September 24, 2014 § Leave a comment

Usually I dream about twisted staircases–or such things are at the very least prominently featured–but this time the stairs were missing. They were being repaired elsewhere, which is something I understood in between fragments of waking thoughts like “I can tell whether someone is nervous when I’m standing off to their side, now I am going to stand behind someone else and see what vibes I can catch from them”, but I could only walk behind anyone because anyone (everyone) was moving ethereally downhill. On Saturday the orchestra I am in did a concert (a microphone was on us, I wanted to throw up but did not), and I could feel Mrs. C’s stilted nervousness wafting at me, from my position near her side, as she introduced herself and us and the music. In the dream a guy up on the third floor was doing something dangerous, but no one could reach him except that I was also already in the room, slyly stealing beautiful people’s phones and using the phones to complete very exciting internet quizzes that told me what type of owl or letter opener (!) I am. Do I slice you open and leave jagged edges, etc. Then I realized I was the only ugly person there so I left. Beneath us was a train station and the conductor, orchestra not train (lexically leaping subconscious), attached herself to my back. The warmth of her made me feel protected. I carried her along while I stole more things, like used children’s books upon which I drew full body silhouettes with tiny pink and orange flowers around the hips, and pastel blue lines streaking down their backs. Then I started writing words over the bodies and immediately felt sorry that I obliterate everything with immensely useless words. I can still feel her on my back, her ability to catch my vibes from behind me, and how I do not know how to play the role of protector, which paradoxically she is doing as a child upon my back, or perhaps not because of the nature of symbiotic relationships; anyhow, my most finely tuned vision is peripheral, so what the fuck’s it all about.


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