...
I had to lie down for that last documentary the first go 'round. A nap took me like a ton of bricks. This always happens when I have not gotten the good kind of sleep in too long... barely have time to get flat before all my lights go out and I'm dreamin' my ears off. I was watching over someone's laundromat for them. Some crazy people were milling around outside, waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. We were holding a wedding amid the washers and dryers. I had to run off for something.
By the time I got back the wedding had already taken place, but when I walked in I could tell something was wrong. How'd it go? Great. But? But, well, the father of the bride died. So I walked further into the building to find the newlyweds. Some of the wedding party were dancing. There were a couple of prisoners off in a cell in a corner. One of them was trying to scare the other with his badness. I started laughing at that old trick. I told him he was going to have to think of a more original whopper than that he'd helped pull off 9/11... we weren't born yesterday around here.
There was commotion in the back yard.
There was a revolution starting out there, but also a train running right through the middle of it and mowing down Alex Jones. I ran to hold his broken body. I could feel him starting to leave it out the top of his head. I was holding him tightly from behind, speaking urgently in his ear, telling him how much I had respected him and loved him for all his good intentions and hard work... kissing his forehead... telling him not to be afraid... but soon there was no life left in him but I was still holding him. A fancy doctor/cop came running toward us in response to someone's call, I guess. I told him he was too late. Alex was dead.
But just as the official was nearing, Alex's dead lips started to curl into a smile, and before I knew it he was up and running home to his wife next door. I was left to tell everyone that he really had been dead, but some kind of miracle happened. The revolution was still going on all around, but I decided to get up and go back inside. The laundromat was now an exceptionally large mansion, filled with all manner of crazy things and floors and balconies and just high strangeness all around.
It was both my family home/hotel and I was a sort of concierge person who took orders from some invisible general manager, even though I lived there. Pretty soon Alex's wife has come and is pounding on the door to come speak to me about my intimacies with her husband. I assured her it was only hugging him while he died and a kiss on the forehead. How was I to know he we was going to then pop up unharmed after having been mowed down by a train? I'd only thought I was comforting a dying man. That's exactly what I was doing! She was extremely skeptical that was all there was to it, and, after all, that was her place to do that sort of thing. Yes, but you weren't there! I wasn't trying to supplant you! I was just grateful for him and wanted to help him into the next world lovingly. I have no designs on your man.
I had to prove it to her by showing her the doll in a black dress someone had anonymously left on the mantle and out of which I'd taken a bunch of bugging chips. I even gave it to her.... This seemed to convince her I was not her enemy... and she went off back to Alex next door. Still, it didn't quite do the trick because she had to come back and cross-examine me again. She wanted to see the chips. I pulled them out of the photo album in which I'd hidden them and handed them to her. She wanted one more thing as proof, and I had to get to another room for it. Thing is, getting to that room from where we were is tricky and I realized I'd messed up only a few steps up onto another floor, and from which egress was stickier even than getting there. This was making Mrs. Jones more suspicious.
This was so exasperating it woke me up, but as I did I could see Alex's lips curling into a smile from peacefully and lovingly just dead to a little twinkle of glee just before he'd run home. I had some moments to consider that twinkle. I recognized it. It's both the story of my life and more ancient than anyone who doesn't know from cellular memory could ever think. Men love getting love out of me the most of all. It's not about having sex. It's the real part that brings them back from the dead.
