only in my dreams

I often find myself at the limbo between sleep and waking. That tiny niche carved out of time and reality that refusses to allow rational thought or understanding, those 10 or so seconds of disbeleif where a dream is real and your pj's are still camo pants and your alarm clocks still echo the sirens of your persuers. The time of truth, of pure desire, of madness. The breif moment where you must rationalize your dreams and try to discover why or how you did what you did, or said what you said. And it is in that time, that the guilt of unbridaled fantasy weighs heavily on a rational and real conscience.

Two nights ago at about 4 am I realized, in the afore mentioned 10 or so seconds that my real and rational conscience seemed to be slowy mimicking my unbridaled fantasy. I guess the place to start here would be the dream. We will save the panic and regret for a day i actually feel them.

As the camera operator of my dream slowly spiraled downward through the clouds from outerspace to a small wooded area, I noticed myself. ( keep in mind almost all my dreams are cinamatic and are like watching a movie, sometimes i even dream credits at the end, oh, interesting side note, john malkovich played the part of Mistress Bess in a dream a few months back.) in any event. i was standing blood stained and camoflauged, not out of the ordinary, i figured hey another war dream i wonder if i'll run into a Sheen. Unfortunately this dream took an unsuspected turn. As i stood amoung the now driping trees , for it had started to rain, i noticed in my hand, i held a hand, the hand of a small child. I wanted to drop it and run , but that scene must have got cut and reshot , for instead of running i packed the hand in a small velvet sack and headed off to the house in the background, illumitated by the lightning that seemed to strike in pace with my booted foot.

Upon entering the house i saw the carnage i had inflicted upon it's guests. Some were shot, but more seemed to have been ripped apart by hand held improvised weapons, one old man still had an extension chord binding his hands to his genitalia and about 30 golf tees pounded into his skull ( hey my have still been alive i dont remember) This was not the most horrific scene of my dream, in fact this is ice cream and candy compared to what my charactor had instore next.

i crept up the stairwell, lumbering on to the landing, i noticed the frantic shuffle of tiny feet above. With each step i took, the pain and fear seemed to stream heavier and faster from under the only door of the final landing. Pushing with what seemed no effort the door burst open and into a thousand perfectly equal and identical splinters. I reached for one, this venear coated wood chip would be the perfect weapon. looking up i saw her, a girl constructed of the most delicate bone china, white faced and wet, water soaking her eyes and flowing into parted lips. down her chin across her arm and stoping at the glowing seam where her arm should have met her hand.

I dangled it in front of her, watching her eyes to ensure that no trace of hope still lingured within her. now sure of it, i opend the velvet sack and held it out for her to see and grasp, inorder to reinstate the reality of her lose, she shook with a fever and paled at the sharp clap of her own hand striking her moist cheak. i was a monster.

I could hear them now, coming in the distance, the only thing that peirced the nite air was the wail of my eminant capture. yet i pressed on, slowly disecting the body of the child with my venear shard until i had piled her neatly in to a small box. only her head and torso remained in tact and i had politely gouged out an eye so she could more readily inspect her self, clinging to life but praying for death.

The door burst open from below and i new the game would end soon. so i sat, quietly rocking the child not unlike a mother would have. I called her beautiful and she could understand my every word and with an eye like a frozen lake, glazed and cold yet still maintaining to match any preception of beauty, she asked "why". I smiled and said "because i love you." that phrase was puncuated by the sound of sickness and disbeileif from below, and soon i heard the steps creek and found myself waiting for the horror, the discovery, the realazation of the limitless abandon that had by my hand unfolded. My persuer turned the corner and met my eyes. I smiled.

Upon waking up hazy and in the midst of those moments of rationalizing the irrational, i could only think how perfect , how gorgeous, how delighted i am with my work, and then, i realized, it was a dream.