Johny cassettes' dream #3549:
I'm going to camp. As a camper, and not a happy one. The camp I'm going to was formerly of the concentration variety- the "cabins" are big brick buildings which surround a black square. There are smokestacks somewhere in my peripheral vision. My counselor is Julia Hanley, who in another life was my Applied Linguistics professor. In that other life she never gave me higher than an 80% on the pop quizzes that she would give. Quick- What is an advanced organizer? She is smiling, and she is driving me in a Buick into the gates of a former death camp. I realize, as I ascend to my "cabin" in a dark stairwell, that I have nothing. I vaguely recall packing my duffel bag the night before... and leaving it by the door.
My bed is a steel frame without a mattress or covers. Dr. Hanley needs someone to return an extra trash can to the school. I don't know what school that is. I don't know why she can't return it. But I hop off my steel frame and volunteer. She drives me out of the compound, again in the Buick. We take turns driving, Chinese fire-drill style, except faster. I mention that I don't have anything- clotheswise, anythingwise. Can I go to a store and get some? We're in Guadalajara now, now in Lubbock. I know where some thrift stores are, and I can get all I need. Except for underwear- I won't wear thrift store underwear. She hesitantly agrees.
We are in different cars now, the Buick has mitosized(sp?)(real word?) and I go my way and she goes hers. I return the trash can on the way, to her classroom at St. Francis High School in Alpharetta. I think about snooping around some- I have keys, but I decide against it. Which is good, because it turns out she's following me.
We're in the same car again- what's the opposite of mitosis? Myosis? (sp?) Am I getting the two mixed up? We pass a car at a street corner that has pulled over to the curb. Out of the back seat, driver side, steps a midget. Except not just a random dream midget, but my friend Matt from High School, whom I haven't seen in how long? I roll out of Dr. Hanley's car while it's still moving. She glares out the window at me, but keeps going. Going. Gone. The other car, too, the one that carried Matt, is gone.
Children dressed in nineteenth century London street urchin garb begin to surround Matt. He sees me and jumps into my arms. He pecks me on the cheek, and tells me how much he's missed me.I'm looking at my watch- I'm late for something. I ask for his phone number, and he evades the question. After much prodding, he points to the telephone pole on the corner, around which has been built a rather sturdy-looking, treefort-like structure. There is a small bed, with a mattress. Matt says that he is obliged to live here because the radiation is good for his kidneys, and it's the only thing that keeps him alive.
I wake up to this song. In my head all day. Does that make me a misogynist?
I'm going to camp. As a camper, and not a happy one. The camp I'm going to was formerly of the concentration variety- the "cabins" are big brick buildings which surround a black square. There are smokestacks somewhere in my peripheral vision. My counselor is Julia Hanley, who in another life was my Applied Linguistics professor. In that other life she never gave me higher than an 80% on the pop quizzes that she would give. Quick- What is an advanced organizer? She is smiling, and she is driving me in a Buick into the gates of a former death camp. I realize, as I ascend to my "cabin" in a dark stairwell, that I have nothing. I vaguely recall packing my duffel bag the night before... and leaving it by the door.
My bed is a steel frame without a mattress or covers. Dr. Hanley needs someone to return an extra trash can to the school. I don't know what school that is. I don't know why she can't return it. But I hop off my steel frame and volunteer. She drives me out of the compound, again in the Buick. We take turns driving, Chinese fire-drill style, except faster. I mention that I don't have anything- clotheswise, anythingwise. Can I go to a store and get some? We're in Guadalajara now, now in Lubbock. I know where some thrift stores are, and I can get all I need. Except for underwear- I won't wear thrift store underwear. She hesitantly agrees.
We are in different cars now, the Buick has mitosized(sp?)(real word?) and I go my way and she goes hers. I return the trash can on the way, to her classroom at St. Francis High School in Alpharetta. I think about snooping around some- I have keys, but I decide against it. Which is good, because it turns out she's following me.
We're in the same car again- what's the opposite of mitosis? Myosis? (sp?) Am I getting the two mixed up? We pass a car at a street corner that has pulled over to the curb. Out of the back seat, driver side, steps a midget. Except not just a random dream midget, but my friend Matt from High School, whom I haven't seen in how long? I roll out of Dr. Hanley's car while it's still moving. She glares out the window at me, but keeps going. Going. Gone. The other car, too, the one that carried Matt, is gone.
Children dressed in nineteenth century London street urchin garb begin to surround Matt. He sees me and jumps into my arms. He pecks me on the cheek, and tells me how much he's missed me.I'm looking at my watch- I'm late for something. I ask for his phone number, and he evades the question. After much prodding, he points to the telephone pole on the corner, around which has been built a rather sturdy-looking, treefort-like structure. There is a small bed, with a mattress. Matt says that he is obliged to live here because the radiation is good for his kidneys, and it's the only thing that keeps him alive.
I wake up to this song. In my head all day. Does that make me a misogynist?
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