dolphin safe

I’m standing on a rickety pier, surrounding me throbs and swells a black angry ocean. No land in sight. The sun beating on my neck, the still empty blue sky above. I’m fishing with only a hooked line and a short thick stick. No bait. Despite the pitiful tackle, I am able to throw the 3-pronged hook far off into the rough waters. I use the stick to help me reel it in by twisting the line around it. My bare hands covered in thin red lines.
On one throw the hook lands centered in a pod of playing dolphins. I love dolphins. I immediately start to reel in the line as quickly as I can — nervous because I don’t want to catch one on the hook.
SHIT! . . . Got something! . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . .
I’m frantically twisting the line around the stick — it’s dragging something, something big, something heavy. My arms, hands, and fingers strain and ache — my tension builds as the struggling creature is desperately tugged closer . . . please . . . I don’t want this to be true. Sharp pains running from my fingertips to the base of my neck. Closed eyes . . . please don’t be a dolphin . . . please . . . .
Then I see . . . it’s not a dolphin!
My dear friend, Katie! . . . the hook is through her nose!
I collapse to my knees and break out into uncontrollable tears. She reassures me that she is fine while yanking and twisting the gnarled hook from her nose and climbing from the cold black water. But it doesn’t matter. I’m devastated — reminded of every time I have unintentionally hurt someone that I love. A deep hopelessness swallows my mind as dark clouds close in and spiral violent above me. My sobs growing louder, the sky cracks open, and frigid raindrops pierce my heart. My breath becomes the turbulent surface of the untamed sea — and I vanish within everything surrounding me.

I wake gasping for air. And the lyrics of a song immediately possess my mind — they soothe and cradle my sadness as I try to fall back into sleep.

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love lost bookstand

I’m wondering through dark, narrow streets. A woman I love is tending a bookstand. It is an odd promotion for a newly released book—brightly lit stands are everywhere. The book’s name is constantly changing. We see each, but she ignores me. I’m distressed about this and don’t know what to do. I’m on a terrance and an acquaintance offers me a few drags off a joint. I take them hoping the alternative perspective will help me  understand why the woman is so angry and hurt. It doesn’t help, I only realize more fully that the situation is out of my control, but I can’t let it go. I’m racing in a car to the university we both attend. I awaken in a lingering state of strife and sadness, feeling that my love will not be seen or felt.   ♨

jehovah’s wittnesses assassin

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. ☆