Feb 14, 2009

2:22 AM

The near-spring temperatures faded with the sunlight and we had some rain. So the stoop was no good. I went out on the back porch and lit a cigarette.
I had to get up.
I awoke sweaty and chilled from a fevered sleep of strange dreams.
I dreamt of space aliens coming for me. They came screaming down the sky in what looked to me for all the world like a giant, flying river boat; a huge craft with a spinning wheel at its side like a monstrous carnival ride flaming through the night. It was a harbinger of worse things to come.
I got over that and flopped again into a paranoid dream of the walking undead. I kept seeing people I knew and I needed their help but, when I grabbed them and spun them around, their eyes were lit with a maniacal, bloodthirsty light. Vampires.
I found myself wondering then: If vampires can’t see themselves in mirrors, how do they know when their face is dirty or even if their hair is combed properly?
The door opened and she came out to catch me smoking.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m thinking about my dreams,” I told her. “My dreams are visions.”
She looked at the glass in my hand. (We had spent a few hours, in our Down Time, silently arguing over the ever-diminishing remnant of a bottle of vodka.)
“Looks to me like most of your dreams are in that High-Ball glass,” she said. “And you’re spilling them.”
I reached down, instinctively, to wipe the liquid off my leg. I realized then that I was wearing draw-string pajama pants, a tee shirt and my most worn and tattered herring-bone jacket.
“Well, yeah,” I said, still wiping, “they’re my dreams.”
She just nodded slightly and went back inside and I didn’t have the words to stop her. I knew that, once I made it back inside, she’d already be asleep.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and I’d spent too many mad, tortured nights wishing her back into my life and now, I didn’t know what to say to her.
What I wanted was to chase her inside, lay her out across the mattress and, not to sound overly crude- even though it’s very difficult to manage with the vodka swimming in my veins- throw my penis into her and then jump in after it. I wanted to ravish her, attack her, to kiss her lips wildly, to whisper and nibble shapeless words across her bare skin and teach her as many lessons as I could muster from my meager bag of tricks.
But I stayed where I was and thought some more about my dreams and wondered what these visions could mean.
“God Damn!” I said aloud to the empty night that had filled the back yard around me.
I had just remembered that it was Valentine’s Day.

13 comments:

Purest Green said...

Weird. I recently had a dream that armageddon was happening and I had to choose between staying in Britain with the manboy or returning to Canada to live out my final hours with my family. What does it all mean?
Launch yourself at that woman. It is the day for such things. After all, she can walk in the sky. She must be made of magic.

Joan of Argghh! said...

If vodka is wrong,
I want you to be write.

A lovely Valentine you've created here, and there's not a diamond or sweet so valuable to a woman than such "apples of gold in pitchers of silver;" such words, fitly spoken.

I got a card with tarted up monkeys on it...

All This Trouble... said...

Ahhh....penis throwing is a worthy undertaking. And tomorrow is Sunday, after all. Maybe you can go for a double header...

LC said...

She's never going to know that you think things like this unless you tell her...

rachael said...

Dreams are complicated and confusing for me, and the strangest dreams seem to come at the most powerful times, but they are never clear and always fill me with more questions so I almost dread remembering them.

That was a great though....

.::~P~::. said...

Those damn vampires.

Teri said...

I totally added a whole other section to that post you commented on. Boy are you fast!

Teri said...

Well, WTF are you waiting for? If you think for one second a woman doesn't want to be attacked and ravaged coupled with sweet whispers and words then you are sorely mistaken. Get off your sorry ass and go tag your woman! STAT!

Sarah's Blogtastic Adventures said...

Stop thinking...and just do it...

Clay Perry said...

well, what did the aliens look like?

ohthatgirl said...

I read and re-read the part about you attacking her, with the same reaction each time: arousal.

damn.

Acyd said...

i ended my relationship on valentine's day, but not on purpose (i mean, i DID mean to end it but i didn't mean for it to be on valentine's day).

turns out, i have horrible timing.

Cat said...

What you refer to is what we like ot call a "throw down", and it always most intriguing when it isn't possible due to some kind of barrier, such as vodka-induced stupor or co-workers. It's never too late for a throw down, though. The time for giving up is over.

Also, are you sure those aren't MY pants?