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Dreamed Oct 23 2024

Roam the city on a hill. Streets are a clutter of shops, shoppers, shooters, droppers. No way is out of the way. Sink from the blight into swift sweeping twilight. From dim, to dark, to dire. Retreat. Re-clamber to the crown. The world is shut. Claustrophobic press of flesh is faded. Dread desolate slabs of concrete upon which one may make home.

Centre cracks a sneer. Slip between its lips, past cobweb arcades, soul-less store fronts, yawning caves that once shone seductive songs. Bag wrapped bodies clog the innards of this slow dying beast. Asleep? Dead? A body bag woman rises and races. I flee. At stair top we stand face to face. She begs for change or coffee. "I think I gave you change already," I inform. She smiles, "Yes, I think you did." We part, she back to bag rows and I through emergency exit scream.

Stumble out onto a simmering shore of blush and blues. The world is warm and awash in succulent unsettlery. To the right lies a lake sleek and sheer. A many tiered waterfall twinkles awake. Snatches of past life songs twinkle awake within. To the left, cross lazy sands, are souls of several earthen shades beautiful beyond the spell of bastard words. Behind stands a cave, a gaping cavity of glittering stone and gentle swells. From supple waves young men rise, only so high as to reveal their eyes, silver with ravenous glints. Oh to be their sustenance.

Right left stands he of moonlit skin and star frost eye. He asks where we are and how we arrived. I know neither. Finger through palm. Pinch of the nose. Mild surprise. "We're dreaming." No lust for control. Curiosity grows. Where this ride will guide us?

Ships swarm the horizon. Train of giant boxes slop into the water. They are a wall meant to sever earth from ocean, a drifting genocide. Warriors rise. Storms of arrows fly. They but slice softly into sea. And then...
Stillness...
Silence...
Surrender.

The wall surges closer.

I must do something yet nothing. Nudge Moonman. "Use your white savior powers to help," I jest, just a test. With a swift, "Okay," Moon leaps from the cliff, walks across water, faces the floating wall. As blocks swing close he sinks straight down. Rise again as each threat passes. He climbs a boat and calls, "Send explosives." Intentions for dynamite in his hand bestows upon him only a gas can. He christens the boat. "I need a light!"

Finger through the palm strengthens resolve. "Jump onto my hand!" I call to Moon. In a silly show of perspective forced, his feet find my hand. He lands, a tiny creature crouching in my palm. Pass him to the nearest warrior.

Now rises my warrior. How long has it been? Dance an ancient ritual, step, stomp, punch, spin, over and over and over again. Scream from the depths of my innermost hell. Streams of golden plasma spray from fingertips to swallow each ship. Each explodes, one after another, in fantastic plumes of flame and shadow. And then, quite simply, the swarm and their bobbing threat are gone. Turn to the earthen warriors. They are gone. Look for the light of Moon man. He is gone. I stand sole in this still simmering dawn.

"It's done, I suppose," I sigh to the morn. But there is still some stuff to this dream. Launch and laugh from a ledge, pristine. Slip from the sky. Spin so the spine leads the plummet into the next whatever that will have me.