Rudolfo Carrillo's 116th Dream: Burque Beyond Quirky

by Rudolfo Carrillo

Of course, there is a place called Albuquerque in the other world.

Crickets chirp in the summertime, just like they do here in Ridgecrest. Upon closer inspection, however, they are coloured a deep, bluish violet and resemble our pet dog, Schrödinger. Also, a wide and rushing river separates the Sandia Mountains into two craggy ranges. On one side of the river are homes of considerable wealth made from the smooth white stones of eternity, while on the southern banks, immense tunnels guarded by mangy coyotes and dead rattlesnakes lead into a world populated by old-timey pioneers, gamblers and forlorn cattle thieves.

At the edge of the Manzano Mountains, nestled in pines and aspens made lofty by constant exposure to the sentient radioactive weapons dwelling beneath the blanket of smoke that drifts and hums across the plains and upwards to the peaks, there is a ramshackle amusement park with a large ferris wheel and a famous restaurant. They make the best tortillas in the world there. The enchilada plate is not too shabby, either.

I won't tell you much about the tin and adobe skyscraper next door, except to say that it is abandoned and that all the walls inside are painted the same color they used in the tuberculosis sanitoriums of the early twentieth century. I think that young people use the parking lot for automobile races, now.

All sorts of humans drift through the town in hot-air balloons or else ride in busses back and forth from the foothills to the southern edge of the settlement, where a leaden and tranquil sea provides a natural barrier to the immense military outpost on the far shore. The base is only accessible by hovercraft. The guards there wear crisp blue uniforms in honor of the sky.

At the corner of Louisiana and Montgomery, a complex and chaotically engaged mechanical behemoth rises from the asphalt, giving birth to a plethora of transportation devices, ranging from covered wagons to new, swift locomotives and custom lowriders. Taking one of these vehicular contrivances downtown has been designed by the city fathers to be a pleasant experience, with ample views of the heavy wooden Masonic temple on Coal Avenue available from any perspex viewscreen.

At the center of all this, in the midst of the urban otherness that I can only dream about, a vast, winged and curiously amused cephalopod holds court while fixed gear bicyclists rush arrogantly away from the old one's admonitions, fleeing into alleyways and hotel rooms filled with faceless visitors from Mars, Venus, Los Lunas, and Bernalillo.