High school. Khaki. Fit, so he must be a soldier. A captain we trust. The right-wing Christian fundies, (terrorists terrorized) flee in their undies through rooms antique. Older and older. Indoor savanna. Boulders! A sentinel on one tor: a leopard. More. Long stare. The elephant knew the way out, but got stuck upside down. Pillarlegs flail. We must befriend and right her to clear the only exit--that helical stair out of the underscape. Break jail!

NOTE

This comic nightmare-poem has an odd genesis. I'm going through a drawer full of notes and books used in building the World Dream Bank. I just tossed stuff in for years. But I'm finding a lot of unfinished business in there. This was a tiny paper slip with pencil notes transcribing a shamanic dream by Xanthe--told to me over the phone I think. Overlooked, undated, and so telegraphic I can't be sure of details; my sketch and transcription are tentative. But the core image was clear. And unique. Not even Dalí...

--Chris Wayan

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