dream communication 02
.start message:
He is older, but not old. His full grey beard makes him look older than he is. He’s huge, a wide giant of a man. Strong powerful hands, lined with age, leathered with exposure, and calloused with use, tell the stories of a working life. He is wearing furs- I’m guessing he’s a trapper. He has eyes so clear blue they are almost silver-white…something like water in a porcelain bowl. He is a kind man at heart, but there is something inhuman about him, something feral… He is likely part animal somehow… he would rather be with them, than with us.
And he is with them.
We are in the wilderness. He is trapping animals, but not harming them. I watch him intently, trying to figure out what he’s doing. He never speaks to me. Never looks directly at me. Perhaps I am not really here. The animals fear him. Hate him. He is after all, human somehow…and this is their world. I watch and I realize he is feeding them some kind of drug. He is putting them into a deep sleep. He is studying them. He is trying to find out how much of this chemical or herb makes them sleep and how deeply and for how long. Perhaps he is a pioneer of animal research. Testing the mountain lion is a tricky affair. How to be sure he’s really asleep? How to be sure such a clever animal is not pretending? Over and over again…trapping different animals, testing them, letting them go. He always errs on the side of too little drug, rather than too much. The wildcat escapes too soon. The peacock is high as fuck…and happily singing along to a late-night television program about being high as fuck. The monkey actually wants to be dosed. Not so much that he will fall asleep. He just wants to be high too. He gets let out of his cage, he’s not going anywhere.
This trapper has a daughter. Maybe ten years old. She is in the cabin. She is very sad. Freckles and ginger brown hair. Big blue eyes like dad…but richer in color…age has not paled them yet. But they are wet with tears. It is cold in the cabin…so terribly cold. This has been a particularly harsh winter. Feels like mom isn’t here…anymore. Not for a long time. This girl has no right hand. It appears to have been cut off. Cleanly. And healed over. The left hand is bandaged up. The frost on the window makes evil and beautiful patterns behind her bed. Father has tears in his eyes too...almost. He says something hopeful. It makes the moment even worse. She already knows what’s coming and his words make it all unbearable. Her tears fall like big and heavy, wet and cold. The frost makes evil and beautiful patterns on the bandage. The blackness is almost visible beneath the bandage. The dead blood will continue to creep. The trapper does not hesitate. He raises his knife. It’s so fast you can’t even see it. She screams in pain and agony and utter sadness.
Outside the monkey is high as fuck. He is sitting next to the peacock. They are swaying together and singing and watching tv.
We got the wildcat again. Is he really asleep this time? The hunter’s hands venture nearer. The hunter’s exposed fleshy hands go towards the cat’s neck, towards his mouth… Just got to get this collar around him…
:end message.
He is older, but not old. His full grey beard makes him look older than he is. He’s huge, a wide giant of a man. Strong powerful hands, lined with age, leathered with exposure, and calloused with use, tell the stories of a working life. He is wearing furs- I’m guessing he’s a trapper. He has eyes so clear blue they are almost silver-white…something like water in a porcelain bowl. He is a kind man at heart, but there is something inhuman about him, something feral… He is likely part animal somehow… he would rather be with them, than with us.
And he is with them.
We are in the wilderness. He is trapping animals, but not harming them. I watch him intently, trying to figure out what he’s doing. He never speaks to me. Never looks directly at me. Perhaps I am not really here. The animals fear him. Hate him. He is after all, human somehow…and this is their world. I watch and I realize he is feeding them some kind of drug. He is putting them into a deep sleep. He is studying them. He is trying to find out how much of this chemical or herb makes them sleep and how deeply and for how long. Perhaps he is a pioneer of animal research. Testing the mountain lion is a tricky affair. How to be sure he’s really asleep? How to be sure such a clever animal is not pretending? Over and over again…trapping different animals, testing them, letting them go. He always errs on the side of too little drug, rather than too much. The wildcat escapes too soon. The peacock is high as fuck…and happily singing along to a late-night television program about being high as fuck. The monkey actually wants to be dosed. Not so much that he will fall asleep. He just wants to be high too. He gets let out of his cage, he’s not going anywhere.
This trapper has a daughter. Maybe ten years old. She is in the cabin. She is very sad. Freckles and ginger brown hair. Big blue eyes like dad…but richer in color…age has not paled them yet. But they are wet with tears. It is cold in the cabin…so terribly cold. This has been a particularly harsh winter. Feels like mom isn’t here…anymore. Not for a long time. This girl has no right hand. It appears to have been cut off. Cleanly. And healed over. The left hand is bandaged up. The frost on the window makes evil and beautiful patterns behind her bed. Father has tears in his eyes too...almost. He says something hopeful. It makes the moment even worse. She already knows what’s coming and his words make it all unbearable. Her tears fall like big and heavy, wet and cold. The frost makes evil and beautiful patterns on the bandage. The blackness is almost visible beneath the bandage. The dead blood will continue to creep. The trapper does not hesitate. He raises his knife. It’s so fast you can’t even see it. She screams in pain and agony and utter sadness.
Outside the monkey is high as fuck. He is sitting next to the peacock. They are swaying together and singing and watching tv.
We got the wildcat again. Is he really asleep this time? The hunter’s hands venture nearer. The hunter’s exposed fleshy hands go towards the cat’s neck, towards his mouth… Just got to get this collar around him…
:end message.
posted by The Revelator at 17:53
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home