SILVERADO!

Monkeys are on cows running as fast as horses, shouting, “Hey, ho, Silverado,” and then, “Hey, ho, I’m going to your mother’s house and I’m going to get some pie and sausage pizza and if I don’t like the way the pie tastes or the sausage pizza I’m going to smash her teeth in,” and then, “Hey, ho, Silverado!”

WTF 2 @ suck my balls the unconscious dot com

I see a procession of beautiful cars: Porsche, Lexus, Mitsubishi, Honda (a nice Honda), Fiat, Mercedes, Lamborghini. They are shiny and new. There is no one but me. I am in a parking garage. The lights are low. I hear the sound of a child crying. I hear the cracking of crystal. I don’t understand this. It is vague and now I am flying over Turkey, and the ruins are spectacular, and my penis is a small, red lizard.

Gay Vacation

An old friend from high school is visiting me. My basement room to my house goes on and on. It turns corners, opens into new rooms, some with water damage, others just cluttered messes with the floor covered with clothes, Barbie dolls, strips of cardboard, insulation, broken bits of pottery. He and I are running through the house, carrying a mattress. We set it down on the floor next to a pile of rags with a smell like oven cleaner. I pull off his pants. – We’ve got to be quiet, I laugh. I stroke his penis. – Blow me, I say. – You’re a maniac, he laughs. – Yes, I say, pushing his face down and feeling a warm, cool, a warm, cool, something like bliss. I’m on a gay vacation: this is normal; this is normal. I’m fucking his face and the fumes are rising that will burn our lungs.

Roger's Dream (???)

Roger joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I ask him why, since he doesn’t drink. He tells me that he’s met a nice girl there, she’s a bit older and they have “juicy sex,” a formulation which makes me uncomfortable. (A hard thing to feel: ill in a dream.) – Do you ever dream? Roger then asks me. – What has that go to do with anything? – I dream, I dream, he says wistfully. I dreamed the other day that it would be nice to be a woman during an act of copulation. He is cut short by the arrival of a woman. She’s 55, with silvery hair, and smells faintly of oven cleaner. (A rare thing in a dream: to smell something.) – Get out! Get out! Roger shouts. I jump out of his Silverado truck. She smiles, then bows at me like we have just battled to the death and she has won, then gets into the front seat and the car drives away.

Mr. Wu's Taps

I am in Chinatown. I ask Mr. Wu for a coffee with my roll and he tells me that he has no more paper cups, but that I can use his plastic one. I pour some coffee into the cup but the coffee looks strange, almost dirty. I dump the coffee and fill the cup with hot water from the tap to wash it out. But even after that the cup is filled with scum and three dead bugs with little red balls for a body and antennae and clear little wings. I dump that, wash it out again, and pour another cup of coffee. This coffee tastes fine. But when I take the cup to Mr. Wu to ask him about the scum there is a large spider crawling out of the cup. “You know what I do?” he said, then reaches his hand around as though it is my hand and flicks the spider off the rim of my cup. “Ha ha ha,” laughs Mr. Wu. I dump the coffee, and fill it again with hot water. Aphids and shiny worms come out of the tap. I tell Mr. Wu that there is something wrong here, that his tap must be hooked up to an unfiltered water supply. He looks incredulous so I dump the aphids and worms down the drain and pull the hot water tap again. This time, a little red and green frog falls into my cup. “Oh no!” shouts Mr. Wu, taking the cup from me and dumping the frog into the sink. The little frog jumps around, too tiny to get out of the sink, but too big to fit through the drain. We both watch it sadly.

About to be fucked by a man from Russia playing Hamlet

There is a man from Russia who is apparently the greatest actor who has ever played Hamlet. His Hamlet is playing at a very famous theater in the city. Today he is at our school to talk about the craft and discipline of acting. He is very intrigued by me because he heard that I am interested in acting. He invites me up on stage and we begin to read a scene together. I am Horatio and he is Hamlet. It is mostly him: a passionate speech about how I am in his “my heart of heart” and how much of a good friend I am to him. Halfway through the speech, the Russian starts taking off his clothes. He strips down to his boxer shorts, and when he gets to the end of his speech, as if it were attached to a string, his erection pops up. – You would make a very good actor, he says. I am very embarrassed for him, and I turn out shyly, only to realize that we are alone in the auditorium, and I am also not wearing any pants.

Not Troy

Troy is burning. My mother is there, of course. She is shouting something about aliens landing and I am trying to tell her that this is Troy, it is too far back in history for there to be aliens. Then a huge concrete Godzilla starts walking around smashing stuff up. And I decide that we can’t hear that sound because the first step of the monster has destroyed all our eardrums that we will never hear again. But then I see aliens. My mother was right. They are thin and tall and fall down onto the earth. I run into an alley convinced that the aliens will attack only if they think that I am brave, and wise, and intelligent. I have to appear pathetic and useless. I lie on the ground by a garbage bin. A Giacometti-skinny hedgehog of an alien with a camera for an eye stops and moves down the alley. It’s coming right at me. It prods my arm with a hook, draws blood. My mother’s prediction echoes in my ears, as a hook comes out this time right for my eye.

Return of the Living Dead

I dreamed that it would be awesome to watch Return of the Living Dead again.