purple jelly monsters

I’m in clearing in the middle of a rolling thick forest. It’s dark. A fairly large community of people started living here ever since a Black Magician put a spell over the land. We live in trailers and eat whatever we can scavenge. There is a political science club that holds classes on political theory — I am in this club — and we are currently studying for a national test that will award a monetary scholarship to those who score in the top 5 percent. I couldn’t care less, but I’m still kept up at night trying to solve annoying practice test questions. The teachers of this preparatory class are my former high school professors — I know they don’t like me very much.
Life in the forest has a very cinematic quality to it. Everything feels predetermined, as if at any moment someone much larger will hit an otherworldly fast-forward or rewind button. Tension is running high through the community. Word is out that the Black Magician will be up to something particularly sinister this evening (and this is the night before the big test on political theory!).
The ground begins to tremble and the surrounding trees are swaying frantically, though the sky is nursing no wind. Over the treetops an enormous glowing purple mountain begins to amass . . .  no, not a mountain . . . .   It has eyes! And a dreadfully large mouth lined with razor-sharp teeth! A giant beast is approaching! It’s body is a bit translucent through a hazy purple hue, with stout arms and legs protruding from its robust round figure.
As it enters the clearing I can see that it is at least thirty trees tall. Almost immediately it explodes into hundreds of large jelly balls . . . and then those balls explode into thousands of smaller one. This multiplication of itself happens about four more times until the earth is covered in millions of balls the size of a human hand. Deep dimples form in the balls, two of which fill in with mean glaring eyes, and one which hollows out into a sharp hungry hole. I have a gun that shoots lightening. I take aim and fire, but my weapon is useless against the ravished jelly beasts. My childhood friend (Joe) drive up in a cardboard bus. He is going to save the day (or at least that is the sentiment that his arrival elicits). About thirty people dressed in white assemble against side of the bus — they form a wall, three people high, standing on top of each others’ shoulders. Suddenly a massive saw blade begins slicing through the bus, and it passes smoothly through the bodies of the people whose white clothes are now red with blood. They collapse into a withering pile of limbs and heads. The monsters are hypnotized by the spectacle, and quickly begin to gorge themselves on the human offering. After being hypnotized, myself, for a few moments over the feasting monsters, I make my way to a quite trailer at the edge of the village. I have to inquire about a particularly difficult question that I’m nervous is going to be on the test in the morning.
Freakin’ test! Do I really need to take it? I hate these kinds of tests!

under a veil of darkness

She’s nude, lying under a translucent veil. Her eyes are a hazy milky white . . . swirling. She questions me. Beckons me. Tempts me to follow her strange sting of nonsensical language. Without English words she explains what is wrong. She exposes each and every one of my crimes . . . the crime of breath . . . the crime of hunger . . . the crime of thought . . . the crime of motion.

Her breasts form a raised comforting shape, and her nipples, two dark patches beneath the fabric. She smiles, and instructs me to unhinge my soul — to make it spill out through my boney fingers . . . to never let it back into my body once it is free.

Her milky eyes swirling faster. . . .  Blood is dripping off the moon. A fork lodged in my tongue.

I understand: “Write — with reckless abandon — write. But for the love of words — shatter your pen.”  ♨

moon beasts

The sky is falling. It’s gorgeous. Clouds are billowing upwards into shifting columns at a frantic speed. There are 2 moons. I’m walking with Ezy and he morphing into Ken. We don’t know if we are going to die or not. Large white blocks are falling as well. Alligator-like monsters are walking over the moon. They are gigantic, almost the size of the moon itself. Both moons are full, I recognize one as the earth’s moon. The other is alien to me, and has a deep cast of red to it. I’ve seen these alligator beings before. They haunt me at night. Their eyes are big, and their teeth bigger.

I am breast-feeding a baby. I’m not good at it. It hurts a bit. The baby is annoyed.  ♨

