Monday, June 06, 2005
more haunting
This morning I woke up and cried. I didn't mean to do so. I certainly did not wish to do so. I just did. I awoke and uncontrollably wept for a minute or two.
I had another dream about you. This time while the outcome was the same the method was different.
This time you were not alone in your home with the cold steel of a gun. I was with you.
The exact reasoning was never made clear, but there was something horribly wrong with you. It was killing you slowly and painfully, as if it were a terrible and terminal disease that over the course of months or even years would cause you to waste and whither away. There was no treatment, no cure, you had surrendered all hope. Rather than wait for the inevitable conclusion you opted to hasten the process.
In the dream your doctor gave you some sort of drug that over the couse of a day made it seem as though you got progressively more blissfully intoxicated until you simply passed out.
Kinda like when you'd visit me in the dorm in college.
Over the course of that day we had a great and now hazy adventure, visiting the places and people we knew. The atmosphere was always festive and sometimes bordered on the frantic because we knew our time was limited.
Kinda like those nights after we scored some ecstacy or some acid. We'd drop it and then hurry across town trying to get to our destination, typically 1805, before the drugs took effect and we could no longer safely drive. Inevitably we would have to go by someone's house for something and then stop at the store for smokes or beer. It was always a race down to the wire that we didn't always win. But somehow we stayed out of the hospitals and jails.
The dream ended, in of all places, a giant shopping mall. Strangely appropriate given the grotesque Sprawl consumer culture where we grew, lived and played for many years. We were hurrying through a mall, trying to get to one more destination. Where were we trying to go? Why were we there? I don't know, it was afterall the world of dreams and as I stated seems strangely appropriate.
You were weak, weary, delerious and staggering from the effects of the mysterious drug your doctor prescribed. You lied down on a bench. I sat beside you cradling your head in my lap and holding your hands as you folded them across your chest. You closed your eyes, smiled slightly with a small sigh and simply stopped breathing.
I felt great sorrow and sadness, but took some comfort in the knowledge your suffering had ended.
And then, for your last act and final statement, you did as the dying often do. As your muscles relaxed you voided your bowels and bladder all over the bench and marble floors of the mall, thus quite literally shitting all over and sending an ultimate "fuck off" to the world and culture I have come to so passionately despise.
It was an oddly beautiful moment.
I heard people screaming as a crowd begin to assemble around us. It is as though their screaming woke me up.
The Wife had gotten up hours earlier to study for the first nursing school test of the summer semester. I was alone. For a few moments I felt very alone and I cried.
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I had another dream about you. This time while the outcome was the same the method was different.
This time you were not alone in your home with the cold steel of a gun. I was with you.
The exact reasoning was never made clear, but there was something horribly wrong with you. It was killing you slowly and painfully, as if it were a terrible and terminal disease that over the course of months or even years would cause you to waste and whither away. There was no treatment, no cure, you had surrendered all hope. Rather than wait for the inevitable conclusion you opted to hasten the process.
In the dream your doctor gave you some sort of drug that over the couse of a day made it seem as though you got progressively more blissfully intoxicated until you simply passed out.
Kinda like when you'd visit me in the dorm in college.
Over the course of that day we had a great and now hazy adventure, visiting the places and people we knew. The atmosphere was always festive and sometimes bordered on the frantic because we knew our time was limited.
Kinda like those nights after we scored some ecstacy or some acid. We'd drop it and then hurry across town trying to get to our destination, typically 1805, before the drugs took effect and we could no longer safely drive. Inevitably we would have to go by someone's house for something and then stop at the store for smokes or beer. It was always a race down to the wire that we didn't always win. But somehow we stayed out of the hospitals and jails.
The dream ended, in of all places, a giant shopping mall. Strangely appropriate given the grotesque Sprawl consumer culture where we grew, lived and played for many years. We were hurrying through a mall, trying to get to one more destination. Where were we trying to go? Why were we there? I don't know, it was afterall the world of dreams and as I stated seems strangely appropriate.
You were weak, weary, delerious and staggering from the effects of the mysterious drug your doctor prescribed. You lied down on a bench. I sat beside you cradling your head in my lap and holding your hands as you folded them across your chest. You closed your eyes, smiled slightly with a small sigh and simply stopped breathing.
I felt great sorrow and sadness, but took some comfort in the knowledge your suffering had ended.
And then, for your last act and final statement, you did as the dying often do. As your muscles relaxed you voided your bowels and bladder all over the bench and marble floors of the mall, thus quite literally shitting all over and sending an ultimate "fuck off" to the world and culture I have come to so passionately despise.
It was an oddly beautiful moment.
I heard people screaming as a crowd begin to assemble around us. It is as though their screaming woke me up.
The Wife had gotten up hours earlier to study for the first nursing school test of the summer semester. I was alone. For a few moments I felt very alone and I cried.
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