Disturbing Dreams

[brightpearl]

Somehow I am visiting my old pottery teacher, whom I have not seen in 20 years. He is the same age he was then, and has a toddler son. I have my son and a couple of friends with me. We are hanging over a marsh in a kind of balloon contraption. My son is swimming in the estuary, and I worry that he'll get sucked away somehow, and I can see snakes everywhere. I ask to be let down so I can get him.
Then we are on the porch of my old teacher's house, somehow looking out at a river, but as though there is a glass wall there, so that you can see a cross-section of the river. I see several grotesque whales in the water. They've come so far up the river somehow. They are small, but with huge, right-whale-shaped mouths that gape with shark-like teeth and fleshy red gums. My teacher is wading with his son and can't see them from his perspective. I shout but it is too late, and a whale has the boy. My teacher is frantically trying to find him under the water, and I can see the child's feet sticking out of the whale's mouth. I am shocked that I hesitate to help, and then I go although it is hellishly scary. I grab the boy's feet and pull him out, and there is a vile parody of nesting dolls...one smaller whale after another inside the one before. Finally we wrest him out.
Then we are inside the sunny living room, the beautiful hardwood floors. I am holding the child, who is exhausted. He sucks on his fingers and falls asleep in my arms. We are all talking conversationally about the ups and downs of life. Things are just like they are.

[lukkucairi]

cry me a river

with all of us together, exploring the littoral zone

I go farther out than anyone and the water is clear and clean

phosphorescent plankton in cyan and red wash in and out with the waves

the rest of you joining me, all in search of cleanliness

Jeremytime wonders if the jellyfish sting

[I'm seeing six and thinking eight
a creature made of the back legs of mosquitos]

Gret comes with me back to the shoreline in search of the source, with our cups so that we can capture water directly from the spring and drink it

we are so small that every single-celled creature is the size of my balled fist

we try to find the pure source through the grass and moss

[lukkucairi]

mack the knife

it's very bright inside the cabin, and very dark outside. I'm aware of this, and thinking about the eyes that may be outside looking in. B isn't concerned - the storm down in the valley is doing a lot of damage, and the man will be paying attention to that rather than casting his searchlights our way.

as Tim's friends arrive, they bring binoculars. old leatherette cases, monoculars like my grandmother used to use to spy my grandfather's boat as it came over the horizon, home from the voyage. I pick up a cream monocular but it's missing some lenses - it only makes things appear farther away than they are. perhaps my husband is having better luck.

oh, I thought I had missed dinner with Sasha and Ann! I'm glad we didn't.

we go swimming in the big, deep tank and I level with you; she just doesn't like me. she does not *want* to like me. she is only present in my life because of these bonds - she would break them and drop them if she could. propping my heart open and waiting for her is so painful. at the very least she is passive aggressive, at the worst she just shuts me out entirely - vitriol and flick-knives in her words. there is nothing I can do that will make her like me. she sat down once and took me apart - every effort I had made to bridge the gap - she hated all of it. I am so sorry. I don't know what to do. I am so hurt and so sad.

yes, you know, you shrug, and swim off. there, it's done.

back at the cabin end of the pool I land up alongside all the other refugee women from the airline crash. we are waiting for them to find out luggage, and in the meantime we live here, sleeping on top of chests-of-drawers and armoires and wardrobes. I have a perch on top of the television, but it's not very stable. I move across with the German mother - she will share her wardrobe with me.

I talk about the old times, holding my belly. how my grandmother never gave birth in the hospital. how the women in those days were constantly pregnant, because the mortality rate for infants was so high. my grandmother gave birth to stillborn children and miscarried several times. I watch her and my grandfather come in across the front porch, greeted by my uncles and aunts. she is pregnant again. every time we got pregnant back then, I tell you, we took our lives into our hands. we died trying to bring forth life.

I put my hand on my quiet belly.

[lukkucairi]

Originally Posted by brightpearl

Things are just like they are.

[Peregrine]

I'm at an oddly well-lit night club with a bunch of people, including my sister. It's five floors, with stairways spiraling up the outer wall.

We're on the top floor. Somebody yells at my sister to come down. Being timid, and awkward with heights, she feels uncomfortable going down the stairway. But for some reason, she feels safer standing on the railing.

I turn around and see her inching down the railing. I'm on the next landing down, and around the corner. If something happens, there's no way I can get to her in time.

A bouncer comes up to her to tell her that she can't be on the railing, but he startles her, and she starts to loose her balance. I watch helplessly as she starts falling backwards towards the inevitable...

[YsaPur EsChomuw]

My - in RL very strange - colleague offered to prepare tea for me. I protested mildly, but she brought a cup anyway: it had three teabags in it: the old one that was from the previous tea, then a very sour-smelling fruity bag and a round bag with black tea. The water was almost colourless, so I checked the temperature and yes, it was lukewarm. So I waited until she left the office and poured the solution down the sink. When she came back, she was surprised I drank up my tea so quickly.

Then I woke up.

[lukkucairi]

alive

Is there something wrong she said

Of course there is.

*

I can see now that I'm the one with the bitter scowl roaming around the party with no idea what to do with myself.

