Dreamed 2011/3/24 by Wayan
Endless rain. Flooded roads on the way to the Bazaar Cafe, where they throw you out in the rain if you sing a cover. Originals only! So I plan to give them real originals tonight. Dream songs!
I start with a hard neoclassical piece with a strange rhythm and elliptical rhymes called Migrate Through Fire. It tells (true story!) a dream of a herd of cave-pony-people who go on a quest through time for a place they can safely sing (sabertooths tended to eat us). Yes, us. I was a shaggy cave-mare.
I botch the opening, but restart it wordlessly until I find my way. Once I start singing, they're with me. Especially strong reactions to the last verse:
Sing out, shy creaturesUnderstandable, I guess, in a room of shy songwriters braving the mic.
Hiding no more
Come walk your dream
Migrate through fire.
My second song is called Anarchy Fair. It tells of a punk guitarist who haunted my dreams (true story again!) She said I needed to revert to being a reckless teen, go get a synthesizer, learn to play dream-songs... and shock people.
She was confident that all I had to do to shock people was be honest.
Halfway through, I realize this green-haired dream figure is possessing me onstage, speaking through me to the audience. I get so raucous and intense, no one cares if I miss a note or ten. At the end they roar.
After the show, I get a lot of praise for both. "Gutsy. You were naked up there."
Night. A short girl and I are side by side on our stomachs on a bed, watching TV news. An interview show comes on, called Face to Face.
The set is bizarre--it has a round, slowly rotating dais, a foot high and six across. On this pedestal, a leggy dark-blonde girl sprawls, part on her belly part on her side, left knee forward, right straight. She's naked, but very unselfconscious--cheerfully answers her interviewer as if she's sitting clothed and comfortable in a chair like his.
In contrast, he looks rigid and uneasy--clearly this isn't his normal interview setup!
Is he blushing? I notice he blurts his questions fast, while he can still ask her face, not her elbow or ass as they swing into view.
Well, I guess his reluctance is understandable. His talkshow is not called Face to Ass.
As the dais rotates further, my friend mutters, "No way, that pose would show her pussy if it turns much further. They'll NEVER allow that on broadcast TV..."
Wrong. As the stage swings her legs around, her bare cunt glistens in our faces.
Glistens a lot. Does exhibitionism get her wet, or what? Wait a minute, that's too shiny. We look at each other in disbelief. On top of disbelief, I mean.
Her outer and inner labia look normal, but this pose stretches her cunt so it gapes wide... and her vagina's just an inch deep, and floored in silver light. A mirror! An oval mirror inset in her cunt. It's 2-3 cm wide and 5 long (about 1x2"). A hymen of glass, mylar, what?
Or is it a hymen at all? What if it's not a membrane or mirror or lens but some strange field, a gate to another dimension, like the mirrors in Cocteau's Orpheus, or Alice's looking-glass?
NOTES IN THE MORNING
I know sex can be a mirror reflecting your own attitudes back at you... but this seemed extreme!
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