Saturday, October 02, 2004

Figure this one out....

I dreamt last night that I had built a log cabin somewhere in a remote Valley in Montana and it was a very Tori Amos winter outside, phallic icicles; gables of bleach white snow, prismatic flakes falling like scattered constellations--inside I was with Swissy-Missy; the tangental dream angel that nocturnally represents the universality of the female genus--that elusive Other I find myself getting glimpses of in temporal daytime, the sleek lavender shadow of her body at dusk...the totality of my creative urges splattered at the lips of her every movement....in my dreams we were drinking cider and making love in a bed heaped with afghans and blankets and at the end our bodies formed one vessel before separating and I kissed her forehead and she asked me, simply, to read to her which I did. I read Lorrie Moore's Bird's of America outloud, accompanied by the scent of candles, volleying my vision between the printed sentence and her dried-sweaty forehead which glistened like a frozen pond.

And it was perfect. I watched her body form alphabetical shapes and her lips grunt vowels as she rubbed up against me. My voice seemed to lull and tame the subtle flagellations of her body and I realized midway through that it was really Missy who was holding me up. It was Missy (Universal Centerfold of the Cosmos) that received my warbled sentences. It was her presence that I was living for--that I had sworn my allegiance to and I was content. I was happy. I had nestled my every creative and sensual and spiritual impetus into one pocketed moment that had somehow effaced all notion of time to produce one minute of peace.

At that moment I left my body. I saw myself holding the girl of my dreams and then, I watched as my body pulled out of my body; like I was struggling to slough a pair of wranglers before stepping into a pissing-hot shower.

I watched the two people (myself and the female) exhaust prayers on the bed as one pulsating organ. I was naked and the snow tempest whipped and slapped precipitating static on the side of the cabin I had built. I stepped outside and was attacked by a bear. A grizzly brown mammalian ancestor. I was naked and the bear swiped its paw in the direction of my genital. I then lunged at the feral beast, wresting my every fiber into its mane. It was like I had to protect the couple (myself and dreamissy) from the advances of the creature. It was like I knew if I didn't wound the creature the couple inside would die.

Eventually the bear lodged his paws into my genital and I writhed with furor. I lashed back at him, digging my nails into his coat, using my teeth to slowly peel his own fur from him. When I was finsinhed the bear was a pulpy carcass of bones and meat and I donned his own hide like a cape; a trophy for my kill.

When I turned around I was all alone. The cabin seemed to have never been built and the girl of my dreams was nowhere to be found. It was as if they had been scared off by my true spiritual essence while I was trying all the while to protect them.

Only then did I feel cold. The bristling wind unizpped my every pore. I tugged the bear hide tightly around my limbs but I still felt completely isolated and alone. My whole body was one frosty windshield that was about ready to crack. I felt like I had spent all this time killing myself for something and someone that did not exist and that all I had to show for my hard work was the furry remnant of the creature that had wounded my masculinty and left me out in the cold to die.

6 comments:

none said...

*gulp* That´s some *b.a.m.f.* dream. How do you feel about it?

Ace said...

I've been visiting this blog often but really would like to comment long. However honestly speaking I don't find the time[unfortunately or fortunately I comment long and it just flows into several words and I don't realize the length till it's done].
However today I came across the dream and I tried to make it a point to comment and interpret it.
*smiles* It is a very powerful dream. Check your gmail.

daku said...

Dear David, what a powerful dream. I think it is definitely spiritual - but I believe the Dreamhunter will tell you (-: It is so vivid, I can see it as a movie. You could easily make it into a story. It feels like some old myth, reenacted over and over in eternity.

David Von Behren said...

As soon as I get the thumbs-up from ACE I plan on dedicating an entire blogg to his sublime assesment of my slumbering vignette! Girls, if you have any dreams nagging at the bottom of your psyche and your looking for elucidation, ACE IS YOUR MAN! I don't know where you gleaned this trade from brother but it's a GIFT and I'm happy to support your talent and even more happier to call you my friend.

shitty thing about dreaming is that you wake up and realize that that person you were ardently groping two minutes prior has now been reduced to a puddle of drool on your pillow.....

Sometimes we have no choice. Live for your dreams or wake-up and cry...

The Queen of Swords said...

Well, this dream seems to be about wrestling with the animal forces of the psyche. From what I've read, you are not supposed to kill off the animal instincts; you are supposed to befriend, enlighten, and transmute them. The truth is, they are more powerful than the contents of the conscious identity, and they will continue to fuck with you until you make them your friend, or so I have read.

Did Han Solo kill Chewie? Think of it like that...

It's so beautiful that you have met, and fucked, your ideal woman, or Anima-Image, in your dreams. I see mine (my Animus) only in fleeting images in my dreams, and sometimes, during the day.

But I would say that this is a very advanced dream of your psyche, to have all these archetypal components make themselves so present to you, and for you to be dealing with them directly.

David Von Behren said...

Thanx Alexis but duh, everyone knows that Chewie was
gay. Is that your light-sabre or you just happy to see me? Hans did it ALL for the Wookie...

Thanx for reading my blogg. I used to be a piss-poor writer bashing about in the Village (10th and Broadway) and now I'm a piss-poor writer in the midwest. Anyway, love New York and you're always welcome here.