countessian

sleeping under black holes is hell for the horses

Something about… something. What? Yes. Saturday night’s dream was a tiger-lily mess about an earthquake that destroys Los Angeles and a horse galloping from the wreckage and stopping at my feet. I steal some guns from dying gang bangers sprawled in and out of their half-crushed car then climb aboard. We get out of the burning city and travel for days, getting very thirsty, and eventually end up in the middle of the desert nowhere and decide to try to sleep for the first time in a week. My horse I call Little Clippie (it doesn’t matter that I can’t ride horses. This one in my dream is my friend.) I wake up suddenly with bright green lights flashing around us one by one. Clippie stands up shaking like crazy and I lean tight back against her with a gun in each hand. It’s dark as anything except for the flashes, like camera flash but green. I start to see a figure moving at 99 percent of the speed of light, except that it’s really 100 percent of the speed of light and there’s just weird gravity making time speed up and slow down and keep switching (sleeping under black holes is hell for the horses.) It’s green and shiny and I know it’s the devil leaping foot to foot circles round me and Little Clippie, and the flashes happen every time he claps his long green hands. All the trees—or big cacti that look like trees—are getting slit down the middle right through one by one but that gravitational nonsense is wrecking me again so I never see it happen but I can’t look away for ages once it’s done. When there are no trees left he splits Clippie down the middle, too, and I’m alone in the dark in the desert with the devil so I raise both arms good and straight out front with guns for hands and he stops dead five feet away and grins. It’s quiet while he waits for me to shoot but the wind’s whipping up the dust a mile or so away and as it gets louder I steady my aim one last time and as soon as my eyes start to sting with the sand I start shooting and don’t stop but already I feel a cold line getting drawn down the top of my head and between my eyes and right as my knees give way there are headlights and yelling and someone throws me in the back of a pick-up truck.

No related posts.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 1st, 2007 at 4:59 pm. It is filed under documentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.