Last night I had a dream that Zac Efron called me and told me he was putting on my story as a play. I said I couldn’t remember sending it to him. He said it would need a lot of revisions. Then he came over so I could read for the part of The Waiter. As soon as he got there, my sister writhed all over the floor trying to get his attention. I threatened her so she would leave. Zac Efron referred to a piece of scrap paper that said I was “funny-ish.” Then he gave me the embroidered pillow on which The Waiter’s lines were sewn to read. It was a concrete poem. I told him I couldn’t do it.
I am pretty sure almost all of this swam up in my brain because I’m reading A Streetcar Named Desire.
3 comments:
wow.
wait--could you not read the concrete poem because it was too difficult to read because the words were in the shapes of flowers, or could you not read the concrete poem on principle? i need to know this.
I think it was on principle. But I was definitely having trouble physically reading it, too. And it was really bad. I remember it started out with the phrase, "Questioning the answers of answering."
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