Elbe unfinished

Dreams are barely linear. How can I describe how we talked of Elbe, its desolate carved mountainous contours with only a train station running through. Even then I was walking in a plot of weedy land, seeing it for its potential, thinking of composting inside the abandoned race car seat hulk.  Big skunk cabbage leaves everywhere. I wandered in this solitude; sheered off by entering the house to hear her crying for me. She crawled and hung by her fingers from the red tool-chest with stickers.  Then she was the size of a fist and cradled in a small hammock. The baby in fever beside me; in the dream I turned off the hot spray of air and a cold shower dripped onto her wet face. I lay there in a naked embrace with the trio of our generation, for her father had joined us.   The lights came on as the bikers returned. Carl, Lars, and a third black-clothed carabiner-wearing crew member were in the room. Lars was finally ready to talk.

He took me somewhere and said.

“Someone suggested I write this down, so I did.”

He had a black and white composition notebook from which he read, “When I got there he was covered in blood and was flushing the face down the toilet.”

I stopped him there. “Was there a body?”

Lars sort of froze, expecting the words to speak for themselves, without question.

I wonder now, did I get off the train in Elbe once, and walk the brown soil, brown facade of a town, emptied of its old mining families; like a dusty set of “Bride comes to Yellow Sky.”  All I can picture is a combination of images accrued from reading about burnt firestorm scenery North of Berkley, and from the hills of Seattle seen from a plane.  And why would Lars hide something so awful?  I did not sit and listen to what he had written unfortunately, and since I was dreaming, I will never know the content of that book, nor what face was flushed away.

&~~

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pink drug factory

I’m in a warehouse. It is owned by my father. Completely covering the floor is a pink/purple chemical which is a metre deep. I am above it on wooden walkways. My father is walking in the stuff. It is extremely dense and sticky, however, it doesn’t separate from itself–so as you walk you sink into the floor, and when you lift your leg the material clings to the bottom of your shoe, but only to a certain height and then it utterly releases and bounces back into its previous state, never losing solidity with itself. After a few minutes I decide it’s safe to walk on. I talk to my father, curious about why this strange stuff is covering the floors, and he explains that it is a drug that people take. We walk to the dumpster (which is inside) and he starts rummaging through it. Something explodes soaking me in smelly trash water. I’m annoyed because I have nothing to change into, nor do I have a towel to clean myself. I leave the warehouse and go outside. It is night. As I’m walking I see a very tall, thin woman dressed in black. She is has a large, glimmering knife and is approaching a backturned man. I yell, “You’re going to stick that knife in me!” She freezes thinking it is a disembodied voice. Fearing that she is insane, she leaves the man alone. I continue walking into the darkness. ♨