HOW TO LIVE OFF THE FAT OF YOUR DREAMS

 

Take a ho-hum image of a tree and plant forests, be it apple
dumplings, fake fur hats, world peace.  Allow the image of a
handsome cream puff chef skulking about at the masked ball, if it
comes. Use warm sun on your forearm to imagine work that becomes
a lush grove.  Weed out the sorry-eyed skeptics, three-hued
expressionists docile of dreaming. 

After a fortnight or ten consecutive phone calls to a friend in L.A.,
you will finally spy the ancient trees of your dead creaking at field’s
edge.  Fell the heaviest standing one and carve shoes from it that peak
like a cathedral of the good times.  Watch for the fidgety center of the
pondering, wondering, lumbering mind.  If you compress it, it may
spring loose at the company picnic and have you fan dancing on the
powdered donuts, fer chrissake, and you will trip up quite literally off
the path of your dreams.  If you do any such flourishes, take out a
wood burner and quickly emblazon on the shoes the motto “I TAKE
MY DREAMS SERIOUSLY”; renege on the “ASSHOLE” that follows this
phrase for this has nothing to do with good results. 

Oiled wood will not split, so take the fat of old hope (a wink from the
back of a room will do), and rub it into the soles.  It is now possible to
leap with the elation of the just arrived, or tap dance to the
orthodontist’s. Shoes carved in the rich memory of the dead, act like
tallow if given a wick. Put all your gratitude into those shoes, burn up
your hope and live.

Lastly, to secure all your efforts, burn up old pictures of shoes that
leaked soggy leaves, flew off when you ran, or pinched the pink fan
of your toes.  Proper shoes will walk to the tip of your dreams and fall
in, and luckily you are wearing them.