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Dreamed 1994/9/23 by Chris Wayan

I'm at a playground with swings and rings. I'm a grownup, but this is San Francisco, so it's not only kids who can play. A blonde and I swing past each other. We eye each other--feel shy, but attracted. At last we hop onto the ground. I gently approach her, and hug her gently without a word. She shivers with fear and pleasure. I feel very happy.

Then... she hugs me back, hard. Holding on... and at first I'm excited, then I feel a slash of fear. She'll trap me! I don't pull away--she braved her shyness and fears for me. But how ironic! I thought I wanted her whole-heartedly and it was only her fears that might keep us apart. Wrong. Mine too. A winged woman carries me over San Francisco. Below, near Coit Tower, a tiny golden runner threads the maze of hilly streets.

So we play tag. She runs up over one of our steep San Francisco hills, tangled in little streets, alleys, and stairs. A whole crew of us from the playground are chasing her, this little golden meteor. We're all artists, poets, actors, dancers. Who is she, the Muse? It's true that whoever catches her first wins the Prize, but I don't care. I want her for her own sake.

I top the ridge and slam into a fierce headwind that stops me. Like pushing against a living body. I think of the old song "They Call the Wind Mariah." Now I know how those cowboys felt--lonely night, no one there but the wind, and the wind becomes a woman. And as I think of the wind as a girl embracing me, fame and prizes and muses and all are forgotten. I'm in the moment, in the wind, and Mariah is enough. I let the wind press me against the wall like a lover. It's so strong, I walk up the wall! Stand aslant at the top, and then... leap.

I'm flying in the wild updraft. Mariah carries me. The hill's secrets unfold beneath me, like a Hill of Venus, like labia spreading to show that sweet unexpected maze of lips and tickles. I look down on the red roofs and private yards, the stairs, trees, and artists scurrying here and there--all seeking the golden comet I spot far down the hill. The focus, the clit on the run! And she lopes on...

I lean that way, and the wind carries me toward her.

Because Mariah isn't jealous. She wants me to find her.

She wants me to be happy.

And just possibly, she wants you happy too.


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