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I am in an Antiochian Orthodox church service, sitting by all by myself in a wooden pew. The sanctuary is wide, ornate and well-lit. Like any Orthodox church, the iconostasis behind the altar is teeming with images of Mary, the saints and Jesus Christ in stages of his ministry. It is right before the Eucharist, the time when the clergy shuffle down the center aisle waving their incensed lanterns.

As the clergy passes, the bald, stout man in the pew in front of me turns around and stares at my forehead. I am too taken aback by this sudden attention to say anything. The man initiates small-talk, asking me questions about myself and why I decided to visit this church. I tell him about myself - or at least try to - but he always brings the conversation back to his interesting life and all his original and wonderful theological views. In the middle of his ranting, I suddenly notice a very disturbing feature on this man's face.

Whenever he opens his mouth, an obsidian, mouth-shaped slit opens up on his forehead and talks concurrently to whatever he's saying. It's exactly the shape of his real mouth but miniaturized. I think I can spot some miniature rows of teeth in there as well. A clammy uneasiness trickles through my body. I feel like my reality has been shattered by this two-mouthed man.

Before I can think too critically about the physiological impossibility of all this, I convince myself, I shouldn't judge; I'm sure he's really a nice, normal guy.

Next thing I know, I am at my parent's house. I stroll into the kitchen for a glass of water and instead am greeted by this two-mouthed man. He is sitting expectantly with his hands folded on the kitchen table.

How did he get here? Will he follow me around for eternity?

In shock, I try to think of something to say. Eventually, I ask him, "Do you like the house?"

The two-mouthed man replies, with the fissure in his forehead aping every word, "I ought to. I built this place, after all."

I am surprised, stunned and very creeped out.

~End Dream~

Good morning, everybody.

Dream #1

There was a girl who hung out with some extremely fashionable people, possibly Andy Warhol's entourage. She had either darkly tanned or copper-brown skin. Her body was lovely. But her head was very strange.

From her forehead back, her head was like a flat disk, like a plate. It was hairless and a little bit mottled. On either side of this disk, almost at the sides of the woman's cheeks, were eyes. The eyes were quite wide, pale, with very tiny pupils.

I saw the woman in two scenes. In the first scene, which I can't remember very well, the woman was indoors, in some place like a fashionable club. In the second scene, the woman was walking on some brick path beside a house, drinking some can of juice or soda. In this second scene, the girl was wearing a long, stylish, but very summery, green dress.

I noticed that the girl's mouth and chin were both very small. Her mouth was almost all the way down to her chin. I thought the girl must have had some kind of disease that had deformed her face.

I now heard the woman talk, as if in narration. She had been an orphan, but it had been very hard for her to find a home, due to her deformity.

Another female narrator now explained that her situation had been similar with that of a boy. I now saw the boy laying in the back of a car. He was little, maybe eight years old. He had shaggy, brown hair, and he wore a white t-shirt and khaki shorts. He told the camera (?), "I've been to a number of different homes. But nobody's wanted me -- because of my problem."

I wondered what the boy's problem was. He didn't look deformed. But I suddenly saw his chest, for just an instant. The boy had a healed-over puncture wound, very deep, in his chest, just up and to the right of his colar plexus. The wound looked just like somebody had stabbed a sign-post into the boy's chest. I took this wound to mean that the boy had heart problems.

The boy continued, "I went to the libraries to do research on my disease. But they didn't have much about it. But I studied whatever I could find."

I had a view of the boy in the library, typing at a computer. It looked like he was on some kind of black and white, text-only page on the internet. But it was just the library catalog. I thought to myself, It's a real sign of the times that, whenever this documentary was made, all you could do on a computer at a library was look up what books they had at that specific library. But nowadays, if you have the right keywords, you can do tons of research on just about anything.

The woman narrator now spoke about how she went to the library the boy had gone to, so she could see for herself how little information the library had regarding the boy's disease.

