Next

There's this kid that hung out on a corner that I had to pass by several times a week, and it's clear he was either a sorcerer of the highest order or a brat.

Striped shirt, a little pudgy, and Di Caprio eyes - set back, sharp, radiating intelligence.

The first time I saw him, he was donning a sandwich board, advertising a 2-for-1 pizza deal. Rocking it with headphones on, dancing back and forth on the sidewalk, waving people in and trying to pipe up his commission with as many new arrivals as he could sally forth.

The second time I saw him; no sandwhich board - just a handheld sign and the headphones. Different business; didn't catch the name but I did catch his eyes as he rocked out again.

The third time there was just the kid, standing there; no headphones on, and apparently waiting for me. On the sign, one word: Next, with an arrow pointing to a tethered balloon just down the street from me.

Each time I saw him it was impossible to stop. While my actions were reasonable - I was delivering 10 year old dance students to or from their classes - he was clearly chagrined and decided to step it up a notch, and started painting the night visits.

Enter the dreams: always the same:

A field of metaphors; towering monoliths and quivering, febrile Polaroids
Shimmering or shivering from the heat of the ground
Translucent blue glass concaving over the surface
of the sun.

At the end of the path, the balloon
And my Id-bits, filthy little beggars
Seven holding the tethering cord;
Three scrambling up it
and ten dancing on it in a windless vibration that permeated the All.

This, of course, was The Metaphor. His. He sat in a New England deck chair, looking up from his script now and again as I got closer. Then, as I shuffled the id-bits away from the cord and grasped it, he stood up; threw off his beret and stood arms akimbo. On his shirt, the single word: Next.

The dreams continued night after night, until I got it: the longer I held onto what I was after, the more directions he would shout to the id-bits: stage left! stage right! Mind the fourth wall! Project!

Maybe two dreams after getting it - that that which pushed me towards my wants was exactly that which would prevent me from ever getting them - the dreams stopped.

He's gone now, of course; lesson learned, turn the page.

I still wonder if he was a sorcerer or a brat.

Next.