Slowjoe Makes Love to Salma Hayek?
How dreaming can evoke the past
I was making love to Salma Hayek in the back seat of a '51 Hudson Hornet on a balmy beautiful Sunday afternoon at the top of Buena Vista Point in Elysian Park when all of a sudden a voice called my name, softly at first then it got louder‘«™ slo..w‘«™joe‘«™slowjoe‘«™..SLOWJOE!
Published on LatinoLA: November 18, 2008
In that moment between dark and light I cried out like a maniac: "‘«™WHAT DA ‘«™!"
It was an appalling reverberation, like a shrieking little girl who lost her mother at Sears.
How can this happen, why me‘«™ why now? Most mornings I get up early and thank God for the miserable little sleep I get. This time I was in full dreamland arrest, doing time with the mera-mera herself, in a Hudson no less. I know its wrong being blissful with another women, a married man of 39 years and all, but damn Salma Hayek?
Well of course it was my wife waking me. It seems I was mumbling in my sleep again, and these days, with all the inflictions of old age, she was concerned. At that moment I hated her‘«™yes I hated her‘«™Well I didn't really hate her I just conveyed my frustration. I started to feel guilty, as if I had done something wrong.
That's the whole idea. Why do we feel guilty about something that we have no control over? Maybe because subconsciously we crave something that's beyond reach or the act of doing something naughty that turns us on. Or is it both, plus more‘«™ who knows, I can't help hearing Mister Rogers and Captain Kangaroo telling me to behave myself.
Today, as I watched the raging fires on TV, in Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, Riverside and Orange Counties, I could only image the frustration those many poor souls felt at the devastating loss of property and broken lives. We could only hope the insurance company will rise to the occasion; still there are those things that are irreplaceable.
All those lost objects that defined their families' individuality, gone. The old pictures, musical instruments, records, old cars and motorcycles, the kid's old toys, trophies and report cards, mom's china and her old love letters, grandpa's fishing poles and naughty post cards from the war. One might say that they're only 'things' and that life is more important. They'd be right, but we as social animals require 'things' not only to satisfy our needs but also to help remind us of the past. As I was thinking, I realized, isn't that what dreams do sometimes, remind us of the past?
The late great writer and mythologist Joseph Campbell reminds us that from the beginning of time all people dream the same. There is no difference in language or cultures, good and evil comes from dreams; they are the basis for fairy tails, stories and religious beliefs. They become our core values.
Dreams can recall moments in the past, at times vividly true. We can but close our eyes and see things that we yearn for, good things that carry smiles and emotion, evoking melancholy, a source of relief. We have the capacity to make our lives whole, even in times such as these, and to reassure our loved ones that all is not lost.
‘«™In my case, this dream of Salma merely symbolized recollections of a young boy and girl I once knew, who would slip away to the park on occasion to take in the wonderful moments that were entwined in their early lives, the story of a girl from Maravilla that totally encompassed the beauty and passion of a Salma Hayek, and a boy who couldn't believe his good fortune.
As for the Hudson Hornet, I can only assume that it's a fantasy substitute for the little Ford Falcon that I owned in those days.
I always wished it had a bigger back seat.
Just another car dude from South San Gabriel
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