Dream 4

July 16, 2008

Dream 4

I think this all happened when I was at the swimming pool.  I don’t know which one because it didn’t look familiar.  I jumped into the pool and got out and walked around for a bit.  There was this small wooden box that someone had crudely made and even though I didn’t look inside, I knew that was where ammunition/bullets were kept.

So somehow that goes into a hostage situation with me, Kem, and Lulu.  The evil guy (terrorist, I guess) kept switching faces/bodies, but we always knew who she/she was.  I had a gun pointed in my face several times (as did Lulu and Kem) and it was kinda scary actually.  The evil guy’s plan (he was Bob [one of the TA’s at VFS] for a bit) was to kill a bunch of us (or maybe one) and then to shoot this building that he crudely drew that had bullets of some kind.  He gave the gun to me a few times, to shoot at the building but I told him my aim was really crappy.

I remember him telling us he was going to kill one of the three of us.  He pointed the gun at Kem, and I didn’t want him to die so I wrapped my around around him, trying to protect him.  He held onto me, close, which was really nice.  t felt right and even though I knew I could possibly die, I didn’t care beause it was Kem.

Eventually, perspectives changed to that of the evil guy aiming the gun around the room.

There may have been something before that I don’t remember…

Evil guy aimed the gun at the building lebelled bullets, and I didn’t understand.  Lulu explained how it was something about hexagons and stuff and even though I probably wouldn’t undert it in real life, I understood it in my dream.  She said how if evil guy shot at the building, ice/diamonds would fall down and fall on people below.  Just as I realized this, he fired.

I watched as pieces of ice fell… on top of me.  I was on a bed, and I grabbed a pillow to shield myself.  The ice hit the pillow and I was safe.  I looked around the room and saw that Lulu was fine but that Kem was gone.  I saw the shape of his body underneath the covers and when I pulled them back, he lay there, silent.  There was a trickle of blood running down the side of his head.

I thought he was dead.  He definitely looked dead.

I freaked out.  I started crying and screaming a little, thinking the bullet hit him before it hit the building.

I was SO upset, more than I’ve ever been in both real life as well as my dream.

He suddenly stirred and I realized he wasn’t dead, which overwhelmed me.  I was so incredibly happy, more than I’ve ever been in both real life as well as my dreams.

A bit later (probably some more stuff happened), I had the gun.  I don’t remember how I got it,  but the evil guy was now Mahea [one of my cousins], and I pointed the gun in her face.  She was scared.  That made me happy.  The police or some official-looking people took her away.

I waved Kem over, saying we had to get going to go some place.  He stood a few feet away from me, bathed in a sort of white light.  He smiled at me, I think.  Or maybe he just stood there staring at me.

Eyes

I watched Battle for Algiers last night and wrote this just now.

Eyes

Blood-let
the color in your eyes.
Switch on a fuzzy gel —
Anything to

diffuse
filter

Pour out the rageful, beating heart.
Must they be military drums hammering in your mind?
the pulses of all the dusty, limp arms pertruding from the rubble:
hairs on a scalp.

The smell of burning flesh cooking,
the main course for the victors.

Please.
When you have let go to grasped a few seconds,
and noticed the rain,
the drums fading out, replaced by sopranos wailing dirges,
maybe then will the intoxication finally fall like a white curtain,
letting you

see.

Boy With a Gun

Yay!  Non-gay poetry!

Boy with a Gun

Unmolded clay
now shaped by the butt of a rifle.
In a town where guns outnumber souls,
you’d trade beads of sweaty work
for bullets
Feeding a copper addiction.
The same alkaline aftertaste of blood
quenching your thirst.
This mutation of a species
unnatural combination of two stages of life —
a feeble larva with a powerful stinger
re-writing survival of the fittest

Revolver
Pistol
Machine
Don’t matter what you hold.
You’re still a child playing a grown-up’s pastime.
Abort while you can.
This dress-up game has gone on too long.

Hallway

Something I wrote for my poetry class.  It feels like a complete departure from what I usually write but I like pushing myself to explore different subjects.

Hallway

Florescent lights, like a hospital patient room
Sanitized floors, trying to hide scuff marks
A crimson neon exit sign hangs above my head,
Me, a grim reaper with a gun

Number 1 and 2 fall soundlessly,
their hands in the other’s like I’ve always seen them
Always clutching, touching
3 screams before a silver reply pierces her lungs.
My devilish hands, puppeting my sight, spy 4, eyes closed
as if content for having lived only sixteen years.
I must turn away as my demon fingers pull the trigger
After wounding 5, she crawls on elbows, reduced to a human rowboat
But as I gain on her, cannon in hand, the boat sinks, a hole too many, liquid rushing out instead of in.

A sound startles me.

6 sits slumped, rocking back and forth, a pendulum
fingers creating trenches behind a crying face, moaning like a siren.
The sight slashes into me, deeper than any round I’ve fired
I nod in recognition of the pain he endures and will endure and continue
At the end of the hallway stand two white doors,
and before I pass, I turn around
It smells of death:
Blood tainting the floor
Flickering lights, like a morgue
They lie there, sleeping kindergarteners
Sons and daughters.  People’s children.
Suddenly, pain surges and I unleash a fury of gray tears upon myself.

It started with a bullet.  It will end with one.
My hands, still possessed, perform one last sin.
“How did it come to this?” I wonder as I christen myself number 7.