The other night I dreamt that Dad was doing an experiment.
There was a huge vat of water.
It was cylindrical;
a diameter of 10 feet
and height to the ceiling.
The floor of the vat was coated with some chemical;
let’s call it chemical A.
Dad poured in a second chemical;
let’s call it chemical B.
Chemical B was cobalt blue
like the sky at dusk,
almost glowing.
It flowed in,
tentacles stretched towards the floor.
As dad had predicted
chemical B seduced chemical A out from hiding.
The almost naked outer electron shell of A
craved the negative warmth of the outer electron shell of B
and fought even gravity to find it.
Chemical A was blood red.
It wound ribbons up from the floor,
dancing with the flow
like the arms of a tantric goddess beguiling the sky to fall.
I sat watching the choreography,
agog and waiting
(almost needing)
to see the two ribbons combine,
twist into some royal purple hue.
But as the red hit the blue,
like vinegar and baking soda
the mixture fizzed into a dull white and overflowed the tank.
~~
Mom and I escaped the foamy flood by perching on a stair.
I went to find help.
I found someone; a dean, perhaps?
He was young and clean shaven and eager to help
like a missionary.
By the time I and our savior made it to the scene of the accident
Dad and his students (though I saw none)
had cleaned it up.
The dean said some things, then nodded and left.
~~
When Mom and Dad and I were alone with our now empty vat
and wet rags,
Dad made a joke about me snitching on him.
The joke was on me, not with me.
And it hurt.
And then he laughed that I can’t do much math, either.
~~~
You see, that is not my dad.
He is proud of me
almost to a fault.
He wishes my ambition would match his perception of my talent.
He himself keeps working and working,
trying to engrave his tombstone,
desperately trying to prove something big,
something universal,
something that will justify his existence.
And my cynicism is past that.
~~
~~
But the very next night,
(and believe me,
I almost never remember my dreams,
but I remembered these)
the very next night
I slept in a high-tech brothel
where I was a new employee,
awkward and insecure,
and struck by the competence and confidence of the more learned.
And the science was deep and quick.
While we women stood naked under the bright glow of fluorescent bulbs,
butts and bosoms unadorned by lace and frillies,
our horny patrons would bend themselves over stainless steel counters
and we'd licked their assholes and caressed their scrotums.
They came quickly and left.
And, it wasn’t until I awoke
that the idea of licking the assholes of arbitrary men
disgusted me.
~~
~~
But forgive me,
that is not something I should talk about in polite company.
~~
~~
I’ll remember and savor
the first dream
with its willows of color,
their inability to unite
and the uncharacteristic disapproval of my father.
I will savor it and psycho-analyze it
as if the great fairies of truth
had planted it in my unworthy brain
as an enigma to solve;
as a puzzle to piece together;
as if its solution would give me meaning and significance
and happiness.
I’ll quit talking about the second,
because
it repulses me
Author notes
Dedicated to Cvillelisa. She owes me an I-phone. A prewrite that I would never otherwise have forced upon the world again.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 18 of 18
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Hello there! I'm artfullyme's mom. Having been away from the site for 3 long years I decided to get back into the swing of things by reading the people who read her .. do some commenting and maybe pick up some needed points .. so having said that I came to your page to sniff out the good stuff and have a read or two.
Wow! I'm glad I did. I love this write .. so don't feel like you're the only person who has weird dreams. When I first began counseling clients I had a complex dream much too long to share but at the end of it I was hovering over a truck full of .. "shit balls" .. which I was sculpting into a wide variety of heads.
So your second dream where naked women lick the assholes and caress the scrotum's of horny patrons doesn't really seem all that strange to me.
Personally I think it's great that you can write like this .. it's refreshing and real. I thoroughly enjoyed the read so thanks for sharing.
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Thanks, Starlady. :-)
How nice to see Liza's mom here. She really amazes me. Nice to meet you! :-D
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the anomaly of interest to me is that out of countless other dreams, you recall and revisit these two ('i almost never remember'). and i wonder if there are things forgotten in the real world but remembered in these bicameral dreams ('diversions'). the clear, guiless voice of your poem makes me feel like you trust the audience to view the intimate details of your psychological landscape without needing to fix you or 'solve' the puzzle for you. -jungphish
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Yeah, it feels like our choice of memories must have some significance, just like it feels like the details in the dreams we do remember must have some significance. What amuses me is our tendency (perhaps it is just my tendency, but I think it is more universal) to want to find some meaning in our dreams (at least the ones we can .. well, stomach). It is almost like our psychological need for religion -- a feeling of being somehow more special than our lives indicate.
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Wow, I clicked on this through sheer boredom, and it blew me away... What a beautiful write. Congrats on originality. You are a true wordsmith. =]
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perfectived creative
what an odd and yet arranged~ awry world we do live in! This is nothing short of fantastic originality! Keep up the awsome creativity! It seems to flow quite naturaly here on this page! -
this is my fav Birchy poem too, I came over here saying to myself I wonders if that poemer is there, i'd like to read that poemer again, i would.
and there it was! Sorta like chrismasy comin downstairs to find something that you really wanted 'stead of dumb old clothes and stuff.
Yay! Says I and reads in reads.
Thankee very much for forcing this poem upon the world, cause mostly the world got its nose up its bunghole and every once in a while it needs to wipe it off.
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I'll buy you a membership to a high-tech brothel for christmas, then.
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*hehehehe* I used to think my dreams were odd 
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Oh I remember this !
I do I do I do..
Thank goodness for Cvillelisa, because I love this one..
(pauses for a happy dance)
It is such a pleasure to see this back, it's like a captivating story book you can't put down. The way it works things that otherwise might seem too big, into images that somehow seem easy to deal with.. less pretentious is the phrase I'm looking for I think, yes.. that because this is like a comfortable conversation over coffee, and yet it's anything but light..
Dreams are the weirdest things.. some of them stick, most of mine don't but the ones that do are just bizarre. lol
This is just wonderful.
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I have had sort of a crappy day, believing up until moments ago it was Friday topped it off. Two good things happened though and this is one of them. Call me sick I don't care I loved reading this. It reminds me of my Dad who I loved so very very much and I've been missing him. And it reminds me that:
Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives. -- William Dement
Bring back that one about the origins of Life .. and I'll consider sharing my virtual i-phone (that is when i answer that bitch who nags the shit out of me every other minute of the day). I remember hearing from my boss (before he got his i-phone) that his friend who had one told him "They are sort of like my ex-wife, really pretty and a pain in the ass"
Thanks for the post. You rawk.
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maybe you dont dream about stainless steel brothels but something else stainless steel
lol
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Goz, is this your last day??????? Are you going to come visit before sneaking off to paradise??????
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hee hee last day at the station. then lots of work to do before being in paradise
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lol
still giggling at the short recap of the second. -
hahaha
I really do think it must be very interesting in your mind
You come up with the strangest things, but so funny
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These were both honest to god dreams. I take no other responsibility for them. My only conscious contribution is the commentary on the one I choose to think about. I swear.
I don't daydream about stainless steel brothels. Geeze. -
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hehe
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