I try to distract myself by talking to James, or by helping Christy move that bookcase with all the books still on it (falling everywhere as we go down the steps, me backwards) but no, it's just my bad attitude.

what's with these bathrooms? they're the smallest ever. one on either side of the fireplace. can't close the door and sit down.

*

if so, if so, who answers?

[lukkucairi]

the dapper old man has been on the run from the detective for years now. they brush up against each other in cities here and there - the detective gets a scent, but it fades before he can close in.

but the old man is old, and getting older - his wits are dimming, his reflexes are dulling. and he has a weakness for luxury. in Verona he develops a dangerous habit of frequenting the same restaurant every friday. one day, as he sits there, he overhears the conversation at the next table...

"well, we almost had him back in Napoli - the sly old bugger is getting sloppy - but we didn't realize he had a secret exit all planned out in the back of the museum. looked rather silly after we'd cordoned off the whole building and sent in the troops, to find that our sly fox was long gone..."

the old man freezes for a second, and then studiously continues to eat his arugula salad. his mind works over the possibilities - he must make an exit without making a scene, and once he's out he must get as far as possible away from this place without drawing attention to himself. oh, but that means he'll have to leave the Star Heart behind! he's torn. he's mortgaged his soul for the Star Heart - stole it from the powers that be, because they could not appreciate it - in fact, it's the main reason the detective is hot on his heels. The Star Heart!

he makes the wrenching decision in a moment, gathers himself up among the salad leaves, and slips out through the kitchen. once out in the back alley, he enters the catacombs and is borne out toward the dead heart of Nevada. he stops to talk to the children:

go back and find my Precious, he tells them. go back there - I need it - but they will find it and keep it - I need my Precious. the children nod. the old man continues out toward the dead heart of the wild west.

the children are a mob of friends, and they've lived on the street together for as long as they can each remember - though none of them are over the age of 11. James M. is the ringleader. they are always up for an adventure, but this time James looks at the situation and realizes it's gone beyond fun. the old man doesn't have their best interests at heart - he simply craves to own the thing he stole those many years ago - a thing that, as far as James can see, possesses no magical properties. it isn't useful. it's worth a lot, but only because it's shiny. he makes a decision:

no, we won't go back for the Heart of the Star. we will go through the shop and Eben will make a diversion while I assess the situation, but if the place is alive with police we are not going to risk our freedom for the sake of the old man's avarice. this is a big decision because he's been our protector, but I don't trust him to protect us any more.

so the children go back to the restaurant, and Eben breaks his computer-aided etch-a-sketch (it has a single-line eraser!) in the novelty shop next door - while he's in negotiations with the clerk, James peeks through the side door to see what's going down at the restaurant. there are few police, but the detective is on his hands and knees, sifting through the salad leaves and muttering to himself. all the other patrons are holding individual leaves, declaring how surprised (and secretly honored) they were to have found themselves eating lunch next to an international criminal. none of them can remember what the old man looks like. together their excited hubbub sounds like the cackling of hens.

the Star Heart is buried in a pot beneath next week's arugula. the pot sits in plain sight, but nobody in the room is intelligent enough to find it. James sees this, and withdraws.

we must move on, he tells the other children. to the beaches, to the bridge, and down the shore. they take the old broken road out toward the beach, toward the place where the religions lie side by side at the ocean's rim. the buddhist beach is just around the tip of the bay, but as they peek over the sandy cliff that overhangs it, they see nobody at the water's edge. a pity, since the buddhists are usually nude.

they scramble down the dune-face toward the jewish beach, and then under the bridge and along the shoreline into the episcopalian and pentecostal and baptist beaches. some of the religions use their shoreline for commerce - some of the shoreline is empty, and to be honest hardly any people ever bother going all the way to the water's edge. I pass a woman who has buried cobalt blue bottles in the sand to pickle them - dozens of bottles in serried ranks. I pass a sandwich shop, and a bar. as I head down the shoreline it fades into the endless green and silver twilight.

[lukkucairi]

time stands still

in line behind Jer, waiting to find out what we all have to do to get processed the man behind the desk gives Jer a piece of cloth in the shape of a shield or a face, and tells him to draw on it with a makeup pencil also supplied. Jer's no line artist - he doodles a few things ineptly and hands the cloth back. to my astonishment, the doodles fall out of the cloth - the pencil looks like ordinary eyeliner but can cut through cloth (or flesh)

oh god that's how they planned the assassination - and now it's too late, it's done, and we didn't know how to stop it

when my turn comes up in line, I draw intricate buildings (like that autistic kid on TV) - I draw anything that comes to mind - I have to process my grief.

all of that intrigue, the elevators, hiding from the north koreans, the sewing kit I had to stash behind the access panel, it was all just fog at sea

the fog bank at sea

[lukkucairi]

cuyahoga

in the waking world this evening I went to the memorial for my friend Tim - he died in his sleep at the age of 42 about three weeks ago.

in dreaming, it seems I spent the first half of the night with Tim and with all of our friends, just hanging out. it felt wonderful.

as the night progressed, however, I found myself at the retreat with the moonlady, unsure exactly of why I'm there...

