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Something Conjured From a Dream
Nov. 10th, 2004 01:53 pmI listened to Siouxsie and the Banshees this morning. Christine, strawberry girl; one-two-three, Israel; my arms are like palm trees flailing in the wind; a tourist oasis reflects your seedy sunshades; I heard a rumour, what have you done to her?
Brought me back to my high school years, and the summer I spent in Hong Kong after my first year in university. I used to work for Carrefour, this giant French chain of supermarkets, in the heart of Hong Kong. I worked in one of the tallest skyscrapers of the city as an assistant to the manager of the brazilian section. On my lunch breaks, I would ride the glass elevator downstairs, eat in McDees and wander around listening to Siouxsie on my walkman. Hong Kong's heat and humidity melded my body and clothes; mosquitoes bled me dry. The buses, offices and shops, on the other hand, blasted subzero air-conditioning. I was constantly chewing on aspirins and smoking Malboro Lights.
When I took my first acid, that same Summer, Siouxsie and Puressence rescued my sanity the days afterwards. My hair was long, down to my shoulders. I dyed it black and my brother called me Maga Patologica (the portuguese name for a Disney character who was always plotting against Donald Duck). I felt so much younger and different from all the other suits around me. I didn't listen to Green Day, Hootie and the Blowjob, or other bands clogging the charts. I had my own brand of escapism and I lived a decade behind.
My boss was openly gay (when I came home, his boyfriend would sometimes be there having tea with my mom) and everyone whispered about our relationship. I was naive, innocent and had yet to perfect the art of sucking up. There was usually little work for me so I wrote short-stories about murders in my office, or pornographic adventures set in my old high school. I wasn't out back then - maybe I should have taken advantage of my boss and asked him to be my gay mentor. But we really had nothing in common. He held grudges against other people in the company and pushed one secretary to quit in tears. He was an asshole. Years later, I found out that he split up from his boyfriend and had a nervous breakdown. His boyfriend moved to Sao Paulo, joined a gym and lost a lot of weight. He wrote emails to my mom occasionaly telling her how happy he was.
I played my Siouxsie cds for years. They grew in my collection and moved centre stage. I went through spells of not listening to them at all, then returning in full force. Lately, I've been playing old songs in my head. I just woke up today with the need to hear her voice again. If I had a walkman, I would have walked down London's streets this morning listening to "Dear Prudence".
My heart is an oasis to drink from as you please
Brought me back to my high school years, and the summer I spent in Hong Kong after my first year in university. I used to work for Carrefour, this giant French chain of supermarkets, in the heart of Hong Kong. I worked in one of the tallest skyscrapers of the city as an assistant to the manager of the brazilian section. On my lunch breaks, I would ride the glass elevator downstairs, eat in McDees and wander around listening to Siouxsie on my walkman. Hong Kong's heat and humidity melded my body and clothes; mosquitoes bled me dry. The buses, offices and shops, on the other hand, blasted subzero air-conditioning. I was constantly chewing on aspirins and smoking Malboro Lights.
When I took my first acid, that same Summer, Siouxsie and Puressence rescued my sanity the days afterwards. My hair was long, down to my shoulders. I dyed it black and my brother called me Maga Patologica (the portuguese name for a Disney character who was always plotting against Donald Duck). I felt so much younger and different from all the other suits around me. I didn't listen to Green Day, Hootie and the Blowjob, or other bands clogging the charts. I had my own brand of escapism and I lived a decade behind.
My boss was openly gay (when I came home, his boyfriend would sometimes be there having tea with my mom) and everyone whispered about our relationship. I was naive, innocent and had yet to perfect the art of sucking up. There was usually little work for me so I wrote short-stories about murders in my office, or pornographic adventures set in my old high school. I wasn't out back then - maybe I should have taken advantage of my boss and asked him to be my gay mentor. But we really had nothing in common. He held grudges against other people in the company and pushed one secretary to quit in tears. He was an asshole. Years later, I found out that he split up from his boyfriend and had a nervous breakdown. His boyfriend moved to Sao Paulo, joined a gym and lost a lot of weight. He wrote emails to my mom occasionaly telling her how happy he was.
I played my Siouxsie cds for years. They grew in my collection and moved centre stage. I went through spells of not listening to them at all, then returning in full force. Lately, I've been playing old songs in my head. I just woke up today with the need to hear her voice again. If I had a walkman, I would have walked down London's streets this morning listening to "Dear Prudence".
My heart is an oasis to drink from as you please
