s entirely dependent on who you are and how I know you and whether or not you're on my shit list today. Some of you are permanently on my shit list, in which case I cannot help you. Sorry. For the rest, read on!) Besides, as the late, great Alexander McQueen said, "The world needs fantasy, not reality. We have enough reality today."
My world will be very sparsely populated by people who I'm not tempted to murder. (So we're talking a total population of about 40-45.) But these people will be artists, writers, philosophers, la Boheme; poets and dreamers, stargazers and the ones who wish on stars and pink cars. I call you home, silly-hearts and lovers. I summon you, all Right-Brained Peopled! I'll "wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant" (Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Considerations by the Way").
Instead of churches, we will have holy libraries built like cathedrals. We will worship at the altar of the Written Word and our saints will be the great writers of the past, present, and future. Henry David Thoreau, J.K. Rowling, Edgar Allen Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Dr. Seuss, Leo Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Tolkein, C.S. Lewis, Lewis Carroll, the Grimm Brothers, Roald Dahl, Paulo Coelho, Patricia Polacco, Beatrix Potter and others will be among our leading saints. For wasn't it Thoreau who said that, "Books are the treasured wealth of the world and the fit inheritance of generations and nations"? Our preachers will be literature professors and writers, children and their daydreams. Our prayers will be written, sung, and whispered. After sermons we will walk in the parks and think and daydream and hunt for wishing weeds and fairy rings. We will "never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them" (Lemony Snicket, Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid). Peter Pan will reign supreme. (With me, of course.... )
We'll take the great works of art out from under glass and put them in pretty frames like touch-&-feel under natural light. Our children's museums will feature classic illustrations from children's books, statues they can touch, visual artists, dancers and street performers; whole galleries dedicated to art created by the children themselves. Imagine a massive kitchen fridge - the place of highest honor. Bubble baths and bedtime stories will be sacred rituals and lullabies will be our hymns. We'll write our dreams down first thing when we wake up and share them with our lovers at the breakfast table over coffee.
Instead of TVs, we'll have personal libraries and writing desks filled with enough quills, ink, fresh paper and blue pens to satisfy the writing of a lifetime. We'll have magical, automatic teapots that keep tea warm but not scalding, and pour each cup to the liking and preference of the intended drinker. For example, should my aunt and I share a pot, hers would come out with just a bit of cream, while mine would pour out full of milk and sugar. Instead of harsh, "eco-friendly" fluorescent lighting, we'll have lights that look and feel and glow like candlelight. No, I don't mean those stupid electric candles. Our "candles" will flicker, and burn down and be warm and smell nice and infuse our rooms with coziness and a hint of romance (with and without the big R). We'll work with frantic energy and the calm of a Sunday afternoon, taking turns of peace and chaos. We'll have jobs we love that don't destroy our souls.
Our graffiti will be beautiful, like the graffiti of Europe and occasional small places in America. We'll have artists making statements that aren't too politically charged but make you think. Mosaics, spray paint, stencils, brushes, and a message: that's all we'll need to beautify our city walls, buildings and alleys.
You and I will go to the beach on Wednesday afternoons to listen to street musicians and interview tattoo artists. Taylor Swift, Andy Grammer, Jack's Mannequin and Missy Higgins will be the soundtracks of our lives. You'll ask about my poetry and play your guitar while I sing my most recently composed song. You'll wrap your arm around me and I'll take your hand and drag you through the sand. We'll sink our toes in the surf and stare up at the sun and get lost in each other all over again.
I'll be a whirlwind of color and music and clouds and springtime and teacups and good books and yarn and late night conversations, train rides, cigarettes and cheap, satisfying booze.
This is the world I've dreamed up. Are you coming?
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