I have some wine to drink, but there are no wineglasses. she insists that I drink mixed vodka drinks - but this is not what I want. I go off to find my own glass - even a jelly jar will do.

with Charlotte at the bathroom we realize there is no proper sink - just boxes of hand-sanitizer-drenched towels - I'm not impressed.

outside again I am still on the hunt for a glass - I find what looks like a likely candidate in an overhead cupboard, but it turns out to be a large conical flameholder - made of crystal, full of alcohol jelly, ready to be set alight. I'm out of luck. I slug my wine straight from the bottle.

I turn and see that the ritual is beginning. do you want to take part, she asks me? I reply that I hadn't meant to, but if the goddess is calling me then I'll come along. she nods and places something in my hand. meet me at the circle, she says.

I look in my hand and see that she has given me three seeds. three! I'm worried. three is a lot. I chew them up and swallow them, one at a time. they are bitter and brittle.

outside under the casuarinas we sit in a double circle with the moonlady at the apex of our focus. I can't find a good spot to sit - I am in the outer circle, and wherever I sit down my view of her is blocked. I wonder whether this means I shouldn't be part of the circle. I also wonder about the fact that I've been drinking wine. surely the ritual demands purity of body and clarity of thought? but I was chosen, or so she said. I sit with my back leaning against a tree trunk. I don't think the view matters. I suspect I have other work to do. the ceremony begins.

[lukkucairi]

she's her own invention/ she's three miles of bad road

escaping from the Unseen University is difficult. the door won't open for us, so we magic out the hinges and float the door aside. I can tell the door is miffed, but it was being recalcitrant in the face of wizards? what could it expect?

out into the street, we must move quickly and quietly. they may raise the alarm at any time. luckily the soldiers don't have magic, but we don't want to be detected - it's easiest for everyone if we just escape without notice.

the old hag leads us down cobbled streets and through a narrow doorway in the old city wall. up some steep and narrow stairs, and onto the walltop - we have to cross the river now, and there is an old iron suspension bridge, almost rusted through. the hag sprints across adroitly. I follow, moderating my footfalls as I get to the thinnest and rustiest spots. come on, you fellows, follow me - but be careful, the bridge won't hold much, so one at a time...

I'm worried that they won't be able to follow, but I can't help them if they can't figure it out for themselves. the hag sits the roof slates and cackles at us.

*

with Barbara in town, at the bottom of the Arches, we decide to walk up the hill. there did used to be arches here, but they were demolished two generations ago. still, we call this place after them.

in life, it's just a steep road through a wooded glen. in the dreaming, it begins as asphalt and turns to stone stairs - and I notice that houses have been built backing into the hill, so windows peek out here and there through the ferns and moss. we've taken a wrong turn, and the stairs run up the face of a castle, amidst the towers and crenellations - and end at a widow's walk that girds the eaves of the roof. I'm not happy though - we need to keep climbing up - there has to be a way onto the roof, but the eaves are at head height.

all the way to the right, where the walkway ends at the side wall of a tower, someone has installed a stone folly, a fancy of a giant toadstool, a bracket fungus that appears to have grown straight from the wall. appraising this, I realize that with a little creative wedging I can probably boost myself around the eaves and up onto the roof itself. I call Barbara over, and up we go. I turn around to look at my shadow - I am hugely pregnant, and wearing a red stretchy dress. I look again, and I am not pregnant. I walk quietly across the roof - it's made of rice paper, and the people inside the castle will surely hear us. I am very light on my feet, but Barbara stomps as she goes. I want to tell her to be quiet, but she can't hear...I'm afraid she'll go right through the roof...

around the corner we find a huge open-air mart. there are vendor selling bath salts, lotions, and all manner of things for the body and hair. we run into a gaggle of women, all friends of ours (but no close friends) "oh we heard you're not pregnant oh that's too bad so sorry" I'm trying to tell them that no, it's fine, I can't raise a child while my mother's dying and my body made that choice for me, please don't be sad, but they need to feel pity for me so I go ahead and let them. each of them insists that I buy a tube of her favorite sun-care lotion. I end up with about 20 tubes. at the checkout I realize that this is over $400 worth of merchandise, and I don't have nearly that kind of disposable cash.

I talk to the guy working the register, and he and the bag-boy help me decide arbitrarily on two of the tubes, and the rest go back into stock. I'm checking out as I wake. the room is full of sun and I have music in my head that nobody has ever played.

[lukkucairi]

I thought the little bird had died, but when I sifted through the bowl of knickknacks I saw it stir - I warmed it in my hand and it came back to life, drinking from my bathwater, washing and preening itself before flying away.

[brightpearl]

^awesome

--------------------------
rattlesnake in the house
kept shaking it's head like the little one in the Far Side Cartoon, only it wasn't funny

[brightpearl]

I'm sharing Pringles with my son, the reduced fat ones in the purple can. A few chips down, we begin pulling out purple Pringles with weird glittery orange potato flake stripes. My son turns up his nose at them.

It's okay, I say. Those are just for Mardi Gras.

[brightpearl]

My father told me he had a small lung tumor, but it would grow and kill him.

Ow.