Without Ever Planning to Meet

by Secret Vespers on August 17, 2008 at 2:09 pm
Posted In: Lovesick

I want to meet you without ever planning to meet, sit beside you on the subway the very moment you decide, the toymaker convention being in town, you must grab a stranger and crash it. This is a wrong stop for both of us, a place we’ve never been. It is no place to remain preconceived, so we buy new clothes, five dollar outfits that are preposterous and perfect, and moving through the alleys, find the cat that wants us to chase it until we adopt it.

We enter the convention through a service door, find its cities of lego and multicoloured blocks, its tricks of magnetism and mechanics. We take photos—though it is impossible to capture places and inventions of the imagination—and later slip the prints under the doors of tourists at the hotels. We cut, lay out and label them like postcards, falsely.

Next we find a protest—there must be one somewhere—and teach the anarchists to sing. We break into the SPCA with toys for the dogs they are going to put down. We ride the glass elevators in the financial district and replace the licenses with drawings, our hope that wonder is more inspiring than safety. We share pies and secrets on the street, run up the stairs until we puke, shower until the water goes cold, in our clothes, with a bottle of whiskey, and kiss to keep our lips warm. We solemnly promise to do whatever it takes to get ourselves fired for honesty, and live by selling our whispers in a gallery. We won’t know our new names for a year, and will refrain from words between sunset and sunrise.

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