Summer Gloves and Satin Candles

I think it might be kinda fun to flash freeze an urban block in some single, gloriously mundane instant, dim the lights, and spark up a constellation of mass-produced, artificially-flavored, over-vanillaed candles purchased on credit, in bulk and on sale, as a sort of tribute to the status quo. AKA to the collectively/anonymously fabricated quilt of ridonkulousness that I'm finding far too hot for this particular season.

The timeless snapshot would then proceed, according to a highly complex algorithm brought into being by the pathological scrawls of Matt Damon over 8 blackboards, as follows:

To be read in a dramatic story teller's voice, you know the one

I'd whip a bottomless palette of pastels from out of my Mary Poppins handbag, toss on a beret at an endearing angle, and paint the iron jungle over in soft hues of baby-everything. Except for the candles, because they already came like that. Oh, I can feel the artistic smears of violet drying on my cheek, lightening in shade, crackling as I crinkle my nose against some particularly stubborn "NO PARKING" sign determined not to loosen its reigns over a prime stretch of tar. After some time, I was left no choice but to white out the P, and then the ING against its (good) will (hunting). And when pandemonium broke loose in the city's animal kingdom (read: squirrels, pigeons, rats, and domesticated cats and dogs who wouldn't last a day in the wild) and panic had reached critical proportions at the suggestion there might be "No Ark" by which they could be saved during the next tsunami, the bedbugs called an emergency meeting with the sign in question. After a highly televised debate and massive animal riots, the apocalyptic scrap of metal nailed to a pole surrendered its honor and donned a light yellow bodysuit for $68.99 from American Apparel. A martyr really, sacrificing itself for the ultimate value of societal order and perpetuated fairy tales. The tooth fairy felt validated, I'm sure, which is nice since I hear she has low self esteem and a poor self image despite her great monetary wealth. At least that's what Curious George told me in between the scientific experiments he's been subjected to since humans realized he could talk. Just goes to show ya kids, money can't buy happiness. But you should probably still secretly strive for it obsessively, just to be on the safe side. Anyways, I was noble about the victory over the once-lord of those streets. I parked my unicycle right in front of the cross-dressing sign, placed giant pink sunglasses (from my bag) across its face, and addressed it as Mr. Golden Sun henceforth. And God saw that it was good. He even winked at me from his throne on top of a cloud, and sent some aesthetically pleasing female angels down with Philadelphia's cream cheese. Light, of course. But I found a silver hair in it, most probably from his beard. Ew. Amen.

**** intermission****

I realize the above followed no logical sequence, ended with potential heresy rather than any sort of apparent conclusion, and ultimately said very little. But it was really fun. And could have easily gone on all night had Matt Damon not erased the algorithm, thus banishing it from human knowledge and therefore all of existence.

It was inspired by the poem Warning, below, written by Jenny Joseph. WHICH I LOVE:

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.