not a gun, but a bird
I woke up to an empty room. The walls were dripping and for a moment I felt like I, too, was dripping. A cold sensation ran through the back of my head and I felt that something was off - but I couldn’t really put a finger on it. There was a knock on a door and a stranger entered. He was dark. I don’t think he had eyes. He asked me some questions but I couldn’t remember because there was no sound. The whole dream came about in silence. I don’t think I understood him, I think I put the words in his mouth. He asked me something about pitching in - how much I was willing to - but I didn’t really reply. I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t really know how I was able to convey those words without actual words. He took me outside. I was somewhere in El Monte, in a gated ghetto. A really wide, singular row-house, perfectly rectangular. There was a three-story brick wall, gated on three sides of the house. If you could call it a house. The last side was empty, except for a fence, about one and a half story tall. After looking around the perimeter I looked again at my friend. He grew a face. Pale in complexion , pasty really, tall and lanky. He also grew a 40 in his hand. Strange what the imagination does. Anyway, he motioned a vague gesture and I followed him back into the house, up along a zig-zag of stairs. Along the way walls were rotten concrete holes, old and distorted with the paint peeled off, with lights flickering on and off. Like a strobe, but much, much slower. There was graffiti everywhere and it looked like those Czech drug houses - where those kids go to shoot heroin. It was narrow but it felt like I was walking along under a freeway. It was barren and it was cold. Suddenly, my benefactor dropped dead, 40 still in hand, and he mumbled something about “This is it. This is where it is. I’m - here. ” Those were the only words I heard throughout the whole sequence. I had a sudden trip of guilt, and looking at him and at this barren waste of an apartment, I shook his flat shoulders and seized his arm. The one without the 40. I couldn’t leave him here. Immediately, he rose to my touch and he smiled. He was looking at something else, somewhere else. I took him in my shoulders and we walked the remaining flight of stairs.
Everything had this yellow dim to it. Well, it was more than yellow, it was a bit darker, a more dark orange really. I didn’t know how but I knew that this was the door, leading to his room. I pushed the door open and it creaked, slowly revealing another barren room, dingy and damp in appearance, with several holes, wet towels, and random litter ranging from ravaged couch pillows, empty bottles, and broken pottery. I laid him down on the best sofa I cold find - and then I heard a knocking, along with a strange, vague chant - or murmur - from the window. I looked and I saw a group of people, each person atop another in a human pyramid, chanting: “Look, look! it’s a surprise! Here it is - here he comes - quick quick! Look, _____, it’s your birthday! Happy birthday!” A chill ran up my spine. I didn’t know why but I had the strangest feeling that they were referring to me, and I had a hint that they were going to storm the stairs, they were going to storm this room. Panic rose up my balls. Quickly I shut the door - and I waited. There was a knocking, and the door was blasted open. Several people entered the room - most of them elderly - these were the people I saw from the window, but it was clearer, and each person had a more unique individuality about them that was more distinct, more noticeable, and more real than the human pyramid that I encountered before. They began a party. An old people party, but the energy was pretty young. In the middle of the line of people coming in, there was an elderly man who was silent the whole time - most of the elderly who came in chattered or murmured something, unimportant but still uttering some sound, white noise may it be - but this man here was silent. The others told me, whispered to me, that he was the strongest out of all - and it was due to his silence. Silence is power.
Anyway these people walked past me, and much to my surprise, they came towards my friend, my long lanky friend, asleep on the couch. In their presence he began to wake, with a splendid, morning-sunshine smile across his face. It was a placid smile, but it was so genuinely earnest, it lit up the room. I was petrified by his smile - but more so, of the strange happenings in this room. I suddenly felt this spiritual force, this aura coming about, emerging from the room. It wasn’t terror that I felt, but it was something very, very similar, in the way that it strikes you and grasps you, but it was something closer to awe. My jaw clenched. It’s like, all these elderly are suddenly chanting, something and everything in silence, transferring their powers or their knowledge towards my friend, who’s know closing his eyes in deep a deep meditative trance - absorbing everything. I looked again at the window. There was a potted plant, and it grew about an inch since I noticed it from the first time I looked at the window. This was getting too weird so I descended back down the stairs to the empty lot. I decided to take a piss. As soon as I unzipped my zipper, I saw a car coming into the lot, driving past by behind me, headlights on. The car went by and it parked around 200 meters away from me. Someone, from the passenger seat I think, went out and he too, took a piss. I retraced my gaze back to my penis finishing the piss and it occurred to me that my piss was in fact dissolving the very fence that I was peeing on. I zipped back my pants and I ran my finger across the rusted fence and -
dreams are the language of God
whats the use of being clever