a strange dream where i am a solid communist through and through, 7pm-10pm
and i hate my relatives for running to america because they couldn't hang with the strict rules, the famines, and what not. relatives - older brother and sister? - are coming back to visit although i am not pleased to see them. blooming sexuality forces things different, as i am accused of displaying wanton sexuality, which is not true.
compatriots start stealing from our home while mom and dad are away under the guise of looking for signs of 'westernization' in our home. i chase the two around the home as they drop everything, watching as they knock our old school but surprisingly flat television over. then i have one cowering in the corner. i want to beat his ass savagely, but no matter how hard i bring down my flogger i cannot kill him. all i can do is elicit screaming from him, but i want him to hurt even more. i want to see blood.
i run. run far far away from my village, even though the road turns paved and into the stretch of road that looks like 75th in naperville righ before zero gravity. to my right, where prairie only supposed to exists, a group of large stag deer live. only many of the larger bucks are dead, their stiffened, rotting bodies stuck upright into the roofs of small cars. the space is wide and full of yellowing grasses. more cars occasionally veer from the street and onto the prairie, some being immediately chased by bucks. i watch as they jump onto the trunk of the car, tipping it ninety degrees with their weight and then head-butting. but i don't see what makes them die with their heads in the car and i don't see where the drivers go because now i am past them.
i find myself walking on what i recognize as lakeshore path in madison. dozens of other people walk on the freshly asphalted path. i want to go to the next town over. i could have taken the regular, shorter route but i want to do this one. however, the path is now set behind a series of large mansions that are build closely next to each other. for some reason there are massive swing sets in each backyard, swingsets that span the yard and nearly touch its neighbors. i watch them from a certain height, nearly eye level to the second floor of the houses. i see one built round a large tree, with a circumference that would take six of me hugging it to encircle. it is encased in lumber and an elaborate, two story tree house is built on its branches. i try to look for a bathroom but i don't see anything. on the ground around the tree, platforms built at an incline keep the tree off-limits to pedestrians. the side facing the path has a tall wall of wood, a defense that all the other swing sets have. it is not certain how children get into the tree house in the first place.
i climb onto the wall facing the path. standing on top of the cross-beams. it is built so i can see through the slats. fair-haired children are playing and they hear me rattling on the wall. they call for their mother but she dismisses them. i continue, scuttling like a crab on the walls of swingsets. one mansion's swing set is poorly built, obviously having the landowner's hand in it. i scoff at this bougie attempt at shop. he has built it all with crossbeams nailed from the bottom, so as i pull down with my weight, the nails become loose and the beam partially dislocates.
lakeshore path is longer in my dream and there are many more houses. finally a child spots me and i drop to the ground and run, the enormous swingsets no longer protected by a wall. i don't know if they are being malicious or being playful but i don't want to find out. i run through a complex series of plastic purple tubes. someone is shooting at me with an irritating foam gun. it sputters like the last moments of a dying man and as i run i laugh. i tell the child it would be more effective if the foam was packaged into bullet form that exploded on impact. the chase almost becomes friendly. i leap onto one slide that goes over a fence that is one story tall. i am in the next town.
we are in a mall, me and some people, walking along a series of eateries. one girl is lamenting the end of the dream. i tell her at least she knows how to recognize good italian food as i watch hands dole things on a sandwhich. at least she knows what a good italian sandwhich is. i ask her if she liked my eggplant parmesan. she hesitates and i get a violent feeling in me. i wake up.
compatriots start stealing from our home while mom and dad are away under the guise of looking for signs of 'westernization' in our home. i chase the two around the home as they drop everything, watching as they knock our old school but surprisingly flat television over. then i have one cowering in the corner. i want to beat his ass savagely, but no matter how hard i bring down my flogger i cannot kill him. all i can do is elicit screaming from him, but i want him to hurt even more. i want to see blood.
i run. run far far away from my village, even though the road turns paved and into the stretch of road that looks like 75th in naperville righ before zero gravity. to my right, where prairie only supposed to exists, a group of large stag deer live. only many of the larger bucks are dead, their stiffened, rotting bodies stuck upright into the roofs of small cars. the space is wide and full of yellowing grasses. more cars occasionally veer from the street and onto the prairie, some being immediately chased by bucks. i watch as they jump onto the trunk of the car, tipping it ninety degrees with their weight and then head-butting. but i don't see what makes them die with their heads in the car and i don't see where the drivers go because now i am past them.
i find myself walking on what i recognize as lakeshore path in madison. dozens of other people walk on the freshly asphalted path. i want to go to the next town over. i could have taken the regular, shorter route but i want to do this one. however, the path is now set behind a series of large mansions that are build closely next to each other. for some reason there are massive swing sets in each backyard, swingsets that span the yard and nearly touch its neighbors. i watch them from a certain height, nearly eye level to the second floor of the houses. i see one built round a large tree, with a circumference that would take six of me hugging it to encircle. it is encased in lumber and an elaborate, two story tree house is built on its branches. i try to look for a bathroom but i don't see anything. on the ground around the tree, platforms built at an incline keep the tree off-limits to pedestrians. the side facing the path has a tall wall of wood, a defense that all the other swing sets have. it is not certain how children get into the tree house in the first place.
i climb onto the wall facing the path. standing on top of the cross-beams. it is built so i can see through the slats. fair-haired children are playing and they hear me rattling on the wall. they call for their mother but she dismisses them. i continue, scuttling like a crab on the walls of swingsets. one mansion's swing set is poorly built, obviously having the landowner's hand in it. i scoff at this bougie attempt at shop. he has built it all with crossbeams nailed from the bottom, so as i pull down with my weight, the nails become loose and the beam partially dislocates.
lakeshore path is longer in my dream and there are many more houses. finally a child spots me and i drop to the ground and run, the enormous swingsets no longer protected by a wall. i don't know if they are being malicious or being playful but i don't want to find out. i run through a complex series of plastic purple tubes. someone is shooting at me with an irritating foam gun. it sputters like the last moments of a dying man and as i run i laugh. i tell the child it would be more effective if the foam was packaged into bullet form that exploded on impact. the chase almost becomes friendly. i leap onto one slide that goes over a fence that is one story tall. i am in the next town.
we are in a mall, me and some people, walking along a series of eateries. one girl is lamenting the end of the dream. i tell her at least she knows how to recognize good italian food as i watch hands dole things on a sandwhich. at least she knows what a good italian sandwhich is. i ask her if she liked my eggplant parmesan. she hesitates and i get a violent feeling in me. i wake up.
posted by ML at 8:45:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home