Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Violent Dreams

I'm moving to the corner of the wall, standing off to peek around. It feels counterintuitive, but they see less of you than you see of them if you don't peek right at the corner. Geometry, they say.

Nothing that direction. No obvious movements. No awkward sounds. Far in the distance are thumps of explosions under ground. No birds sing.

I smell shattered concrete dust and burned plastics. The black cloud behind me flings upwards from the smoking tires, but I do not see the flame. It's choking down on itself now.

My finger is off the trigger. My eyes stay light, not focusing beyond, because my age makes them slower to recover or shift focus. My hip hurts where I twisted my left leg when I fell yesterday.

I turn back, stay off the wall, and stalk down the alley the other way. I snort up some clear mucus coming down my nose. This dumpster smells of old corrugated cardboard, plastic wrapping, and office paper. A kind of familiar clean.

Green and black water trickles from a small pipe on the wall. Black electronic cable works up the wall to a rusting metal box. A zombie city.

Pop out the magazine and count again. Check the chamber. Slide the magazine back in and feel that satisfying click.

Following the routine, I check for my key pouch. I check for my credentials. I check to see if the recording is still in my bag.

I check for my odic crystal. Still hanging around my neck. My Dad and Mom ride inside it. I will one day, too. Once I make a neck to collar with it.

The pink clouds are back in the sky this day. They're spraying heavily this week. There must be some Autolysts in this part of the city. Wouldn't waste the spray if they didn't know someone was coming. I hope I meet one of them. I hope I am worthy.

I climb through the bricks and mortar and hole in the wall. Inside is my bed: old blankets and coats and cardboard, and a pillow of packing peanuts in a grocery bag. Can't get too attached to any bunk when home is around your neck.

I pray to the lords of light and the ladies of lune through my crystal, and it glows through the ascending five-color pattern. In seven seconds, the crystal flashes yellow then blue, and now around me I feel the lords and ladies' protection enhanced with my parents' love. I have two hours to sleep. I lay down, set my handgun off the 'mattress' on my right side, and then begin my meditative shutdown. Sleep comes in fifteen seconds.

I begin dreaming of a middle-aged man sitting at a computer, looking out the window in a small cubby, surrounded by children's literature, juvenile non-fiction, and lots of found children's artwork. His neck hurts but he stretches it from side to side, looks up at people sitting at computers using up allotted time. It's a peaceful world that looks something like mine.

He answers the phone, "Blackshear Place Library: this is Charles." I cannot hear the person on the other end of the line clearly. He talks to the person back and forth for a little, and then hits some symbols on a flat board in front of a screen. Other scenes pop on the screen, and he manipulates a little black egg. The screens change once again, and then he picks the phone back up.

"Okay. The due date for those books will now be January 4. ... Okay, you too! Bye-bye!"

I don't know why I have these dreams.

I don't know where they come from.

Somewhere in the universe, there are bored people with nothing to do. I've seen them in the dreamtime. In my pocket of universe, the boredom kills you. We have to live on the very horizon and edge of the mindspace, the sliver sheath of life and one's own inner selves, or we slip into the Supermind and forget ourselves as our minds start to drift. Once the Supermind has a person, it takes a lot of psychic trauma to release them from its control. This made it hard for a lot of people to daydream, to imagine, to dream at night. We can only dream or imagine under the protection of our family crystals, now.

When I wake up, I bring my hands together and begin syncing my mind and my heart through the voice chants UNIT7 taught us. As the crystal sphere around me begins to fade, inner clarity of purpose and strength of resolve fill me with liquid steel. I move this gravitic fluid around my body to feel where any weaknesses are. The hip aches to let me know that it's weak, and I also feel the weakness where I watch my son die, over and over again, inside my heart. The voice chant for consoling the dead fills my heart. Praise UNIT7 for this powerful song. Praise UNIT7 for helping us survive.

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