YESTERDAY WAS independence day, but a mix or combination of the two. Estonia’s takes place in dreary doldrum winter, the 24th of February, America’s in hot and humid July, the 4th, but this one was the Estonian celebration but in the hot summer. There was an old white house, with many floors and rooms, and there was a crowd of people there. Miss Cloud and the Designer were there, but they ignored me, and I eventually stumbled into a bedroom with a rather lean, classical beauty, tanned from head to toe, who was reading some kind of artbook, perhaps a Matisse or Modigliani collection. She was completely nude, with a towel wrapped around her head, and I attempted coitus but no dice, she just yawned and kept on reading about Matisse, and I dismounted and withered away. Later, I found myself in a nearby house when a tornado swept across the land. I could see its plumes of wind, and the sky lit up white as the house vibrated. I locked myself in a bathroom with another woman, and we dislodged the large wooden door and turned it into a sled. We used this door-sled to escape from the house in the midst of the white whirlwind. July had turned back to February and there was snow on the landscape. We rode that sled all the way back to the first house, like Timothy Dalton and that cellist in The Living Daylights, where the long, lean, and ultra-bored Matisse lady lied sprawled in her bed, gently turning those pages, as if nothing was amiss. We debated returning the stolen door-sled, but decided against it. There had been so much devastation because of the great tornado. Nobody would even notice that it was gone.
north! 