Tag: sleep

It was only a dream. Only a dream. Her face churning in rhythmic clicks to the tick tock of an unseen remote control–swish swish–in essence, channel surfing her. Or was it a great transparent hand of sinewy glass massaging her jowls like putty? Pain into bliss into fright and awe—“a hundred fantastic and terrible and obscene forms”—and back again. There is a delay between us. An unbridgeable distance of inches. She submits, mouthing unknowables (the image is “out of sync”). Her black mane spilling suspended over a blacker void as if submerged in a pool at night. Her smile. Eyes eating me alive. How it seemed a performance, some kind of macabre dance. Click click click. Watching it (did she know I was there?) I felt a pang of truth, wordless and visible, indescribable but undeniable. Illiterate truth (isn’t it always?). I don’t know who she was, this woman talking without speaking. I don’t know what it meant, what it means. When I awoke my hands were mitts, numb, dumb, someone else’s. It was only a dream.