INTRODUCTION

This isn't a dream but an intense daydream about shyness toward a girl I met at a Thanksgiving party and really liked. She gave me her number, but I just couldn't call her.

I tried to figure out why and couldn't.

So I went into a drawing-trance, and this is what came out. I Xeroxed and blew up the line drawing and painted acrylic on top.

Only after a day of feverish dabbling, when it felt finished, did I really see what I'd done, and what it meant.

I was trying to pass for normal with her. And that was a wingless prison I didn't want.

THE DAYDREAM

So, I'm trying to get the nerve up to ask this butterfly out on a date, even though she's probably too young for me and due for another metamorphosis or two.

I'm feeling fairly human, only showing a modest touch of equine jitters--when I get nervous I tend to turn into a horse. Or at least get horse-faced.

But the minute I admit I like her, a brutal old ghost behind me clamps its bear-clawed hand on my head!

And the worst part is, the monster shows evidence of feathers. It may be wings, my own shamanic wings--powers I've disowned, frustrated to the point they'll sabotage all the goals and girls on earth.

Till I own up to my wings. And fly.

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