last glass...dusty buckets...parched e-lips...sponge...drip...drop

2003-07-01 - 10:24 a.m.: blue lip gloss

mmmore strange dreams� either i've been invaded by ghosts, am remembering past lives or my subconscious is on fire with a message for me. the message? follow through. don't get stranded. why? you tell me. dream starts out on a chilly, wind-roaring day on the river. a barge, rusty, towing smaller bits of rubber and metal. the kinds of moving liquid peaks you're likely to see in a painting by dzigurski�people� dressed in an early industrial style, mostly men� singing� hair whipping in cold wet fury� side of barge scrapes against submerged obstruction, everything shifts� one of the smaller flats loosens, someone jumps to the back of the boat to secure it, lurch, she's lost� thunder, lightning� one dark-haired, small, rather plain woman by the name of Annie Th--, dislodged from the whole to get lost in violent eddies with a broken shoulder and scrapes� the others call after her, but before she's even out of sight, they think she's dead� she takes another fork that ends in a waterfall� they cry, call her parents.

but the story's not *really* over� because she's not dead� she enters a narrow sort of gorge banked by high, smooth, oil-slicked rock walls� where the water sloshes high enough on the sides to set her down bodily on a narrow ledge, halfway up. there is nothing to cling to, she's broken and lost, so she waits�

dream cuts to a chubby doctor/scientist with too much yellow hair and pink cheeks who is working on discovering the cause and cure of a high-profile disease� he has infected himself with the sickness in order to study it more closely� he is a perfectionist� he scrubs out every vial with the delicacy of an angel, and never lets a mistake run its course� he hopes that his achievements will attract the attention of the big-wigs in government� and he thinks about dieting to look better in the photograph he's sure they'll take to distribute all over the world� he gives speeches and press conferences, telling people how sure he is, how promising it looks, how delighted he will be when he can finally say that this deadly illness has been obliterated� he starts to get sick.

Annie hurts, but she's not sad. she's scared, but not terribly so. she doesn't know if she will be found. she doesn't worry about it. she worries about her mother, and whether or not her heart is doing alright. she wishes she had clean socks. she munches snails.

doctor P. is in a bad state� you might almost call it a deathbed�. he lies in a small white bed in an orangely-lit room, with visitors 'round the clock.. his mind is going� scientist friends ask him for information about his work---what can they do? where did he leave off? could he recommend an experimental treatment to increase his chances? he mustn't give up! he smiles at them, pats their cheeks and calls in his nurse to feed them candy. "there there," he says. "run along and play." his mind gets worse by the hour� he talks to his pillows... he sees things� he begins to call a name that starts with Annie and ends with Th--. nobody knows what he's talking about� they pull at their hair� when he begins to give specific details about a young woman lost on the bank of a nearby river� her name, her description, her favorite foods, her skill with a bat and ball� they get freaked and call out a team to investigate.

[at this point in my dream, i'm getting really excited. i think she's going to be rescued. it�s like watching a movie.]

this team explores the banks of this river quite diligently� they have binoculars and star swimmers and enough curiosity and hope to make it exciting� the air is warm, the sky is dim and amber, the water is dark�blackish greenish blue� they vow not to quit until they've seen everything up close. they are young, and eager to be heroes of such a romantic adventure. there is a journalist, furiously scribbling. there is a photographer, poised to record the moment of glory. there is a doctor, a nurse and a corporate sponsor.

they find her bones.

50 years ancient.

the doctor dies.

the local librarian conducts a search of historical records to find out who this young woman might have been� such a mystery, the whole town is in shock� they call a surviving brother�who had some years ago retired from professional baseball as one of the most promising young rookies to disappoint�to collect the remains�. he cries, and becomes a child again� she was his only sister, and his favorite. he thinks about his mother. his life is never the same. he loves his daughter more.

dream shifts to my little brother, getting caught by me with prescription drugs stolen from an aunt. diet pills. i want to cry. i ask him why? i try to use enough tenderness that he won't want to lie to me� while trying to impose a feeling of wrongness� of rightness� of not wanting to do this again� find out that he's insecure about his weight� insecure about his mind� insecure about everything�. *really* looking for ritalin, because he believed it would make him more normal�. i hugged him.. didn't know what else to do� gave him a present� a little radio shaped like a ball to be worn around the neck, with devices that pop out when you press certain hidden buttons� an alarm clock� bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

and i woke up.

again� i have no idea where this came from.

last night (before the dreaming part) i went to p's to watch (supposedly) "sex in the city," which i've never seen before. hbo was out, so we ended up watching "when good animals go BAD 2," a documentary about animals attacking�or retaliating against�people. pretty sick stuff. couldn't tear myself away. most of this summer's ultimate women were there� and i got to watch dynamics� much hasn't changed. much has. have to admit, though, that most of my attention was focused (invisibly, i hope?) on r� i don't know anything about her, but i can't help but be curious. interesting to find out that yes, she matches him much better than i ever have. in so many ways. and she's beautiful. funny to watch someone who is starting to adopt some of the mannerisms of a person you know very well� some of which you have been amused to find in yourself, in the past� funny to think about windows� and how what you see when you try to look inside is more often than not blurred or obscured by your own reflection� i think i'm done looking. done spying. i think i've learned what i needed to. and it's not even close to the truth. feel strangely homeless.

but� like it's okay.