I’m staring at my newly tattooed face in a mirror. Will I regret this? A black vine sneaks up my neck and wraps around the right side of my face, across my forehead, and ends down my left side. I’m ok with it. I like it even. But how did it get there? ♨
I am at a strange campsite. People live here. Or perhaps I do. There is a fire between three trees that share the same root structure, and a large grate is nestled between the valley of these trees to form a stove top. On the grate is a giant chrome metal pan — it’s about 1.5 meters in diameter (5 feet). In it is sausage. My mother is making it. It looks like goat shit in gravy with a cheese layer on top. It smells delicious, and it’s finished.
“Do you want some?”
– – –
There is strange woman with tattoos of stars above her anus. She’s nude, standing in front of a mirror, spreading her butt checks to reveal the stars. Another woman with tattoos (whom I recognize) is trying to tell me something. I don’t understand her. I don’t know what I’m doing in this dark room. There are other people here too . . . a lot of people, but I can’t see them. I want to leave, but there seems to be something in the mirror that the woman is gazing at herself in. . . . No, it’s not a mirror anymore — it’s a window. Perhaps because of a spell relating to the star tattoos. There is violent storm happening outside . . . it’s not a good place to escape through — I’ll have to find another way out. ♨