I’m the operator of a cable car that travels between six planets in the deeper realms of outer-space. Out the triangular windows are various celestial sights that would undoubtedly mesmerize my waking-self but don’t phase my dreaming-self in the least. It’s all routine to me.
Today we’re traveling at a ridiculously high speed — way faster than usual. Emily is sitting across from me. I can sense that she is nervous. I glance around the car and realize that everyone is overtaken with a silent fright — and they are all looking to me for some sort of guidance. The car is a bit rundown and could use a paint job — the green pleather seats are torn and a good few of the lights are dim or flickering. As I’m glancing around the car it dawns on me (in a rather causal way, might I add) that we will all die in this car and, in fact, be dead within the next few minutes. The cables have snapped, and we are plummeting through space at an incomprehensible speed — a speed, that alone, will destroy this steel car and our ripe bodies within it.
I knew something was different about today. What am I talking about?! I’ve been working this job too long. There is no “today”. I haven’t lived a solid “day” in years . . . or a night for that matter. Life, for me, exists in perpetual motion. I have no star to call “Sun”, and I’m not even oriented by the billions that surround me. This car is routed on cables. The steering wheel in my hands is just for show. My presence here is a joke.
I decided it’s better to keep a straight face. No one needs to know about our fate. They will only freak out and begin to scream. And Emily? …why worry her? …to what avail? No, I’ll keep quite. Smile around, and send her a wink. We will all be stardust soon enough….
Suddenly, my ears begin to tingle and then sting. And then a single, insistent, and ever-sharpening pain shoots through my skull. The sharpest I have ever felt. I look around . . . everyone is cupping their ears with their hands . . . mouths agape. My eyes widen, mouth drops open. Am I screaming? Are they screaming? We all seem to be screaming. It feels like I’m screaming. The pain between my ears is so acute that, even though it is deathly silent, it is the loudest, most terrible thing I have ever heard. My consciousness, and entire life, have been swallowed by the searing pain — and I vanish into the empty soundless space.
I awaken in my room, it’s 1am, and I have the worst earache I have ever had.
I was cleaning out a desk and I had a sneaking suspicion it had old food. I lifted a layer of papers and there was old bologna slices of pepperoni and rancid white shredded cheese. It stank. I cleaned it all away. Yuck! I came around to the desk and there was a woman offering me her husband’s teeth. She was striding somewhere on the second level so I met someone familiar but not quite sure it was Michel. He seems to fit the essence of the person though. He offered me the teeth explaining how they could file the ridges down. They looked too big for my mouth. I took them, and as I walked away I wondered how I would get from where I was to the appointment in Philadelphia on the 11th. There was somewhere south I had to go too. I thought momentarily of the time I used to drive up and down the eastern seaboard in my $50 dollar car. Then I would drive six hours alone, or thirteen, on a whim. But now this would be difficult.
I took the teeth.
I was at the table with the scientists when I asked a question that they were egotistically proud they had studied but not concerned with disseminating it, or discussing it. It was a pretty woman who had studied ethnopaleobotany I think. I didn’t get any information from her. I was down in the cement ally ways with the kids and the animals. A gorilla plucked a child who was being hurt up over the gate like a bag of trash. He wanted to speak to a man. I went down further into the ally. Black dogs barked all around me. I tried to reason with them, talking to them. I knew I had to get out of there.
Up in an office there was a travolta president. There was a handsome man in a suit who wanted to see me. There was an elevator you could press worn buttons on. They were pearlized and not lit up. I read CHILE and VIETNAM and I picked Chile not really expecting to be there when I pressed the button. Still everyone walking down the corridor was speaking Spanish. I turned around to go back to the elevator.
My escape from the black dogs I was running to a brown box and turning a right hand key and a latch opened and I drove away.
At the edge of the city Daniel Grafton was there and he gave me a long hug. It was sunrise.”Welcome to Baltimore,” I said. I parked in the middle of the road. But then I moved the car flush against a building and was unpacking. A hand reached through the gap between the building and the car for my bag. I couldn’t go back, I was cut off from the road, from the moment just before. Victoria Burkhardt was there. I asked if I could keep her black shoes. Sexy, Slinky Style she said or some other Es alteration. They were four inch heels with gold circles going up the side. I would never wear something like that.
A hand was rubbing mine softly…it was Joseph waking me up.
It was that some knew when they were asked and some knew not to say much. The difference between a possessed and someone looking for the dawn to come was in the amount of clever hesitation. Only the dawn peaked and never rose. Rounding the corner, the hyper strong possessed girl came toward me. Another stepped out and they seemed to distract each other. Around the corner, the light was a warm nebula over the field where the city ended, and in that moment a heat of questioning seemed to permeate everyone. We all wanted to know who remained pure. It must have been that some still thought they were but had been possessed. Their eyes were thick with questioning and leaned into your my space. I ran toward the sky but it only became a road down which streets with porches of tired beach weathering seemed to hold the very possessed who had bothered me at the dawn. In a home small wolves with red eyes and strange sac bodies of blood were strewn. The home seemed sick with vampiricism. Like the other women, I had an ornate shell anklet. One dark skinned girl was shaking shells in front of her chest and face and chanting. The elder talked of pairings. Mentioning me and someone named “Japan,” I turned and saw a strange white skinned boy with dark little nutty eyes. Said we were two individuals. Maybe we were all zombies. No one seemed gone into the light.
Journeying the child is with me. There are preparations to make. Another scene.I go to a gym behind my house through green gates, taking a bicycle with me past the lifting railroad bar, with assurance of special access. Up the cheap carpeted steps are machines for learning how to deal with flying mach 5 speed planes. There are old institutionalized warmonger types in there laughing. It seems less athletic and more like an old boys club. I go down the stairs. There are a few comfortable stuffed eclectic cafe-furniture chairs centered on a plastic vinyl- fronted computer with a screen the size and shape of a juke box. It is displaying the works of writers. I choose a female poet’s work to read. Its pleasurable to touch the screen. I begin to read it and a conversation interrupts me. A man was talking nearby about children. His wife appears with dark curled hair and big anxious eyes. I feel conscious of my wedding ring on my hand which rests on my propped up knee. Now I am in an art studio with pressed wood top tech-ed tables. A woman unfolds brown paper with white charcoal sketches. I commented on making the art from the insects perspective. I continued, explaining very clearly, “because I am psychic…”&~~
I dream a lot these hazy days but can hardly recall all the pictures and appearing people, situations and moods.
Tonight I was chased by a woman from a religious cult. She shot me in an open street. I knew I was already dead but still conscious. I saw everything happening around but hoped she wouldn’t recoginze.
Though I was already dead I wanted to spread signs that could lead to my murderer later. I ripped some magazines apart and threw the pasges in all directions. I also had a booklet from the woman’s organization and ripped it in pieces, hiding one part of it in my pants.
I felt no pain but that it was a pity I was dead. ☆
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. ☆