a particular character point of view, emotion, or etc.

Meanwhile I travel to Egypt and have a picnic with some locals outside of the Sphinx’s dust bowl perch.  She sits in the bowl, the widening circle or hole that she is sinking into.  (Is the word SINK related to the word SPHINX?) The pyramid of Cheops looms I’m not sure how close, as it is so large and formidable, so geometrical and solid.  It looks like it was thrown from the sky to land on the earth, that it could have landed on any side, any flat side but it chose the one it did for reasons…?

I don’t think I can scale the pyramid as I observe from a distance.  The sides look rough but without purchase, no where to grip.  The Sphinx’s face is destroyed, or rather is in the act of disintegration, although she could just be wearing a bulbous medical mask, or have a protuberance on her mouth under the mask.  A giant bushy mouth beard.

In the hall I walk amongst titan columns so completely decorated with hieroglyphics as to be columnar comic books, decorated words of art extending up instead of out, telling stories I don’t know how to read.  What are they describing, the construction of this hall? Who or what is Hypostyle? The other entrance is blocked by fallen columns and debris, I can’t get though that way.  I return the way I came in, feeling small and foreign, listening and looking at language I don’t speak.

*Writing practice: to take a provocative image and immerse myself in the imaginary world, writing from a particular character point of view, emotion, or etc.

I wore my lorgnette and my chrysanthemum print dress to the races today, as the day was warm and I feared sweating through at the armpits.  I’ve ruined several dresses that way and have had to pass them onto Lolita, my maid.  One of my maids, there are three.  I hate giving quality to the servants but if they share the stories of the largesse of their employers theres no harm,  maybe only benefits.  To be thought of as generous even if not, not particularly, could only help if Karma does exist, as we heard a lecture at club last Thursday from an east Indian scholar who has been researching the thing for oh so many years.

I had had my hair done the day before and my hat fit very smartly on my head, as I could say fit snugly and happily.  I wished for a photo to be taken so I could appreciate visually the snug feeling I had.

So! Sam and I were at the dog races and we bet heavily between bottles of champagne.  We met with several mutual friends there and had a wonderful time winning lots of money.  My hat felt good and I wore my seed pearl necklace which I could touch as a talisman when things became tense.  Overall I was very confidant in my choices, which paid off in handsome dividends.  Until the last race;  I feared Sam would soil his pants he seemed so tense and when he whispered what he had bet I laughed and said, “Oh you always throw caution to the wind and you always come out on top!” He smiled bravely and went back to gnawing his fingers.  The dogs finished as they always do, I had no doubt about that.

*Writing practice: to take a provocative image and immerse myself in the imaginary world, writing from a particular character point of view, emotion, or etc.

Say my name! Tell me who I am!

The voices lie they tell me one thing and then another and another and another and another and another and

(In my right mind, not the left, I imagined the voices and they were content to remain just that, imagine that, but now and ever after I fear they come from unlikely sources like the walls and the corner of the roof, under the rug). Vicious vicious sounds accusing and threatening, condemning and

(In my right mind I can ignore the voices their shriek and timbre)

So they tell me one thing and you another.  Who is this being I am wearing, this skin that may come off at any minute, this dress, this mop of hair I put my fingers in my hair and pull and pull and it won’t budge! Won’t move! How am I supposed to–

*Writing practice: to take a provocative image and immerse myself in the imaginary world, writing from a particular character point of view, emotion, or etc.

Ah school days, those were the times way back when the term ‘hot flash’ didn’t mean a thing to me, I didn’t have to disrobe and robe up constantly at my internal’s whimsey.  We sat too long for the picture it seemed, in that way that time has of stretching out and losing all structure and boundaries.  When will the ending come, the finale, the rise of the photographers head.  And we were trapped in that time, asked not to move ‘one hair nor stir a skirt’, slaves to time, captives of it not knowing when release will come.

I don’t remember the other girls names.  Oh yes I do on the front row sitting is Adele yes that’s Adele, didn’t speak much English in fact, French mostly and she struggled with some words so mightily that it was our delight to hear her attempts! Not that we tried to be cruel, but when we tired of saying ‘Say this word! Say that word!” or she left crying then we knew it was time to be finished.