I. I dream of

Never tigers. Often embarrassingly Freudian. Often macabre and surreal. Overblown apocalyptic scenarios. Overblown emotions overall.

See: scenes where humanoid monsters pursue me. Dread lurks among floating streamers, black and red. I walk softly, pushing them away from my face, but there’s no end to their papery obfuscation. The malevolent ghost-lady stands before me. Her eyes are pools of trickling blood, and she’s reaching, reaching, reaching…

See: scenes dipped in bittersweet shame or guilt that grows more viscous towards dream-end. Vast quests for privacy among thick seas of strangers. The barely-controlled urges to piss or masturbate. Always gigantic hotels, buildings, apartments…and the old childhood home, turned enormous! The rooms and stairways are labyrinthine. There’s always a party. Hundreds of milling guests and their question-mark faces. The bathroom and bedroom doors are perpetually open, too slight, or have large gashes in the wood. I make repeated essays to close the gaps, fit curtains over the peepholes – but in vain (and throughout, the burning urge to finish what I’ve begun).

There is hoary fear, mossy sorrow, otherworldly joy and delight. Palimpsests of anxieties, frantically penning themselves atop the barely erased. Longing like any man’s flesh a magnetic field, and I, properly paramagnetized. I awake with appropriate leavings of horror or lust. I do not ever die.

~ by kingzoko on April 26, 2015.

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