fingerless gloves

It was as if I were trying to catch a solid reflection of myself in a rushing brook.

. . . I then started cutting off large sections of each of my fingers so they would fit into the small gloves. I used dull scissors for this horrible chore; it was tougher to get through the tendons than the bone. The bone just snapped clean with the initial pressure — the tendons took a special kind of focused time. However, I saw through the gruesome task with steadfast dedication and utter agony, without so much as a flinch. The real pain and frustration didn’t come until much later. For I realized, not soon enough, that the premise of my reasoning was faulty — the gloves were the fingerless kind!

Needless to say, awkwardly typing this with sore bloody knuckles has been a humbling and lonely experience.

Nicotine Incubus

I have 4 different categories of dreams. Tonight I will talk about one of them. You all probably know about the Incubus; the demon that sits on your chest while you are asleep and suffocates you. I have a Nicotine Incubus. The only reason I say this is that I spend substantial amounts of my life not smoking and have come to make a distinction between dreaming with nicotine in my system and without.  When I am smoking, here is one kind of recurring dream I have:

There is a transitional time between wake and sleep. This dream always happens just about 15 minutes after I have started drifting, and am in that in between period of sleep and wake.

I become dizzy. My head is spinning. It feels very, very heavy. I know it is happening and I try to wake myself. I usually can not. A loud noise, like guitar feedback, scraping nails, screaming, and some kind of engine, deep and full, all start spinning around in my head. I am being pulled deeper into my pillow. I really want to wake up but the intensity and heaviness increase- the noise gets louder and louder- so I become less and less able to wake myself. I am being pulled down.

I sometimes am able to realize I have a choice. If I am feeling strong, I make the right choice. I start to fall. I am in a standing position and begin to fall face down. I trust myself. I am able to fall in slow motion. Just before I hit the floor, I begin to hover. I hover well if I am feeling strong. It is like flying except I am only 3 or 4 feet from the ground. I search out things. Sometimes I can control it. Sometimes I find naked women. Sometimes I just go through earthen tunnels; underground worlds.

The dizziness comes back, the noise, screaming metal sounds. I realize I must awake because I am not able to breathe. I see myself on the bed. I have hovered to myself. On the count of three I will wake up. 1,2,3, Wake up! I think I am awake but the noise starts again. I tell myself I will throw myself on the floor, out of my bed, and do so. I think I am awake, but I am not. I am still being pulled down. I am gasping for breath. The gasping is what wakes me. I look around. I have been still. I haven’t tossed or turned. I am not on the floor. I stand up and am dizzy. I can’t see well. I have to stay out of bed because I know that if I lay back down I will immediately be pulled back in.

The Dream of Change

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. ♨

psychovegetal biology

I’m writing my psychological biology exam and know that I’m failing. It’s kind of a multiple choice test and it has several pictures in which the examinees shall mark mistakes with a cross. I somehow know that there are parts of cells and their components on the pictures, but all I see are the vegetables I cooked the day before: green beans, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower…. The task makes no sense to me and I just tick the broccoli on every picture and fail the test. ☆

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. ♨

shooting spree

I’m at a huge cafe with various seating areas. It’s not quite like a cafe I know in reality but nevertheless it looks familiar.  There’s rooms in the back, too.
I’m talking to someone in a car with four people in it. Suddenly I realize that the person next to the one I’m talking to is my ex-boyfriend whom I didn’t meet but somehow wanted talk to for a long time.
Suddenly I’m in the car and sitting next to my ex. He looks younger, thinner and smaller than I expected and not as mature and attractive as I expected.

I’m in a big building now and I think it’s a school. There will be people of all ages later though. A killing spree is going on, someone wants to shoot me. Probably my ex or Michel.
He has a small but long black gun. One shot kills. I think someone gets shot and I can see a small bloody hole on the person’s back. Everybody in the labyrinthlike school building, a lot of people are screaming and trying to run away.
The shooting person who is trying to catch me wears a thick dark blue and red checked shirt.

We, me and all the other people, are running through the corridors of the big building and I feel like I could get shot every second and that the gunman knows exactly where I’m going.
At some point I’m in a room or corridor with a lot of high white lockers and think it’s the best idea to just hide inside one of them.  As the corridor gets quieter because the majority of people ran away I see that more strangers are hiding in the lockers and that it’s not a good idea because he’ll be able to find me there. So I start running again. I feel bad because the whole situation is my fault. I’m extremely scared.

There’s a group of people, some clearly defined characters I can’t recall now. I’m not sure if they all want to catch me or help. They are discussing and planning something, I observe them.
And start running again. Through corridors and rooms. In one room there’s a milk glass door through which I see a lot of people running on the corridor behind. Someone is in the room with me and I warn that person that there’s a glass door and that we could be seen through it.

Everything gets quiet, everybody ran away. The room I’m now in looks like inside of a factory building. There’s only the group of people who I think wants to help me left. I dare to leave my hideout. I now think that it’s my ex who wanted to catch me. But he disappeared. We don’t know to where and how and why.
I’m looking up to some kind of wooden balcony and see a face.
“There he is” I say and point at him.
Someone asks the shooter “Why didn’t you say (your name is) ‘Michel’?”
“I didn’t think of that” the person answers.
It’s a thin guy wearing a costume that makes him look fatter and like a girl, he has a blond ponytail but a deep voice.

I now realize that the whole group is against me.

Another guy has the lathy black gun and almost shoots me but the gun goes to pieces. (Like in a bad movie, I think.)
I start running again. I’m outside now. There’s a low broad stone tunnel. I can see some rails, hoardings and high grass.
I try to crawl my way to escape.
I’m positive that I’ll be able to escape but I can hardly move forward.
I don’t know how to crawl I think as I wake up because my heart is hammering too hard to stay asleep any longer. ☆

sky cracking

Something is happening in the sky. The clouds are glowing, flickering, and unfolding. Something’s happening, something’s coming. It’s night. I’m outside behind a house. There’s a tree blocking my view. I yell for the girl in the van to come and see — she was reading. I know this girl well, and I’m very fond of her — I want her to see this event and witness its magic with me. There is another girl in the house taking a shower, it’s her friend of the same name. We don’t want her to feel uncomfortable so we try to steer clear of the window; but we have no choice, we must stand with our backs towards it if we want to see what happens when the sky opens up.
– – –
I am in a desolate, post-apocalyptic city. There are Asian and African people everywhere. They are singing in the streets and playing instruments. I don’t know what they want, and I don’t know how I got here. Everything is powered with steam, and this causes the streets to be cast in a hazy white mist. ♨