Dreams? Yes dreams. Mostly mine are too disturbing to pass along. I can’t properly embellish the sensible features of them without invoking goblined imagery too obscene and grotesque for most sensible folk to suffer thru. But here’s a dream I had the other night.

I sat in the living room. The walls had been covered with striped felt. Maroon. Then green. And again maroon. Something from the bohemian markets in San Francisco. Two children burst from my abdomen. They were screaming in garbled and synthesized voices. The torn flesh and stretched membranes covered parts of their bald heads. Anger and angst forced them to clench their fists around my dangling interior organs.

All the while I sat. I drank cognac from a large snifter and gently rocked when the fan passed. Really I was enjoying the trumpet music she had brought back from India. The door opened. She had returned. The children shut their eyes and dove back into the gaping wound at my abdomen. The flesh sealed and the scar melted into the remaining portion of my tummy.

In three words or less I would describe the dream: Fucking beautiful.

WORK SUCKS

In this strange dream I had a while ago, I looked down and noticed that my member was just a wispy flap of skin, only slightly thicker than a hair. Panic set in when I realized that I wasn't wearing any pants and that I was in a room full of people who were staring and laughing at me. I tried frantically to cover it up and pretended that what they saw was just a pubic hair and that my actual member was hidden from their site. This was only the second most frightening dream I've had involving my penis.

The worst dream was as follows: I was at a dinner party where waiters in tuxedos were serving hoar-devours on fancy silver platters. One of the waiters came over to me and asked me if I would like to try my own penis. I looked down to find my own limp Johnson on his tray. There might have been a couple others there as well. So I picked it up and wondered how I was supposed to eat it. Then I woke up and vomited in my mouth.

The point is that some weeks are so awful that I would rather eat my own severed penis than go to work.

chaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrlie ;-)