(no subject)

[rm]

I dreamt that delchi and I were both in a movie together and most of the rest of the cast were people who do the voices on the Simpsons (this is what I get for watching Inside the Actors Studio before bed). We were in Belgium, all living in this big house/studio complex doing pre-filming rehersals. I'd developed this weird sort of intellectual romance with the director that was this big secret eventhough nothing was going on other than we constantly wanted to be around each other and just talk about shit, hands touching as if we could convey our points by osmosis. He would jerk his head in a certain way late into evenings when we had all sat around talking and halfheartedly running through things after dinner and drinks and then I'd go and sit with him in a small sitting room in the back of the house, chattering madly about our shared passions and strange weariness, while everyone else just assumed it was about the big monologue or the person he wanted to make my image into. We would retreat with wine, and what I remember most precisely it seems is his walk, which I could probably show someone but not describe.

Anyway, delchi found out about it and kept teasing me about it, such that I eventually started bitching to Harry Shearer about it. "I mean, we're friends. It's not like anything's going on. We've just got this amazing thing going on and this is going to cause everyone to freak out and just ruin it." Shearer nodded a lot but I don't think he believed my protestations for an instant, although he made it clear he'd keep his part of the secret.

I was drinking a lot, not for other people, but for me, and I eventually ran up to this rooftop where delchi was apparently hanging out to learn his lines but I found everyone there but him so I said everyone needed to come down for rehersal (and I think it was on the stairs back down that I started that little bitch fest).

Anyway, that was it. I was making a movie about geeks and engaging in an interaction of extreme and nebulous beauty and, after a crappy sandwhich one night with toomuch mustard and mayo, and a glass of white wine I got all exicted to myself because I'd get to go on the publicity jag for the whole thing eventhough I was less well known than the rest, and although I missed my cats and then all of a sudden we were all in a hotel in Florida (which looks like my grandparents old house which I last saw about 25 years ago) and roadnotes was visiting and she turned on the TV and a big commercial plane had been shot down with a pistol.

She sat down in a chair with a thud, and the director put a hand on the back of my shoulder and said it would be a long time until we were home.