Some Dreams
posted 3 July 2009, 04:15 by Mike
March 8, 2006
It was a party, or it might’ve been a party, because anyway there were people and they were talking to each other. ***** was there and she had brought a friend, a tan skinned poetess. She gave off a lovingly authoritative feeling. She seemed to act as though she were constantly defining herself, feeling herself out, carving herself out of time like a sculptor shaping marble.I had played a joke on them, maybe for my own amusement, but more likely just to get their attention. For some reason they decided that the best way to get back at me was to tape me having sex with them. They knew is would embarrass me, having everyone see me groaning and enjoying myself. So the poetess seduces me. I find myself in a basement and we are playing around like children, barely conscious of the meanings of our actions. She is suddenly naked and looks beautiful, with her dark golden skin and curves that feel like flows of water, riverbanks and beaches expanding and receding with a low moaning frequency, a static “mmmmmmmm”.
She climbs on top of me. As we have sex she is looking directly in my eyes strongly, not as one who dominates, but like an artist would look at her paint, as a poet would place the correct word in syntax. I became a part of the masterpiece that she was making out of her life, and it’s not even that this made me happy. The closest I can get to describing it is to say that the word “Yes.” was repeating ceaselessly in my mind, like an acceptance of the will of God.
Undated
I fell over on the keyboard, dead to all appearances but with bits and pieces still twitching in the bowels and chest cavity, and the dim glow of embers deep in the skull. The window was broken. The room had been trashed by robbers looking for drug money. I, however, was already unconscious before they arrived. My body had only gotten a second’s glance from them before they began stuffing their bags with CDs, electronics, and any of the money I constantly leave laying around. They left the place a wreck. Everything was quiet but for the tweet of birds, little nothing sounds of the sleepy suburbs. Some squirrels walked over my back. Nothing happened, was happening, would ever happen again.
September 16, 2007
Andy Warhol had a nervous breakdown and started shooting things – mostly windows and some artwork. His eyes looked so red and sad.
September 20, 2007
I was in a class and had just said something, but had been ignored. The teacher pretended she didn’t hear me, and my classmates pretended they didn’t notice her ignoring me. I got pissed off and tried to bring up the fact that she was ignoring me, but everyone acted like they didn’t know what I was talking about, not because they thought she was right, but because they didn’t want a loser like me speaking up in class. Everyone was uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t give it up.Later I somehow sneaked onto a subway train. I was scared because we were sneaking. I was with *** and he was leading the way. When we got in the car the train started up and immediately began to go very fast through Philadelphia. It wasn’t long before I realized that we were rising up above the ground, above street level. The tracks were leading us up into the sky, and I began to feel both intensely scared and incredibly excited, as though I were discovering a new continent. This combination of feelings was so incredible. I kept thinking about falling, about the fragile looking steal rails supporting us snapping suddenly. I thought about how it would feel to fall so far.
We begin to cross over the Ben Franklin Bridge from the side, the thick steel cables sliding very slowly by us. Everything was very very strangely slow now, the way objects seem to pass by slower the farther away you are from them. I felt that falling feeling you get in your stomach when you’re going down rollercoasters, even though we were still up there, still riding over the bridge high up. I thought about calamity, about a sudden collision with an airplane or a freak tidal wave. I felt very scared, very excited, and very alive. The three feeling were completely indistinguishable.
November 8, 2007
It’s already almost gone: a slumber party or something, with friends I’ve never seen before, but apparently was very close to. We were laying around in an amber colored room, on beds, talking and laughing and utterly ecstatic in each other’s company. It was exactly like being a child. These people embodied a part of me outside of myself, essential and inseparable from the whole. Together we created a kind of Garden of Eden, a state of perpetual jubilation.