WORM WIZARD,
or,
TITMAN'S CHAIR
Dreamed 1997/4/23 by Chris Wayan
I'm upstairs in a monstrous castle--superhuman scale. It's like the Devil's fortress in the old movie TIME BANDITS. A bed has a view out a north-facing window, but the bed's unusable: in it lies part of a jagged assemblage of levers, the base of a big cranelike arm that leans out the window. I crawl around the bed and examine it--all I figure out is that hitting a button on the wall makes the arm hinge down and out, and once it's started, nothing can stop it till one swing's done. I don't want to hit the button while I'm on the bed next to those levers and spikes. Call out to my friend Liz not to hit the button till I get off the bed. I'm right under some sharp spurs that'll rock forward onto me if it moves. Crawl out and off.
Walking on thru the castle, I meet the Tin Woodman from THE WIZARD OF OZ. He tells me this is one of the Oz castles, but I'm not sure if it's the Wizard's or one of the Witches'.
The Woodman leads me to the Wizard--in his true form. A huge, segmented, flattened, leathery worm, with skin like an alligator. An alien. Of course! That's how he was able to convince all the witches he was a magician. "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." Techno-fraud! Smoke and lasers.
But the human Wizard's form was no puppet or hired actor. It was his human alter ego. He's a were-worm! Can he help us, in his man-shape?
What a complex, fascinating film we're in!
Now a new character leaps in, the Exotic Temptress. She wears the scarlet Bikini of Lust, with bead fringes. She's supposed to be gently wicked.
The actress is here tonight, in character, to narrate the film from a little stool to the right of the screen. Some sexy scenes, and I get turned on. But then the energy fades and the plot gets scattered and at last the footage itself begins to bleach toward white... Something's going wrong. I look at the Temptress. Her breasts have gone peculiar, pushed up by her outfit into rigid red ice-cream scoop shapes just stuck on her ribs. A guy keeps poking me and whispering "Isn't she hot? Look at those tits!"
All I can think is "Ow, ow, ow! That must pinch!" Not sexy to me at all.
I feel an urge to snap "Shut up," but he's my best male friend, and I've lost enough of them, so I let him drool and poke. I have other things to worry about.
For example... I'm lying on some pillows on the theater floor, and his chair is resting on top of me! It doesn't hurt, just feels heavy.
And embarrassing. I got all hot and hard in the Temptress's early scenes, hips rocking almost involuntarily--but I suppressed it because he'll feel the motion up there on his chair. Why's this guy on top of me--don't I deserve my own chair? Maybe I don't merit a Temptress yet, but everyone should have room to fantasize and masturbate, at least!
I guess. Maybe I don't. Mr. Tit Man seems content to sit on me forever--or until I push him off.
NOTES NEXT MORNING
Not that he's ever been much but a dead weight, anyway.
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