last night’s dreams still in a haze,
since i went back to bed after the first round..
miss myrtle is telling me about her wedding in brazil
when she was seventeen..
i didn’t know she had grown up there.
she wore a gray serge dress, very fitted-
very simple, but haute, with a long, long train..
a necklace made of clam shells that trailed down to her feet- given to her by the magdalen wild-woman who lived in the woods covered in dirt and speaking in tongues..a holy relic.
myrtle the bride explains to me that brazil is really ruled by the roaming japanese monks from okinawa, the poet class. they are considered superior to the average portuguese speaking brazilian because apparently
rhyming is easier in japanese.
-don’t ask my subconcious where it came up with this.
next thing i know, i’m sitting on a mountain with francesca.
she is asking me what are the most important things
i want to do before i die.
climbing to macchu picchu is on the list..
for some reason, i express my doubt
that i will ever get a chance to do that (inexplicably)
and i start sliding down the mountain.
pieces of stone are breaking off in my hands,
and i slip, and fall from a great height.
and then i am dead.
i am a ghost, trailing after the pieces of my body
in the cold green hospital..i float down the stairs
to the water-fountain where my lover stands,
numb with shock and grief.
i wrap my intangible self around him and wail..
this isn’t right- i can’t be dead- i have to get back somehow..
somehow i gain enough strength to communicate with him,
and become somewhat visible..
we have to find a way to bring me back to life, and soon..
we steal a car from the hospital parking lot,
as the disgruntled owner beats her fists on the window..
we are driving through bali as the sun sets
and evening descends upon the island..
(i love how in my dreams, you can drive anywhere)
the mountains are incredible, so tall-
looming like slender spectres on the horizon..
i can see that the mountains are volcanoes,
and some of them are erupting-
not lava, but just brewing smoke- threatening..
the city has become horribly americanized, however-
all the rustic charm has been replaced
with bright lights and super-highways..
the dank third-world passport office is still behind the times,
of course, and it takes forever to get the proper papers and certificates
(queues and bureaucracy even in my dreams?)
we drive out to an old abanondoned asylum to hide out,
and it is there that things begin to go really horribly awry.
a monster is there.
he is very close to us- even our friend, our kin..
but he will slaughter every last one of us with his teeth
and eat us alive if he catches us,
because he has that hunger- bloodlust.
we are running from him down empty institutional halls,
hiding like rabbits in decrepit nurseries..
there is a door that leads out to an air shaft that will hopefully take us out of this place..
we kick the door open and dive down the shaft..
in the interim time, we string up steak knives and scissors-
a thousand silver blades to rip him to pieces
when he tries to follow..
and out into the light, running to the car-
where a dark shape sits, smiling..
why is my mind so strange?