I had a dream of a landscape at which I was looking through many images.
The images were scattered somewhere, in a condition, I can not describe in words.
I was feeling the images, many of them.
In an open hall, floating in the space- blue, dusty blue, brown, blurry brown.
The landscape did not have any specific physical manifestation, it was mainly dry, fairly mountainous, but not a desert.
I was hearing a guy saying to me, as a voice over, ' the abundance of images of a place and event gives you the illusion of reality, of being in a place '.
I remember when I woke up in the morning, as I was pushing my head in the pillow, I was repeating this sentence with pain, a pain somewhere behind my head, trying to make a sense out of the dream and the image of that landscape.
I did not know where that location was, or if I had seen that image somewhere, maybe in the news. I still do not know.
Now, you, listen.
Two planes crashed, bodies standing in street in white clothes, covered with blood, occasionally, and police check points in the street, big watery white pimples coming out of your feet, as if you have walked for days, the tattoos on your back I want to shut my eyes to, you and your troubled land which you carry on your back for good reasons and I have to needle myself for that.
I have bruises.
I want to make you come like a river.
I often dream of a river, coming down a hill, or a mountain. The river has extremely sharp angled edges, almost 90 degree. The water runs so fast and yet with no sound. I go down the river, on an iron cart, still hearing not a single sound. I reach down the river, and climb back up, the walls of water seem harmless, I start to feel a deep desire to touch, I start to masturbate with the rocks, the gravels. And here, at this moment only I hear something that could be, or should be the sound of two stones pressing each other, or being rubbed.
I climbed up the river, saw an Indian woman in her blue and red sari, having her giant breasts out, looking at me while I'm fucking a guy I have been seeing recently, only instead of his blonde hair, he had black. The Indian woman with her breasts out is still looking at me.
I think I will come now. He hated the sun in the morning.
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