Good morning, everybody.
I was out somewhere. I was on my phone with someone, possibly with my mother. I had possibly been living back at home again. I had a room down in the basement. Apparently I had a lock on my door down there.
But somebody else who lived with us, a person I knew through a connection at my job, also lived there. My mom was now explaining to me that this guy, AV, had "removed the lock" on my door. He had taken the entire lock, latch and all, from off my door.
AV had been suspicious of me. So he'd decided to get into my room, to see if I had anything that would justify his suspicions. Once he was in my room, though, he took a number of things.
I was back in my room, looking through my stuff and trying to figure out what had been taken. My mom was somewhere nearby. I told my mom that she needed to tell AV he needed to put the lock back on my door. But I didn't think it would matter. Either AV wouldn't listen to her, or else, if he did, he'd just keep taking it off and putting it back on. And now that he'd taken a little of my stuff, he'd just keep taking more and more.
I was in a movie theatre, walking in front of the front row, from the left side of the theatre to the right. The theatre had pretty steep seating. The light was dim, as if the show were still a few minutes away from starting.
The theatre was pretty full of people. Everybody was talking kind of randomly, as if waiting for the movie to start. But there was also a feeling that whatever the "show" was these people were here for, it was alrady in progress. Through all the random talking there was a pervasive feeling of attention, as if the audience were already attending to a show.
I was probably getting ready to walk out of this movie theatre and to another theatre, where a movie I wanted to watch was about to begin. I had a feeling that the show I was going to was not going to be very popular. It was probably an old and important, but independent and experimental, film.
Either some woman, maybe in her thirties, nice-looking, and kind of wealthy-looking, was either near and behind me, or else I was imagining talking to the woman. She may even have been in one of the seats.
I was telling this woman about something that had been done to make a little sensation in the theatre I was heading to. I told the woman that the only reason it had been done was to get more people into that theatre. As I told the woman this, I saw a strange-looking woman in a small, turban-like headdress and big, white-rimmed sunglasses, and a shaggy dog whose fur had something wet and electric about it.
I knew that the movie I was heading to might have very few people in it. I worried that if too few people came to the show, that the theatre people might just close down the show. But I also thought that maybe they would just run the show regardless.
I felt kind of bad. I imagined that if I was one of only two or three people in the theatre, the show would, in effect, be run largely for my sake. I didn't want people to feel obligated to run something just for my sake. But I also knew that the show was really important, and that it wasn't something I wanted to miss. So if it ran, I'd probably have to see it.
I may now have "woken up," or lifted myself out of some kind of reverie. I was sitting in another movie theatre. I was sitting in the middle of the seating area. But the seating area was very strange. There were all kinds of different levels. Blocks of seats may have been set in different directions, though everything vaguely seemed to face the screen. I couldn't see the screen, but I knew it was there.
As I had "woken up," the film that had been playing had ended, and the tail end of some final advertisement had been playing. I knew that the ad had been for solar panels, or for a company that built huge solar arrays. But either the logo of the company or the solar cells themselves had something of the look of Duracell batteries.
As the advertisement ended, and the lights had come back up, people were booing the ad. Some of my friends, a few overweight, Latino guys, were seated behind me. They hadn't been booing. But now they were kind of joking that everybody had been booing because they hated solar power.
I looked down at my hands. I considered how I had been really involved with the solar power industry in the past. I thought I couldn't just stand by and let people insult the solar industry. If people were booing because they didn't like the solar industry, then I needed to stand up and defend the solar industry.
I may have heard a few people getting a final few boos in. So I walked up to them and asked them, "Were you guys booing because you don't like solar power?"
The people I was speaking with were a few rows away, up, and behind me. But they had a wide, open space in front of them, so that it was easy for me to stand in front of them while I spoke with them. The people were white, young, and good-looking, probably a little wealthy.
One of the people, a pretty, blonde woman, said, "No. We weren't booing solar power. We were booing the commercial. It was supposed to be all about men, and manly themes. But everything the men were saying in the ad sounded like something a woman would say. It's obvious the writers were either all women or men who had no experience with the manly stuff they were writing about."
I thought this was pretty true. And, for some reason, I could see somebody's arms at a keyboard, as their hands were getting ready to type out the copy for the ad. The person was wearing a bunch of huge, thin, metallic bracelets on each arm. I kept wanting to call these bracelets "bangles" as I stood in front of the people I'd confronted. But I couldn't say it, for some reason.
As I remembered, the bracelets didn't even fit on the arms. I thought that as soon as the person tried writing, the bracelets would just clank of the person's arms and all over the place. Something about this made laughable the thought that this person (who may have been a man) was trying to write a manly ad.
But I also remembered another ad. I tried to tell the people about this ad, too. But I couldn't seem to do this, either. So I just remembered the ad. This one had the theme of some guy in prison, writing to family members or very close friends. The theme of his letter was supposed to be the goodness of some product or service. But the letter of this apparently manly prison man was written and spoken with such a flouncing, effeminate attitude, that I had found the whole ad laughable.
My view shifted from the memory of this ad, to myself talking on a cell phone in an environment very much like that of the ad, to a kind of empty apartment, through which I was walking as I spoke on the cell phone. I was probably speaking about the advertisement to the person on the phone with me.
The rooms of the apartment were all aligned, like in a railroad apartment. The rooms all had dark walls and a dark, stage-like floor. As I reached the far end of the apartment, I saw something on the floor. It looked to me like pyrite -- fool's gold -- except that it was silvery. It seemed to have a fibery kind of texture to it, too. Somehow, playing with a hard, plastic cup, like a Yahtzee cup, with my feet, I managed to trap the chunk of rock underneath the cup.
I was now walking back through the rooms of the apartment. I was now talking on the phone about trying to find an apartment. I spoke about some place I'd gone to see. The person I'd met at the apartment had sounded really nice over the phone. But when I'd gotten to the place to meet him, he turned out to be some snivelling, little jerk from one of my old jobs, a guy who always messed up my name on purpose, to make it sound like some confused version of a girl's name.
So I was looking for another apartment. The person I'd been on the phone with (I was apparently no longer on the phone) had left me a stack of rental ad sections from the newspaper. I thought this was kind of silly, as I'd already gotten rental sections of my own. But I didn't want to seem unappreciative or impolite. So looked through the ads.
I picked up one paper and began walking out of the room I was in. This room was the only lit, furnished room in the apartment. It was lit with a gentle, incandescent light. I'd stood in front of a kind of short, but wide and full, bed at first. The ads had all been on the bed or on the floor in front of the bed. Now I was walking towards the exit of the room, and passing a wooden bookshelf.
The newspaper I was looking at it had a big, rectangular section cut out of the upper left (?) corner, as if a few good ads had been clipped and saved. I was about to discard this paper by throwing it onto the bookshelves. But either before or as I did, one ad caught my eye. It was for apartments in "Astoria" (in Queens?). The apartments were running for $685 a month. I thought this was a good deal.