I Tell Myself I Have Nothing To Say
Matthew Sleeth - Trolley (2003)
I have a reoccurring dream that I am a shopping cart, or a "trolley" as seen here by Matthew Sleeth. Not riding in, or using, but being. The sensation is stiff, stuck in a straight path, and constantly bracing for an inevitable head-on collision. It's a night with accelerated inertia and perpetual conflict. A night spent bouncing off walls and thin metal bars with nickel chrome finishes shivering like tambourines. The dream finally ends in black by rolling off the edge of a stage and staring at the ceiling. Karl Blau has dreams too, caused by direct sun. But they sound more like organs than tambourines, and more like napping dragons than grocery carriages.