The Lemonheads

Evan Dando sings to me on the way to work. He tells me that I'm his most imaginary friend.

GOMA

I sit in a room watching a video made with a camera strapped to a Jack Russell somewhere in Germany. It's all frenzy, exposed teeth and eye-to-eye dog business in the frosty park until inside the terrier jumps on a sofa and sits for long minutes watching snow fall outside the window. In the foyer there is an elephant dead or sleeping and covered in bindis the shape of sperm. The size of the body doesn't allow the head to rest and it remains pushed forward and to the side, trunk curled underneath. The pose, to me, for lack of comfort suggests death. These are my two favourite things.

In the cafe we see Margaret and David. They are jovial. It is disappointing. The cake never comes but we are happy.

Jack White has dark circled eyes like Johnny Depp. He stares from the side of a bus and it's not unpleasant. The dogs in the video have yellow eyes. At dog level they remind me of fish eyes in the cabinet and on ice at the markets.

What is my life? These electronic messages and conversations where I must find a solution? Some things stay with me, as a feeling in the back of my brain, my head, my mind. A deformed baby on a plane. My panicked eyes finding shelter in feigned sleep and sunglasses. A boy who needs help, who leaves the group but allows me to follow. A house sliding into a smooth sea.