19/07/09
I deamt last night first that I was around a table at the camp my grandfather built, with two bohemian women seeming to vie for my attention. I can never tell, even in dreams. Something like a poker game began, and seating became strange as I got shuffled farther and farther away from both women--in dream-terms this seemed like some intentional thing on their part--until they weren't there anymore and I was sitting next to that little eccentric guy in that nowhere band. I realized the cards were stacked against me, although there were no actual cards, and this is a bullshit metaphor, but then I had to go outside. I went out the back door that hadn't existed in 20 years and it was winter.
Out back there was maybe a dog team. Maybe it was just a bunch of dogs. A guy whose backstory I can't even begin to provide watched over them. Maybe my cousin, six foot five. Big truck, tiny house and not in charge. Lives alone.
So much shit.
I am now out back and on some kind of peninsula above the frozen river. This dog--the oldest and largest--breaks the circuit and jumps up at my shoulders. This is a huge dog. A paw on each shoulder, he says hello in English.
So this dog, this huge dog, an Alaskan Malamute maybe, is attempting to tell me what's up with my life. I ask his name and it's unutterable. He keeps licking my face with uncomfortable force, even if I am aware he means no harm and possibly holds some secret wisdom regarding my baseless life. He seems unable to control this, and then turns out to be really old. Like, elderly and crippled. The rest of the pack runs by and he saddles down, staring back saying something like, "You gotta take fun where it happens." I ask his name again and he yells it back again unutterably as he sprints off with the pack.
Now the peninsula has become a cliff, and I can see the people down below, mostly high school friends, from the camp situation earlier. At first this seems like a nice vantage point, then I see the dog run by chasing his pack, and he falls over in anguish. He yells something up at me like, "It's better to do it while you can!" and then melts, hurt/dead into the snowdream.
The cliff is now an island that seems to be shrinking, offering my only choice: jump and die quickly or stay and die excruciatingly of cold and exposure. My friends below are taking some sort of mineshaft elevator below the riverbed, and my yelling for help comes out as whispers. When I finally muster something audible, one of them jokes, "Yeah, I hear a guy who doesn't wanna even push the damn elevator button himself."
They think I'm below with them, but I'm on this precipice, fifty feet above. How condescending does that sound? The doors above them close around their echoing laughter.
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Out back there was maybe a dog team. Maybe it was just a bunch of dogs. A guy whose backstory I can't even begin to provide watched over them. Maybe my cousin, six foot five. Big truck, tiny house and not in charge. Lives alone.
So much shit.
I am now out back and on some kind of peninsula above the frozen river. This dog--the oldest and largest--breaks the circuit and jumps up at my shoulders. This is a huge dog. A paw on each shoulder, he says hello in English.
So this dog, this huge dog, an Alaskan Malamute maybe, is attempting to tell me what's up with my life. I ask his name and it's unutterable. He keeps licking my face with uncomfortable force, even if I am aware he means no harm and possibly holds some secret wisdom regarding my baseless life. He seems unable to control this, and then turns out to be really old. Like, elderly and crippled. The rest of the pack runs by and he saddles down, staring back saying something like, "You gotta take fun where it happens." I ask his name again and he yells it back again unutterably as he sprints off with the pack.
Now the peninsula has become a cliff, and I can see the people down below, mostly high school friends, from the camp situation earlier. At first this seems like a nice vantage point, then I see the dog run by chasing his pack, and he falls over in anguish. He yells something up at me like, "It's better to do it while you can!" and then melts, hurt/dead into the snowdream.
The cliff is now an island that seems to be shrinking, offering my only choice: jump and die quickly or stay and die excruciatingly of cold and exposure. My friends below are taking some sort of mineshaft elevator below the riverbed, and my yelling for help comes out as whispers. When I finally muster something audible, one of them jokes, "Yeah, I hear a guy who doesn't wanna even push the damn elevator button himself."
They think I'm below with them, but I'm on this precipice, fifty feet above. How condescending does that sound? The doors above them close around their echoing laughter.
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