Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Lacking Dreams

Dream #1: Snow, heavy and wet, deep.  Open field.  Walking through snow.  Dark jeans, damp, full of water.  Not cold.  The material of the snow holds an artificial almost papery quality.  I see objective reality and am not disabused of my subjective state that the snow is completely fake, arbitrary.  That it could be summer.  Easily.  And that I cold be driving through tunnel of trees.  Across the field, I begin to talk; everything was spelled out perfectly in my mind.  I vomit.

Dream #2. Underwater, maybe 20 feet.  Surface of water looks silver, liquid, terminator skin stretched out until I'm on the inside. My hair is pulled by giant hand.  Suction motion ensues. The top of my scalp comes off.  I look down and have no body.  My legs are running through sharp saplings with thorns and the juice of wild berries cuts across my cheeks.  They taste tart, like strong yogurt strained down and without sugar.

Dream #3. I ride back and forth in a merry-go-round of sorts, various different animals make their way from the forest to entreat me outward.  I work up the courage and find a thin sheet of plastic wrap on the outside of the carousel.  There are projectors stationed everywhere.  They shoot thick gel light onto the shrink wrap.  Large fingers come in with dirty nails, touch me where I cannot stop them.  Select me, reveal me, birth me, eat me.  I am consumed.  I am food.

No comments:

Post a Comment