Egyptian Fantasy
01/11/2023 Song of the Day
Egyptian Fantasy by Sidney Bechet, Vincent Peirani, Emilie Parisien
An odd theory came to me in a dream in the middle of winter two years ago. The second I woke up I wrote down exactly what I could remember, then completely forgot about it:
Small teeth. Writers have small teeth. I notice this. Do they spend a good chunk of their lives making up for this inadequacy? Is this where their curiosity stems from? Small teeth float around like manna. I’ve been paying more attention, lately, to the size of writers’ teeth. It’s like a receding hairline — once you notice it, you can’t stop looking. What’s weird is that the smaller the teeth, the more curious the writer. Perhaps it’s a scarcity of calcium, a paucity of bone structure, but this odd deficiency allows writers to seek strength in external material. Writers are often very insecure. Their security lies outside themselves through intangible pieces of information and inspiration they’ll recite but never truly understand. What a life I’m condemned to.
I found this deep in the notes section of my phone this morning and was a bit spooked by it. I took a look in the mirror. My teeth are on the smaller side, but not small enough to warrant this idea that I’ve never considered while conscious. What creeps me out the most, what makes me most afraid of myself, is the part where I write that “I’ve been paying more attention, lately, to the size of writers’ teeth.” I’ve never had a teeth-gazing faze. I’ve never even cared much or thought much about teeth, so as long as they aren’t noticeably ugly. I mean, I know that ugly teeth are sort of in vogue, like the ones with the massive gaps that you could fit a pencil through. I’m subtly aware of teeth, how they define one’s style and can contribute to identity. My teeth were never of much importance to me though. They’re quotidian teeth. Nothing special. I value the importance of brushing yet don’t have the discipline to floss as much as I’d like. When I do floss, my gums bleed, and the taste always reminds me of meat, which in that instance always makes me want to become a vegetarian. As I write this now I realize how integral teeth are to our existence, how they help dictate what we consume, the stuff our cells are made of.
When I was a child, I did genuinely believe in the tooth fairy, that capitalist whore; if she gives me two dollars per tooth, she must be selling them for more. I don’t remember the moment in my life that it became apparent the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, but it was probably around the same time I realized that jet packs weren’t real, that levitation was impossible, and that rain isn’t god crying because I’ve told a lie. What a crushing part of life, when one realizes their imagination isn’t necessarily real. I say necessarily because that’s what humans are lauded for, the ability to turn their imagination into reality. Skyscrapers and modern plumbing systems are good examples of this. That takes hard work, though, and it’s rooted in empiricism. The tooth fairy, unfortunately, isn’t empirical. It’s a myth in our collective consciousness. In some sense, though, this is a way for imagination to become reality. You tell a fantastical tale so many times that it exists in the heads of thousands, eventually millions, and even if nothing physical backs it up, the story in our heads becomes as real as a block of wood, can effect us much more than being hit with a block of wood. That’s pretty cool, I think.
Why do I dream of small teeth and how they define me as a writer? Why teeth and not hands, feet, or penis? Perhaps I’m not as phallic-minded as all those gender theorists may suggest. Perhaps there is some truth to the monologue I dreamt. My strength comes from the external, from something separate that I don’t understand, yet oddly, conversely, exists through me as if a part of me. What’s that all about? I suppose it’s the kind of oneness with the world that occurs after biting down on food, or an idea difficult to grasp. That still doesn’t explain the unknown knowns, the concepts and ideas that seemingly appear out of thin air.