crocodile road

I’m in a second story apartment with my friend Helen. She has a beautiful terrace that overlooks a lively and colorful street — the scene makes me think I’m in a city in South America. As we’re talking on the terrace I notice that the shop names below are changing. At first I am baffled, but then this tips me off to the fact that I may be dreaming. Immediately an excited fear pierces my mind. I start looking around in attempt to read the shifting signs above the storefronts. I can’t — they are moving and changing too fast, and the roman letters are taking on different shapes and colors. We move inside and I grab Helen by the waist and she whispers something into my ear and kisses my cheek. I ask her if we are dreaming. She nods with a grin. I’m overwhelmed with a intoxicating sense of freedom. I don’t know what to do: Should I rearrange the dream? Summon the ghosts of old friends? Take flight? Make love with an apparition? All the possibilities scramble my brain and render me powerless. I’m stuck — I know I’m dreaming, but I don’t know how to manage the experience — and now I’m unconvinced that the far off world my body is sleeping in holds any authenticity. I’m also frighted and a deep loneliness ruptures within my body . . . “It’s all only me.”
– – –
I’m driving north on Route 29, heading to 70 west, going to West Virginia. I’m on a motorbike, and I’m not paying attention to the road, occasionally falling into a trance. I snap to and realize that I fell asleep while driving and missed 70. “Where am I? These are hilly dirt roads. How did I get here? This isn’t 29. How did I manage this while sleeping?” I’m still drowsy, and I can barely keep my eyes open. And slowly I realize that every time sleep overtakes me, and my eyes close, they open somewhere else. I’m flopping between two distinct worlds; however the secondary one is very faint. I’m constantly jolting myself back to the one in which I’m driving the motorbike over the dirt roads — it seems more authentic to me, and the one in which it is more pressing that I find my way, the road seems treacherous. I manage to stay awake driving just enough to see that the road ends at the base of a hill at a watery pit. I come to a sliding stop on my bike just before the water’s edge. I see that the dirty shallow water is full of crocodiles. I start getting nervous, and turn the bike around to leave. The dirt on the ground is as fine as powder, and the struggle up the hill is slow and hard. As I’m leaving I see another beast: this one is bodiless and is only the head of a crocodile but its lidless eyes are catlike, huge, perfectly round, and emerald green. I have no idea how, but despite have no body, it is still capable of moving around terribly fast. It’s chomping its gapping jaw and staring at me, into me — and the layered sounds its jaw makes as it chomps are ghastly and loud. I manage to get on top of the hill, but sleep comes for me again. I’m driving — my eyes close and open . . . I am looking out into my room, lying on my bed . . . they close . . . I’m driving on the dirt road, I don’t know where I’m going . . . they open . . . I am lying on my bed. This happens a few more times and then this world, in which I am writing out this occurrence, holds me. And I am left wondering where I’m headed on that dirt road. ♨

ice donkeys

I’m in the back seat of a topless jeep with my friends, Patrick & Jen. It’s night. We are in city resembling Hanoi, Vietnam. After a few minutes we realize the driver has vanished, and we are headed, full speed, into oncoming, one-way traffic. I scramble to the front and attempt to gain control of the auto. I jerk the wheel and we go over the wide medium. The steering is awkward. I can barely gain control over the machine, but I manage to get us into the basement of a department store. People are telling me to go into a crowded room. The room is red and full of donkeys that have human heads. They are running in circles and merging into one another — the trunk of their bodies fuse and their heads and legs multiply. I reach out my neck and take a big bite out of one of beasts. Its flesh is flavorless and as cold as ice, there is no blood. A nude woman emerges from the tear in its skin. She dances before me and I quickly start to feel uncomfortable and decide to leave. ♨

eight breasted beast

I am going to the home of Ezy, a fiercely libertarian New Mexican savage–a massive amount of construction is happening, new red brick pathways are being either being put in or torn out. I get into the house and Ezy’s hair has been shaved on the sides, much like mine was a few minutes before. I left mine long at the bangs though, despite being told it wasn’t a fashionable decision. Ezy’s is shorter. He leads me through the house, Dorthy is with me. We pass his family, all of whom have the sides of their heads shaved, and I spot a tiny sculpture of a deformed head that his wife has made. I comment on it and say that I like her work. We are led into a tiny room that has glass walls–it’s almost as if we are on display in the room. The room is cornered in the house, and only two walls are made of glass and don’t have a right angle parting them, instead the glass is curved. Suddenly it goes dark and think, opaque walls form–I start to feel an immense uneasiness grow within me. Dorthy turns violent. Her arms elongate and she digs her nails into the 10 foot high ceiling, which looks like an oriental rug, and begins running back and forth tearing it down. She then starts running around the room destroying the walls with her shoulders, she is moving at a terribly inhuman speed and full of deranged power–she’s obviously possessed with something of a malignant nature. The lighting begins to flicker violently and then, as if the destruction she was causing was some sort of unholy rite, a space in the center of the room clears itself of all the debris. I am in the center of this awful cyclone, and I begin to stretch out unnaturally. My face begins to elongate downwards, my eyes cave in to small black points. I feel this transformation happening in my bones, and simultaneously I am watching it happen from across the room. My nose disappears, and my mouth turns into a tiny round hole. My face looks similar to that of a truncated anteater’s and black, stripped marking line the sides of my face. I begin to grow breasts, eight of them form–they are of various sizes and shapes and the nipple is uniquely different on each. Dorthy begins batting at my breasts, taunting me, but I don’t have full control of this new body. It is only responds with tiny movements as I strain within it. I am in a terrible state of panic, there is a part of me that is aware that I am asleep and knows my mind can not heal from this metamorphosis if it is allowed it to continue–so with all my might I will myself awake. ♨