I was now far out in a big town, which I may have thought of as Brooklyn. I was way out at the end of town, but I needed to get back home. It was daytime, and the streets were really packed. I was looking for a subway station. I kept zig-zagging through various crowded streets, hearing people's conversations. I kept finding subway stations, but they were never the right ones.

One subway station was elevated maybe five or six meters above ground. It was set into a concrete stairway which had shrub-filled planters all along it. This appeared to be a station for one of the green trains (4, 5, or 6 line in New York). But it also seemed like the station was closed, even taped off with yellow police tape.

I wandered down a straight road filled with people and cars and tall buildings. There was noise and rushing everywhere. I may have done more zig-zagging through the streets, looking for a police station.

I was now in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, walking up to a driveway on the right side of a house, coming from the front of the house. As I did, a 12- or 13-year-old girl came walking up beside me. She was only wearing a pair of yellow briefs-style panties. She had pale skin and brown hair down to just above her shoulders.

I was in some bathroom. I had a huge mustache, and maybe a huge goatee. I was trimming my hair. I realized that the more I cut off, the better I looked. I wondered what would happen if I just cut the whole thing off.

I was back out in front of the house. In my memory, I heard a black man telling me how it would be bad if I kept thinking about the little girl whom I'd seen topless. He said that something like that was bound to get me in trouble.

I was now walking back over to the driveway. At the curb, the driveway had something over it, like a gate of garlands, through which a new bride might walk on her way up the aisle at an outdoor wedding.

Just coming through the gate was what appeared to be some kind of creepy guy. It looked like the guy was trying to catch up to me and elbow in front of me for some reason. So I sped up my walking to get to the house's side door before the creepy guy could get to me.

But then the person called out to me, not by name, just something like, "Hey!" I looked at the person and realized it was just the girl again. She was naked, again, except for her yellow briefs. The girl held a white, terry-cloth summer dress in her hands. But she didn't look like she was going to put it on.

The girl's body was a little weird to me. She was pretty thin, but her bottom was a little bigger than would seem to be proportional with her torso. The girl also had two "breasts," which were more like two little nubs of flesh with nipples on top, very close to each other at the center of her chest.

The girl seemed to be pretty interested in me. She said, "Yeah, I'm studying -----." (I forgot what she was studying.) We got in the house. We were in a hallway. At the far end of the hallway I saw a room off to the left, with orange walls, where my mom was sleeping on a low mattress or couch.

The girl and I walked into a room near the front of the hallway and off to the right. The room was small and plain, with just a mattress on the floor and a white sheet draped against the back wall. There may also have been a loose door or a long wood board leaning against the wall near or under the sheet.

The girl was continuing to talk about her study project. Apparently it was all a real pain in the neck. Now she needed to use a computer for some research. So she'd come back here, apparently to use my mom's desktop.

But we were apparently in this room because the little girl wanted me to have sex with her here. I was thinking it probably wasn't a good idea, because I didn't want my mom to wake up and discover us. But I also felt like if I wouldn't get in trouble, I should probably just have sex with the little girl. She seemed to be really curious. I thought I should help satisfy her curiosity.

Dream #2

(I had fallen asleep while "rehearsing" the memories of my first dream.)

I stood in a dark room of a museum with a woman and possibly another person, maybe a man. The woman was very business-like, professional looking. The walls of the museum were either black or not lit at all.

The woman and I stood before a painting of some dramatic scene, like a Redcoat soldier on a hill during the Revolutionary War. But it was done in a very realistic style, like that of Millet (?), except more watery. The sky was a slushy blue, and the hill was like washy waves of green, dotted with white flowers. The Redcoat seemed to be collapsing. He may already have been down on one knee.

The style struck me as very dramatic and beautiful. But suddenly I realized the painting was a pointillist painting -- a style of painting I generally don't like very much.

I told the woman that this might be one of the very few pointillist paintings I actually like. I gave a description of the painting. As I did, I suddenly thought, Wait a minute! This isn't a memory from one of my dreams! What the heck am I doing here?

The painting seemed to start changing, a black, comic-book style painting "burning" out from underneath it, from the middle outwards.