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razor valentine

14 February 2007
1:55 am

I had this fucked up dream...

I was climbing down some hills outside of a mall.. everytime I started to take a step I was pinwheeling forward, slipping, falling.. realised I was wearing the big black boots with heels and those are no shoes for walking.. managed to get down and for some reason I had to pop my eye out of its socket.

I was at the beach, I called Elise; she asked me what I was going to do with my eye. I've done it before, I said. I'll just pop it back in.. but I couldn't get it in. This beige coloured ball, filled with liquid and almost shapeless. I got into my car and started driving. Drove off the road and down this hill. There were two little roads down by the water, impossible to drive around due to all the trees growing out of the road. Rows of several houses, I look around and realise there are dead chickens hanging everywhere. Literally. From the trees, from the eaves of the houses over the doorways, from the small hand painted signs declaring this to be a small community for devoted racists.

I got out of the car to ask for directions, there was no way I could see to get back up the hill and back to the main road. I spoke to a woman who asked me why I wanted to leave. Said I wouldn't be able to. My eye was starting to get dusty so I tied it up in my shirt. The lady's daughter, just a little girl, came out to talk to me. Said they thrived on hate. I told her she would get older and forget all about this place. The father came out to talk to me, good natured with an honest smile. Led me to a garage.

I told him he could tell me how to leave or I would kill him. He said it had been awhile since he'd been in a decent fight. We fought with whatever I could find; small knives, trowels, zip ties. I grabbed a saw, I swung at him. I couldn't have told you I was dreaming, but I said to myself, "This is no dream, this is survival. I cannot have any of this sluggish dream fighting, I need to connect." Again I swung at him with the saw; the flesh on his neck turned white where I had sliced. It wasn't deep enough to kill him immediately but I knew it was only a matter of time. He took a step back as his son entered the room. I threw a putty knife at him; he threw a long pole at me that hit me in the forehead. I grabbed the pole as the son turned around, took his shirt off. I told him he could cooperate or I was prepared to shove this pole through his heart from his back. I took another swipe at the father to prove my point. He moved to the side and I saw the little girl hiding in a cubby under the worktable. I sliced her upper lip open with the last attack. I cried and clutched her head to my stomach. "I'm so sorry," I said, in between tears. "My uncles are plastic surgeons [thank you nip tuck], they'll fix you, I promise."

And then it was over.

The rest of the community joined us in the garage, celebrating their new lives. They drank from broken champagne bottles. I walked over to the man. "Are you going to make it?" I asked him. He shook his head. His wife and I held his hand as we felt the life drift from him. I had a flash of his funeral down by the shoreline.

I took my leave and entered my apartment, wondering what I was going to do about my eye. It was dusty and dry. I set it on the counter. I would call my uncles in the morning, but more than likely, I would learn to live without the eye and instead adopt this hole in my skull as the way it was.

So it goes; now I go home to go back to sleep.. hopefully with less exciting dreams.