dampness

IN­TER­PRET THIS FOR ME!

I dreamt I was on a per­ilous jour­ney with a woman dressed as Theodore Roo­sevelt when he was a Rough Rid­er. But they wore san­dals and they re­quest­ed I not touch their big toe be­cause it had gan­grene.

We come to a very damp town and every­thing feels weird. There is even drip­ping wet sea­weed hang­ing from the walls. We’re es­cort­ed through a sa­loon to the back where every­thing is warm and there is elec­tric­i­ty and I’m think­ing ‘This is­n’t his­tor­i­cal­ly ac­cu­rate.’

There are two women rest­ing in a jacuzzi and they start laugh­ing at me and call me an em­bar­rass­ment. Look­ing into the mir­ror, every poor on my face and neck is a white head and they’re pop­ping. I freak out and run to the side room re­quest­ing to use the lava­to­ry. But our scout is in there and he won’t let me in.

So I re­turn to the women and stare them down as they’re laugh­ing at me and go, “How much you gonna laugh when I start pop­ping them in your di­rec­tion?”

To which, one throws me a damp tow­el, I wipe my face, and they’re all gone.

They said it hap­pened to them too.

They said it was be­cause of the air in these parts.
 

—jes

Flom­mist Jes ex­ists for mo­ments of fiery in­spi­ra­tion. See her in­spi­ra­tional byprod­ucts at jdeprez.com. Copy­right © 2016 JES DE­PREZ. Pho­to: Li­brary of Con­gress.

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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