2006

pdt

sat
sep
16

In last night's secret meeting Janis mentioned how for three days she felt so despondent she knew exactly how her father had felt before he hanged himself. David told her that part of a person is the way a person feels in first grade, and that it doesn't know that feeling only lasts a couple of days.

He said a lot more than that, too – He had two hours to do it.

I have a certain ability, and it's to pitch and throw my voice exactly the way Virginia does, and at a certain point began, "I felt that way this morning," and went on to describe how upon waking, remembered I wasn't in connection at all with a certain aspect of mind I'd have to go look up in a thesaurus, because not only was I not in connection with that aspect, I couldn't even name it. I spent a little time using free association to write down words, so that I'd have enough material to seed my lookup in the thesaurus.

Then in a grand finale, I named the word I wasn't in connection with: "Exhilaration!" I cried out, in Virginia's voice.

am
4:53

David ridiculed my story, called me a cracker, and returned the focus of the conversation back to Janis.

5:03

(Dream) I'm in a war zone. More quickly than anyone can imagine, crowds of us are assembling in quarters that can barely hold us, and simply going to the bathroom may be out of the question. Someone quickly invents a way to use plastic kitchen garbage bags as sort of backpack portable potties, and I can envision the mess if any of our makeshift toilets break. (Fin)

(Dream) It's nighttime. I pull my automobile into a parking area just outside my ground floor apartment, and before I have a chance to get out and go inside, see someone else walking briskly across the grounds, in the dark, and peeking into my lit windows. It's interesting to watch a thief from the vantage of a thief. (Fin)

(Dream) I climb up and around into other quarters, and make my way across the outside porch on a higher floor. It's our beach house at Wrightsville Beach. As I make my way to my room, I decide there's a living to be had from selling morning stories, though don't really know what that means. (Fin)

(Nightmare) I enter the softly lit office, still at night, and make my way past rows of desks with pretty women attending to the same forms, and one of them pauses long enough to explain I'd be able to learn about the forms from another person further along. I keep going, rounding a corner to the right, then another one, and noticing a manager, make a quick exit onto a train. Except it's not a train. I'm part of a documentary now, and as I hear the voice explaining the torture, see a blonde woman on a rocky outcropping out in the ocean. The voice-over explains she's being interrogated, and a quick cut shows bullets piercing and completely severing her voice connection with the interrogators. The tragedy is, sharpshooters continue to fire upon her . . . (Fin) and waking up find the dream is still going on!

The woman in the dream (and she's beautiful) is to be shot by sharpshooters without any hope whatsoever of communicating anything to the interrogators. I lie in bed watching the internal terror of this nightmare, while at the same time noticing fierce sensations throughout my body, culminating with a sudden and pronounced sensation directly in the center of my belly, while the voice-over (in the dream documentary) continues, "There's blood there, and on the right leg!" and sure enough, notice a corresponding sensation on the inside of my right thigh.

I roll over and look at my clock. It's 4:35, and decide I simply won't get up and write any of this down. That's my rebellion.

Instead, a whisper voice says, "// /../ ./. /./ ./. ./. /// .// ./ /.. // Now you're one of us //. /. /. //./ //. /./ //. // ./," and a few minutes later, I roll over, turn on the light, do the morning exercise, and begin writing here, up at the top.

5:05

And I'm not "one of us," so shut the fuck up!

5:28