Showing posts with label Shit I Wrote When I Woke Up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shit I Wrote When I Woke Up. Show all posts
"Look at all that," the younger one said, leaning toward his window with a curiosity and energy anathema to the mature veneer he wore during boarding and their taxi down the runway. He wasn't more than twenty five: a few years out of college and still absent of a clue what the fuck was going on in life outside what he saw on the RSS feed each morning. There was another man, much older this time, sitting across from this young stooge -- he admired the young man. Youth recalls youth, and the old fucker was watching his life pass before his eyes with a dash of fatal amusement big enough to make Henry proud.
"I have no idea what any of that is," he continued, eyes locked with lamenting sincerity on the rows of aged passenger jets stacked on the ends of the tarmac, their wings stretching outward like rusted toys reaching for a child to hold them. "I have never flown by one, or ridden a motorbike, or smelled their gasoline or kissed a robot or ever even seen a real robot for that matter. Whatever our gate agent was doesn't count, I think. She wasn't real but she looked real, you know?" The older one (who wasn't more than sixty three) spoke this time, telling him how he was ten years too late for his latter desire. "In a way its funny what happened to them all," he continued, "our image and such." They flew over a cornflower blue, squarish tangle of pipe: a floating polymer factory growing PVC from chemical residue in the river water. It was sex, the old man said. We had exposed them to too much of it. "Oh shit, you couldn't blame them for wanting to try it themselves, you know."
You wouldn't be able to tell if the boy shifted in his seat or if the seat adjusted to his wish to move, but whatever the action, he wound up leaning forward, listening intently in the way all boys do when their favorite pastime is mentioned. "Their women died first. Tried to get the orgasms just right but couldn't. The glitch hit one, then spread through their network in seconds." The geezer couldn't get to the part where his brother's came to death all over the sofa without both passengers breaking into that special kind of filthy laughter reserved for all manner of pervert.
"Something I read back at school said their men tried to outlive it for a while, hoping they could fix it or something. Build new ones, maybe?"
They waited, for a while.
"Then they got tired of fucking us (too fragile) and fucked each other instead. Then that got old or they got wise and eventually just said fuck it in general." We woke up one morning to find them all like that: cold and dead, with their lips turned up in smug satisfaction.
I had a dream last night where I was riding in the back of an AT-AT (trying to keep my balance on a jump-seat way too small for my weight), reading a book Kant never wrote called "Paris, 1988." In it, a German man has a flashback to the one time he met Hitler: the dictator had come to his store -- a secret excursion to peruse his country -- for a bottle of wine, and paused for a moment to reflect on the wooden rocking horse outside the store window.
Hitler said he had a rocking horse once; it was beaten, broken, and couldn't rock very fast, and whenever you would sit on it, it would give you splinters. Nevertheless, he loved that horse, so he made it his goal to put it back together. He worked on it tirelessly, day and night, until one day, it was the most wonderful rocking horse in all the land, stronger, faster, and more beautiful than all those around.
It brought a tear to the shopkeepers eye. For a moment he understood der Fuhrers quest. The AT-AT stumbled over a bump, sending me down the aisle where I finally realized the entire cargo hold had been converted into what looked like a 787 passenger plane. There weren't many other passengers.
So, this will be a new column for me. I tend to dream outrageous things most of the time. Aliens, mutants, puppies, fornicating, beautiful people, and bizarre situations usually taking place in a fictional dream location that is a combination of Benson, Nebraska and Davidson, North Carolina.
While I may not remember all of my dreams, I do tend to wake up with little snippets of situation or conversation left over, echoing in the back of my brain. I thus bring these things to you. Maybe you could make sense of them?
Bad People in LoveThey stood there, in the middle of the fucking street, doing that thing where your foreheads almost touch, your arms almost wrap the life out of the opposing body, and your lips almost meet. I had never seen them together before. It seemed so natural, yet wrong. It was wrong because I knew these people, I knew their histories and tendencies. But that didn't matter anymore. Even the Devil looks human when he's in love.Disappointing, isn't it?I walked over to my car, taking strides bigger than Jesus'. There was something pink on my window. I'd gotten a parking ticket.Stretching My FidelityMy fingers closed around the tanned, slender hand. It was connected to a similarly waif-like arm, which in turn attached to a glorious torso with amazing breasts. She was Arab. The bad kind, according to CNN. The shake was a pleasant formality; somewhere in the back of my head, I couldn't wait to fuck her.
