Dana was central to last night’s dream. The dream
predominantly revolved about a house that she shared with several close
acquaintances.
Prior to her appearance,however,the events that I recall,
forming a refreshingly continuous chunk in toto, began with the appearance of a
vagrant. The events predating his appearance were in the form of a Monkey
Island game, and that quality persisted throughout the remainder of the dream.
A friend and I had agreed to help the man by sawing off both
of his arms. He was starving, and he needed us to store the armsin a barrel
overnight.If rats came and ate them, as he hoped they would, he would receive
alms from the magistrate.
We sawed off his arms, although,
later in the dream I would have sworn that I had no recollection of having done
so. He disappeared into the night when the task was done, due to return to find
whether or not the rats had accepted the offer.
The trash cans were outside the
building wherein Dana was staying.
Within, I met Dana and her friends.
The cozy apartment had
several rooms spaced respectfully apart
from one another, each shedding its own, some what ‘dulled’, ‘opaque’ light,yet suggesting an enticing
interior. Hers I never set foot in, though I caught glimpses of a bold
array within of perhaps blue, mirroring her fortitude of character, lending the
furniture its dignity and a ‘ blocky ’
green colouring the walls. There
was, within one of the rooms, an equanimous Lavender, yet it is hard to
remember whether or not this had belonged to Dana.
Dana herself was very emotionally
distant from me,appearing curt and formal,to my disappointment.
I had a newspaper with me wherein
several of my poems about and addressed to Dana had been printed. I read them
aloud to some of her peers at the dinner table, never divulging her identity as
the intended recipient, though she would have realized the fact had she not been in her room at the time
they wereread.When she emerged, I was embarrassed but anxious for her to
seeand hear them, yet almost to the point of tension that I was ‘frightened she
would’. They went unnoticed, however, and she even showed a persistent lack of
interest as Gwen Stefani appeared and volunteered to interpret them. By the time Gwengot her hands on the
newspaper, Dana had receded into her
chamber again.
Later on, I saw Dylan strumming an
acoustic guitar outside a dim,dark corridor. He was standing just between theentrance to thecorridor and the
deep oakl door to a lavatory.
I emerged tentatively and
recognized the tune.It might have been ‘ First Day of My Life’, though it may
have been by Built to Spill. I began to sing along. It was definitely ‘ First
Day of My Life ‘.Almost definitely, and an excitement grips me at the prospect. I felt very clearly
childish in our noise-making, however.
When Dana emerged from the lavatory, she walked right by us, noticeably
annoyed, and I was of half a mind to apologise, were it notthatthis would
have appeared pathetic.
Eventually, word spread throughout
the dorm of the vagrant. He had become
a nuisance. Some of the residents
found his arms, wondering how they had
been sawed off.I hid my identity as the
perpetrator, though I could not have told them How I had sawed them off, by
what stretch of both moral and physical capacity, e ven were I not intent upon secrecy.
Regardless, the pre dicament with the homeless man
had allowedme amoment with Dana, in her bedroom.
She was concerned about the man’s
ar ms and what to do with them. This
gave me a feeble but infinitely rewarding thing to talk to
her about.
Obviously,the rats had never dm.A.A.
arrived.
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