59 — M’s Grave

December 14, 2008

 

From E.

I dreamt that my good friend “M” died by falling down a flight of narrow stairs. But apparently he had a quick funeral and burial because the next day he was in the ground with grass regrown and I was at a job interview on this interview i was walking with my interviewer and we ended up at the cemetery at M’s grave and I just kept walking even though this was when I first learned of my friend’s death……I woke in shock

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36 — The Feminine Mystique

December 1, 2008

109983743_4bf695b4e81From I.  My wife took a leave from work after our first child and ended up getting (unintentionally) pregnant again before her leave was up.  Oops.  Three years later she’s still a stay at home mom.  I work two jobs and come home dead tired every night.

Last night I dreamt we traded places.  I had to take care of the kids and clean the house with a pink vacuum and cook dinner wearing an apron and you know what?  It was the most relaxing fucking day of my life.


26 – Special Education

November 29, 2008

From Z.  

This dream is hard for me to admit… I teach teenagers with special needs and lately I’ve been having dreams about having sex with my students.  Really, they’re more like nightmares.  At least once a week I’ll have one.  Sometimes it’s consensual and sometimes I’m being held down against my will.  One I really remember was one of the bigger kids in the class holding me down and calling me a “dumbass” or a “retard.”  This kid is kind of the class bully and he’s always out of line, calling other kids names and getting physical with them.  I know I’m supposed to be impartial but I really don’t like this kid.  I’ve had a few dreams about him.  Sometimes I get away from him and sometimes I don’t.  Most of the dreams take place in the classroom or somewhere else in the school (behind the bleachers, out back at the dumpster, in my car, etc.) 

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3 — Dating/Being Patrick Bateman

November 19, 2008

From S:

 

A realm in the variance of perspective:

 

I’m in an elevator to the top floor of my new executive position job to meet my new boss, hoping to charm him with my charisma and sweet smile. I meet him in his suit; his partner is Christian Bale as Patrick Bateman from the movie of Ellis’s book “American Psycho.” I have personal romantic relations with Christian (or Patrick) at first, but leave him for the top honcho who is the most attractive man I have never seen in my life. Christian/Patrick is not surprised. A little tiffed and pissy like large family youngest children get, but not surprised. We remain friends. In both relationships; flashes of sweet frolicking bed smitten type cuddling. No hot sex; but it’s implied that we’ve been intimate many times before. Lying in bed with the handsome new man I’ve won over, the perspective changes. 

 

I am Patrick Bateman in my suit walking underneath a muddy bridge, shoes sticking and getting sucked by mud. I find two girls in wheelbarrows on the verge of death, naked, barely breathing. It’s implied that these girls ended up there by a drought; there had been no rain and they were dying of thirst; mermaids, with feet. I walk up to the first girl, a pale brunette, mouth something spiteful to her feeling angry, cut her throat with a razor, one long clean line from one end of her neck to the other. A bright red showers her gray chest, her perfect breasts, blood pouring out of her throat as she makes a final gasp, unmoving, a small twitch, a jerk, eyes glazed, open. I stare at her as she bleeds–hating her. I walk to the other girl in a wheelbarrow, legs dangling, just a few feet away: a blonde, staring at nothing, unblinking, breathing shallow. I tell the girl it’s her lucky day; that she’ll be spared; that I feel merciful. I fetch a dirty wet rag and wring it above her mouth, water grazing her lips as her throat constricts gestures of swallowing. I tell her she should tell people I spared her. 

 

The perspective changes, I’m walking towards a lunch bistro to have cocktails with my work associates, I see them waving, smoking cigarettes and chatting over scotch and barely touched plates of food. I sit down and have a martini before returning to work. I am no longer angry. I feel nothing.


2 — Supermodle

November 19, 2008

From Y.


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