Ayyy, so this is some cute ass fluff cause I'm a slut for that fukkenn fluff, man.
***
Right now I'm just laying here on my bed with Carter on a very lazy Sunday afternoon. With every word I think, I feel as if I'm losing time and patience. Though, this lack of productivity is when Carter is the most happy because his productivity comes in the form of his beautiful imagination while mine is very tactile. As I sit here doing nothing, there's an endless amalgamation of ideas buzzing though Carter's head, and he's spending his time meticulously sorting it all out into a story. I'd like to take a walk around in his mind and get lost in there. But for now, all I've got's this lazy Sunday morning turned afternoon.
Carter's got his Classic rock and swingin' blues playlist on in the background. A Jimi Hendrix song is playing.
Singing about the Valleys of Sunrise
Green and blue canyons, too
Singing about Atlantis love songs
The Valleys of Neptune is rising, rising, rising.
Jimi's iconic guitar began to screech up and down the scale creating the foreboding illusionary sound of a child screaming despite the positive mood of the song. Hendrix is an absolute icon of rock history with such an unfitting death at twenty seven. He didn't even die respectably. He choked on his own vomit. It's a damn shame.
"Wow, radio de los muertos has got it all."
Carter spoke.
That's what he called it sometimes when we listened to songs by dead people. It's Spanish for "radio of the dead." Some of his creative musings are a bit unsettling, but it only goes to show you how otherworldly his mind is.
I was about to make some comment at the end of Jimi's solo, but I was cut short by Carter's sudden burst of excitement.
"Oh my god, the flower festival is today!"
Announced Carter, suddenly bounding from the bed.
Oh yeah, that's what today is. I knew there was a reason that I made two sets of bicolor Carnations. One set for Carter's birthday, and one set to hand out flowers to people at the festival.
I gathered my things from the botany room and headed out the door still in my pajamas.
***
At the flower festival, there were two distinct sets of people: artsy tree hugging hippies with bell bottoms and guitars slung over their backs and nice old ladies who were glad to see that the young folks are dressing like it was back in their day. The festival itself is quite lively as expected. Each stand had their own gimmick: flowers for death, flowers for love, miscellaneous flowers, flowers for the rich, flowers of blood, and quite possibly my favorite, flowers for your great aunt rue who won't get off your back for that one time you broke her moderately expensive vase.
Both Carter and I shared a laugh over how awkwardly large their sign is and how crammed all the words were, but it has the best business of any flower stand in this festival due to its delightfully outrageous name.
I gave the batch of bicolor carnations to Carter and he gladly passes them out to hordes of sixties-clad teens and groups of reminiscent moms. He smiles and bids them polite farewells as they walk off to wherever.
It was the cutest thing when a group of adorable little French children ran up with their little chorus of Monsieurs and pardons. They formed themselves naturally into a single file line to receive their flowers wishing us a good afternoon once they got them.
Carter and I continued to stroll about the festival admiring all of the stands.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt as if the world was fine. I was delightfully overwhelmed by the accumulation of vivid sights and people. And today of all days felt like it was in its own separate little pocket of time and space. It felt like the reservoir our mind keeps of times we are happy.
I took a few Polaroids here and there feeling artsy as hell. But soon as it began, the crowd began to cease its growth and fade away. Soon after the majority had left so did carter and I.
When we got home, we both noted that the smile high has now worn off, and we were now insanely bored and highly touch deprived.
"Thanks for taking me to the festival, Cara."
Carter says, as he stepped closer.
"Mm-hmm," I nodded," I had fun too, love."
I stepped away from him to his dismay, but it was only to turn on the radio. I once again stepped close to him wrapping my arms around his waist and putting my forehead against his.
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on
A-Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me
We danced a jaunty little fifties two step to the beat of the song as it continued, and we sung along. We dance to the next one, and the song after that. We did the twist to The Beatles' Twist and Shout. We danced the Jitterbug to Little Richard's Tutti Frutti. We sung and danced till twelve.
Now, all I've got's this Sunday evening turned Monday midnight.
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