The jobs I would like to do are dead or dying. The traditional lighthouse keeper is dead. His fortress stands alone, abandoned, but running. Electronic and dehumanized, the towers are on life support. The pulse beats and the organs live, but the soul has left the body. I would like to be him, watching the approach of dusk, glorious and timeless. I would man the candle and ignite the coast. In the sleeping and deviant hours of the land, my friend would be a cup of coffee, warm and reliable. Twilight would be the flag to freedom, dim light sprints into a burst of dawn. What more could reward the soul than something so epic and predictable. Alas, the romance is gone and the keeper dead.
I had an odd dream while in the hospital. It was beautiful as well. It took place in Southwest America, among the cactus and coyotes. I found an old friend's house there, out of place, but there. Walking in past the stairs, I could see they were sleeping and did not want to break the sweet content of slumber. Kicking the doorway as I turned, my true klutzy nature was revealed and my friend woke. He was as warm as ever and the same as I once knew. Only now he was wearing ridiculously thick glasses. He was still the same though. After a visit, dusk was approaching and I had no light home. Neon phosphorescent wildlife welcomed me, a psychedelic western. Luckily, as with any good dream, just what you need falls into your hands. A camera to capture this wonderful oddity materialized. Snap! "Don't fuck it up Jason." How could I fuck up? "Well I better focus anyhow." Steady hands... steady... glowing coyote... steady hands.
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