DOLLY PARTON'S TAROT
Dreamed 1995/9/5 by Chris Wayan
I'm playing Hearts with Dolly Parton. She's using a Tarot deck though, one with all sorts of nontraditional cards mixed in, including some I drew myself. So heterogeneous they don't fall neatly into suits or sequences, but she makes up rankings and suits as she goes. They feel logical: her suits all do share a mood; and within them, the runs are characters who seem related--I recall a girl with a hoop, who reappeared in different costumes and eras and contexts... and bodies, some not human.
They're lovely cards--more like plates really, round and nearly a foot wide. I want a deck.
Dolly makes up the game-rules too, as she goes. They seem reasonable enough. You make runs and books, as in other card games?
I question one rule. Rather than explain it, Dolly just gets up in a huff and walks out! I follow her to the doorway and say "I was just asking, not challenging it, it seems reasonable."
She's in the next room, sitting at an actor's make-up table: mirror, lights, and jars. She growls "All you GUYS think I'm STUPID because I have big TITS!"
If there's one thing I hate it's being lumped in with other men, especially if I didn't do what I'm accused of. If anything I falsely assume sexy women are smarter than average, and as it happens I'm not a breast freak. Big-eyed faces, yes, long legs, ohhhh yeah, brains ohhhhhhh baby.... Breasts are way down my list. But I've never met a woman who believed me--are they all breast-obsessed? So I don't even try--just say: "Dolly, you gotta get out of country-western, those guys are makin' you paranoid."
I try to picture Dolly singing Carmen. Or punk, maybe? Hmm.
But while I'm picturing this, she opens her blouse and bares her famous breasts.
And peels them off.
She has smooth blank skin underneath. She puts the breasts in a drawer next to her make-up, and pulls out another set, normal size. Street breasts! A lighter ensemble, now that she's off work. They stick on her skin and become a living part of her: no fuss, no muss...
Lee's Press-On Breasts! I never guessed.
For years, on the cheaper channels of American TV, ads for "Lee's Press-On Nails" were ubiquitous. I always thought they should extend their line--faces, breasts, butts, penises... no fuss, no muss!
I've had dreams about Lee's Press-On Brains, but I see no point in writing those up. George Alec Effinger's already been there, done that. Read WHEN GRAVITY FAILS...
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