Second Coming of the Little Rubber Man
I am in Shan.'s house. (In real life, we haven't been friends for years, due to her personal problems - drinking, drugging, neglecting her kids, getting fired for stealing from work... just not able to get her shit together) She's still with the same guy, and looks totally amazing. She is tanned, great hair, her skin doesn't look all shitty and rugged anymore. She is smiling, has on lots of silver jewellery, and has been working out. She seems really happy, and asks if I want to see the girls. I go downstairs with her, and D., her ex, but now not ex, is downstairs too. It's dark down there, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I realize that nothing has changed at all. It was all an illusion.
In my hands are little bugs. They are alive, and they are trying to eat me. I frantically try to brush them off, but their little legs cling to my skin. I quickly raise one to my mouth, and as it touches my mouth, it turns into a soft little candy shaped like a bug. I bite its head off, and eat it, as it has turned sweet & green in my mouth. I do this a number of times, but whatever I don't finish turns into another bug as I take my hand away from my mouth.
I am carrying a child in my arms. It turns into a little man. The little man is fat & stubby, and looks at me evily. He has horrible eyes, and pointy teeth, and is trying to get at me. I am trying to kill him before he can get away, and he struggles with me. We thrash around, and suddenly, it's he who is trying to get me. I keep almost getting out of the room, and he grips me by the ankle and pulls me back in. I am hitting him as hard as I can, and then I get a good hold on him. He starts shrinking. I try & rip him in half, but he's too tough. I try to get my teeth into him to start a tear, and am shocked to find out that he is turning into rubber. I try to pull him apart, but he stretches, I wrap him around my finger tighter and tighter, but he is steadily growing smaller & smaller. He's now like a red little rubber toy, all wound around my finger. I see a tiny split growin, and start to work at it with my teeth, trying to tease the tear into something more substantial. I consciously remember the little white rubber man from another dream.
Right before I wake up, I am watching a family in a park. The little boy is telling his mum & dad about a school project that he had to complete. He had to write something in English, and then something in another language. He has chosen his First Nations language, and has translated Happy Birthday. He's used pencil in his notebook, and even though there are a lot of mistakes, he has given it a really good shot - crossing things out, his thick clumsy writing spilling across the page. He reads it out, and I find myself looking at elders of the First Nations who are walking away from Walmart, and past the little boy, seeing if the recognize what he's saying. They are oblivious, and what was once a weird kind of pride for the little boy keeping his language alive becomes a kind of sadness that no one understands it anymore.
I am with Greasy Johnson.... this old man that I used to know in real life. He has given me $5.00 and asked that I go into this shop and buy something for a little girl that he knows. I assure him that I know just what to get her, and jump down out of the truck. I start looking around for a shiny, sparkly, rhinestone necklace that looks like diamonds her her. After looking for some time, I realize that they have nothing like this. I start looking at little earrings after a kinda snotty salesperson proves to be no help at all. I get caught up with looking at shoes with a teenage daughter of a friend. I sit across from her inbetween two guys. My friend works for a cable company, and is shooting a story on teenagers shopping, or something like that. She zooms in on her daughter with the bright light in her face, and I remember thinking "Wow, she thinks it's lame, but that's pretty cool - to be on TV for no other reason than her mum being the camera woman... what connections!"
We are transporting bombs. Little bombs, in the stereotypical shape, but about the size of grenades. All the jostling around has charged a couple of them, and we realize this a bit too late. We pull the truck over to the side of the road, reach in, and toss the bombs as far away as we can. We run/trip/fall/roll down a hill covered in mud, and grab a piece of sheet-wood to cover our heads as they go off. Dirt & smoke is everywhere, but we are not hurt, and the truck is okay. We have arrived at D&A's out in Agassiz, and need to stash them, but they're still pretty hot. My dad gets a fan, and we aim it at the two hottest bombs, separating them out from the rest of them. We secure the garage, seal the top of it, and head into the house. My sister is there, and we're getting settled into our rooms.
In my hands are little bugs. They are alive, and they are trying to eat me. I frantically try to brush them off, but their little legs cling to my skin. I quickly raise one to my mouth, and as it touches my mouth, it turns into a soft little candy shaped like a bug. I bite its head off, and eat it, as it has turned sweet & green in my mouth. I do this a number of times, but whatever I don't finish turns into another bug as I take my hand away from my mouth.
I am carrying a child in my arms. It turns into a little man. The little man is fat & stubby, and looks at me evily. He has horrible eyes, and pointy teeth, and is trying to get at me. I am trying to kill him before he can get away, and he struggles with me. We thrash around, and suddenly, it's he who is trying to get me. I keep almost getting out of the room, and he grips me by the ankle and pulls me back in. I am hitting him as hard as I can, and then I get a good hold on him. He starts shrinking. I try & rip him in half, but he's too tough. I try to get my teeth into him to start a tear, and am shocked to find out that he is turning into rubber. I try to pull him apart, but he stretches, I wrap him around my finger tighter and tighter, but he is steadily growing smaller & smaller. He's now like a red little rubber toy, all wound around my finger. I see a tiny split growin, and start to work at it with my teeth, trying to tease the tear into something more substantial. I consciously remember the little white rubber man from another dream.
Right before I wake up, I am watching a family in a park. The little boy is telling his mum & dad about a school project that he had to complete. He had to write something in English, and then something in another language. He has chosen his First Nations language, and has translated Happy Birthday. He's used pencil in his notebook, and even though there are a lot of mistakes, he has given it a really good shot - crossing things out, his thick clumsy writing spilling across the page. He reads it out, and I find myself looking at elders of the First Nations who are walking away from Walmart, and past the little boy, seeing if the recognize what he's saying. They are oblivious, and what was once a weird kind of pride for the little boy keeping his language alive becomes a kind of sadness that no one understands it anymore.
I am with Greasy Johnson.... this old man that I used to know in real life. He has given me $5.00 and asked that I go into this shop and buy something for a little girl that he knows. I assure him that I know just what to get her, and jump down out of the truck. I start looking around for a shiny, sparkly, rhinestone necklace that looks like diamonds her her. After looking for some time, I realize that they have nothing like this. I start looking at little earrings after a kinda snotty salesperson proves to be no help at all. I get caught up with looking at shoes with a teenage daughter of a friend. I sit across from her inbetween two guys. My friend works for a cable company, and is shooting a story on teenagers shopping, or something like that. She zooms in on her daughter with the bright light in her face, and I remember thinking "Wow, she thinks it's lame, but that's pretty cool - to be on TV for no other reason than her mum being the camera woman... what connections!"
We are transporting bombs. Little bombs, in the stereotypical shape, but about the size of grenades. All the jostling around has charged a couple of them, and we realize this a bit too late. We pull the truck over to the side of the road, reach in, and toss the bombs as far away as we can. We run/trip/fall/roll down a hill covered in mud, and grab a piece of sheet-wood to cover our heads as they go off. Dirt & smoke is everywhere, but we are not hurt, and the truck is okay. We have arrived at D&A's out in Agassiz, and need to stash them, but they're still pretty hot. My dad gets a fan, and we aim it at the two hottest bombs, separating them out from the rest of them. We secure the garage, seal the top of it, and head into the house. My sister is there, and we're getting settled into our rooms.
posted by AJ at 7:46 AM
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