at this point, i’m a little something like “what the fuck, am i dreaming the i dream of genie fucking sequel? & where the fuck are the cannons on this fucking gothic gargoyle of a spaceship?” i don’t find the guns but i do find a freudian talking about mormon underwear. & i literally bite the bullet. a stadium full of people animates into a motherfucking serpent. a worm, Vermiculus malleus, hammering down on me. forgetting about the size & shape of things. lighting is crashing overhead; its heat lighting & we’re dying in the desert. napolean says something about how if we just keep going, we can make it. i tell him something about how i always made it a point to gunsling at midnight instead of high noon.
so that’s a little bit like the sound of me losing faith. napoleon saying we can make it, but floundering in egypt. there is no great admiral beating the lion all about for the crown, just a desert, the same way there was just ice when he went to russia. later on the subway, brian calls me & he starts talking about memoirs of nazis. trails of emeralds.
speaking of conquerors (napoleon, me, nazis), & more dreams. i saw a little boy catch sick with a fever & die. mothers cried in the theatre. it was alexander the great & how old was he anyway when he died? he had a sister in my dream & she was ariadne. she took the thread from his stitches for her malevolent purposes. her violent intrusion into daedelus’ maze with the athenian boy as her scissors. the walls were covered in scrawl. they told a story but the ocean came crashing in. we’re talking fucking linear m. you can read the whole story of absence in a tomb. as long as i’m left in it long enough.