I had a nightmare the other night wherein everything I touched dried up and blew away...The dried husks of all things were crumbled bits of beetle carcasses blowing in a funeral wind. I was choking on my own blood. Then, right as I realized that the ground, too, was crumbling like baked filo dough, my hands twisted and the bones burst from within them, hot strips of flesh pelting my face and body as I reached out to keep myself from sinking into the desiccated Earth. A bird screeched the lyrics to pollywolly doodle, and I awoke.
My mouth was so dry it had cracked in three places. I was bleeding into the back of my throat. Somehow, my hands had both been folded almost against my wrists and were pressed against the bed under my belly--once they woke up again, the pain was crystalline. "Well, that explains the dryness and the pain in my hands, but what about..." I realized I had sneezed all over my pillow and face. It was a most loathsome morning.
4 comments:
So, instead of writing my NMSC essay, I'm reading about your bodily fluids.
I'm the worst scholar ever.
What would Freud have to say about this?
What an atypically literal dream.
That's what I thought was interesting about it. I tried to jazz it up with a little multi-level word-play by corrupting a latin poet and juxtaposing it with a visual pun. That's still a little literal for me, though, I'll allow...
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