not like a joke bit, not like a funny bit, and yes i know dreams are the last thing that anyone else in the world would be interested in hearing. all i can remember is the distinct image of narrowed city streets, gotham-like, monochrome, with concrete walls skyrocketing to an unclimbable height, disappearing to points - a dim chase through large tunnels that somehow bore beneath the city. the sound of a deluge of water. subterranean waterfalls illumined solely by the stabbing light of a cell phone's display.
darkhaired girls, one whitehaired one. all of them somehow dangerous, though behind the smiles. a group of men in liquid-blue suits and dark sunglasses. the white shred of rain down the pavement night.
other bits, with a crazy-eyed friend, though i am with him he is not with me. i watch him trudging through a wilderness. the pinetrees stab toward the sky. the sky is a radiant blue, seeming almost to burn through itself, to bleed electronic blue - on the other side of the mountain, it's dark and the sky acquires staticky stars. the moon hisses and pulses blankly in their hiccuping midst. scaling down the cliffs, he becomes smaller and smaller, like an ant as it curls into its death throes, and vanishes into all the black.
a droning, reedy sound out of the lake. something about a ghost in the shallows.
so, no real earthquakes other than those during sleep. lately, the hours after midnight are the ones to live for, with the drink & the proper bit of woozy alteration. the comfortable smile. how inhibition falls away. you think to yourself: "maybe if i do this long enough, it'll stick." and it will, you know it will, but not how you want it to.
sometimes self-indulgence gets old.
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