2 dreams

I stared down at her. She was prettier than when she played in the movies, and she had makeup on that was like a spectacle; white face, hair white on one side and blue on the other side of where the hair parted in the middle. She was reading a worn copy of Rolling Stone as she sat on the basketball court floor. She told the balding, pug-like Chinese man behind me that she wanted to have the magazine. After indicating she’d have to pay for it, I pulled out my wallet and gave the man five dollars, folded, waiving off the change.
When the business there concluded, we walked towards my house together. After confessing I knew her from the movies, I looked at her lips. One of the groupie hipsters that constituted her entourage walked slightly behind us as we walked down the sidewalks and greenbelts. What was he here for? Was he her boyfriend? I chose to ignore him, up until the point he directed us to his van where the starlet and I consumed one other, sweetly. The orange color hue made everything a perfect yellow and warm-like a life inside egg-yolk or sunlight suspended in honey.
...
Gunshots in the desolate city’s train depot near the seaside. The area had been rusting for quite some time. Abandoned cars provided excellent targets for my new handgun. The gun itself is intricately designed, with many parts that locked onto it and make it longer. Before handing it to my friend I turned on the safety, which made the gun limp; it drooped until it was like pasta in his hands--Turning off the safety, it became erect again. The thuds of bullets hit like clods of dirt against rusted doors and side-view mirrors.

Savage Wedding

So I sat in honored place beside my family at round table during a certain wedding ceremony. A native american man approached our table and greeted my mother with kindness, as she was across the table from him and the two could not reach out to one another without a break in form. As thoughts of artifice and propriety brought a smile to my face, I reached out and shook the blocky, be-charmed hand at the end of the indian's half extended arm. He wasn't looking at me, and I hate being the attendant and not the rightful subject of introduction. "After all, I'm not a pet anymore", was the mantra which won out these days, despite the awkward counter-expectations built up in my mother mind's; to be carried on sweetly unto her end.
A side glance from the man revealed he had not expected my hand. As if pantomiming, he recoiled animatedly, then added insults in his native tongue. I stood up and punched the man square in the face.

Golden Roof

I watched a time-elapse video of a family remaking a roof from its original wooden state into a golden one. They took each wood-shingle and replaced it with a gold one. Finally they created a shining cross to place at the top of an improvised golden steeple. On the ground around the new church I was charged with pouring fresh water to boil out toad-eyes which peered out through cracks on the ground and shot out poison gas at passersby.

In my backyard I remembered that I often dreamed of spiders as, this time, I dreamed of killing spiders with bug spray--shooting it into their web cushions in brush and tree-poles, as big tarantula monsters hopped between pine-tops

morning glory

donepiece

Dreams last night

--Apartment complex. I'm in my room when my dog is stolen by police-nurses. It is brought back without eyes. Same with my cat, they are whaling when a nextdoor neighbor informs me the building is changing. Bars start raising over my windows; the faux wood paneling is replaced by raised columns of red brick. I run out just before the transformation is complete and the buildings doors are shut a constricting wall of these bricks. From the outside it looks like a monstrous flower closing its petals.

--Machine gangster wife with husband in rectangular spa pool. Woman is a famous actress from Shikoku. Parts of her body are completely absent--legs, one arm, side of face--and are replaced with cybernetic auxiliaries. He sits tatted up on the other side of the pool. She sits up, flashing back to her beauty without these strange accouterments. Walking up to him she glares down he glares back, and his face silently plunges into the azure clear spa water as her machine arm drowns him.

--My son and I are at a hong-kong estuary park, where a column of water, 5 foot deep and light clear blue provides fun like a gigantic wave-pool. No visible sea life, but one wonders if there is some in there, hidden. Suddenly a tidal wave smashes through with a rumbling noise. We hide behind a coral mound as the wave crashes around us and brings with it a heavy tourist bar-boat, which tumbles over with all its panicked charge.

-- A shikoku estuary populated on each side by two rival gangs--one ethnically Japanese, the other Korean. The leader of the Japanese gang is animated and angrily demands satisfaction. The Korean succinctly apologizes and hands over a novelty set of Catholic prayer beads from off his own neck with a large ivory crucifix hanging from the bottom. The Japanese leader puts them around his neck--a Korean gang-member on the concrete staircase leading down to the estuary waters triggers the crucifix and it explodes blowing out the back of the Japanese gang-leader with a terrific thud.

--flying car, helped by blue jet engine engineer. (dream fragment)

--Japan-town somewhere in Oregon with city lights and market and real-estate and casinos (dream fragment, possibly a setting)

Ping Pong Fuck

We stood in the auditorium, my having just received oral sex from a black college student, and my wife just now standing up staggering like through darkness with a stout young slick-haired punk guy who zipped up an over-sized zipper on the front of a pair of black and neon green overalls. They had fucked behind a ping-pong table which was used in the past to entertain her children or alternately serve the needs of drunken men in her father-in-law's charge. Her hair was now a gaudy orange, the effect of attempting to dye black hair blonde in a slipshod manner. Had they enjoyed rebellious sweetness of their youthful, programmed movements? For me it's like wrenching an object, which I know is vapid and empty. The thought disgusted and enthralled me, like a massive curling wave of human waste crashing through my chest.

Kipple

Four panel sash window. Look out of it diagonally upwards, a dog is barking one level up out of a dark open window. I wake up speaking gibberish, drooling a cool electric madness of tiny beetle crawlies scattered on my pillow and forearm. Retreating back to the warm home. I read something about this recently. A soldier will always upon near-death, draw on the kipple of home life--empty snack bags, summer haircuts, ice-tea, barbecue, mother. There is a home for us there when death is near or when freight drives us mad--a warm blowing of sweet grass scented wind through cracked sash windows, flavored by radiance. The needle-points of manifold anxieties point us home, usually late afternoon on into evening--the day's work settled and forgotten the comfort of empty schedule leaves us simply alive and with dropsical bellies to ponder.

The dog is black and hanging over the ledge, my animal instincts pang me with fear of imminent attack, but crossbeams of these windows--metal wood and elevation make that fear short lived. In the mirror I wonder if this mechanism is of any great importance. This sophisticated analogue computer contained in my skull. Is my writing of any greater import than a dolphin slipping its body through water or a cricket unwinding a subtle byplay?

Driving though the darkness I observed the coiffure in my hair, pasted with indignity above my head like uncut fetlock. Will this do? Will someone laugh and ask me to perform some bawdy impression, or worse, to sing? Humor is a subjugating force in this manner. The courtesans of ancient Japan had so asked one another to 'be witty' on-command; accordingly it has always made me feel servile; one who lives in the service of others.

I must go now...with any luck, more later.