THAT DAY

I'm taking an art class in Silicon Valley. I worked today at home, on two computer pictures, but I can't decide which to show at the class critique.

KREL FLOWER shows a psychic dream of a giant blue flower full of monsters from my Id--except I noticed, in the dream, my monsters were kind of nice.

And PATH, a dream of two happy little critters who lead me off the human spiritual path onto their own, which is: play.

Showing either one will feel like stripping naked before the class. They're my dreams, and very revealing dreams at that. I can't choose. Exhausted, I go to bed.

LATE THAT NIGHT

I wake up in bed to find fur tickling my nose. Funny, rough fur. And... it's breathing. In bed, crawled in next to me, is the biggest otter I've ever seen!

A girl otter. She snuggles up. So warm and furry... I get turned on! I slide into her... and start fucking the otter.

She doesn't say anything. I feel guilty--crave reassurance that I'm pleasing her--reassurance from an otter, when I don't even know if she can talk!

But then... suddenly I accept the obvious. "If she didn't like me, she'd snap at me and LEAVE. After all, everyone knows... otters don't fake!"

So I let myself be an animal too, and crawl all over her, and hang onto that wonderful fur, and rock and thrust inside her, and come so fiercely I nearly faint.

I fall asleep again, holding my mate.

THAT MORNING

I wake up alone in bed. The otter's gone.

But she left a realization. The otter fucks who she likes, when she likes. Well, I can paint what I like and show what I like. I have to please me, not my classmates. If they don't like my art, too bad!

So I show them BOTH dream-pictures.

And they freak.

Not about my dreams. Nor about my art. They go ballistic about my making art with a computer.

"Computers are soulless!"
"Computers are anti-art!"
"Computers are evil!"
Their critique of me and my evil technique stretches out longer and longer, but no one says one word about my paintings as art.

Wait, I forgot. One did. Our teacher did. He denies they ARE paintings--you see, they're not paint, but ink from my printer, and I didn't paint them, the machine did. When an artist uses a brush, that's an extension of the human hand, but a computer... oh, no. So, he concludes, my paintings aren't paintings!

My pictures, in front of them, don't exist.

I needn't have worried about showing my most intimate dream-images, about revealing the innermost me.

They can't see me at all.

World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sh - Si-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: wdreamb@yahoo.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites