La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams

No. 87: September 1971

Eight fragments, maybe from an opera

It seems I have gone to see Nicholas Ray’s film Johnny Guitar.

I live in a house that I rent for 360 francs a year. The house is falling apart. The radiators are collapsing.

I send (surely to the landlord) a letter of apology, in which I pass the blame for the degradation of the house onto a second-class officer, while I myself am a reserve captain.

A colleague, M., comes to see me. G., another co-worker, also arrives; perhaps she is bothering us: in any case, our three-person scene gives me a great sense of displeasure.

We make several dates to meet; there are a great many of us. Departure for the procession: view of a big party. Wardrobe problem.

The opera (which I’m watching) looks nothing like it should. The stage is terribly far away.

The stage, this time very close: a large bald man, whose face conveys great tenderness, is smashing the skulls of the King, Queen, and Pope with a mace. Among the innumerable male and female extras is B.

I call Z. on the telephone.