I said goodbye to my comb with a pair of scissors.
It was the quickest way to be someone else in the mirror.
For a while.
It was painstakingly long-and a pain in the neck-figuratively and literally too.
Twice I spilt blood on the floor while slicing off my pinnae…tiny little nips, at the edges-with a quick but unsure footing and rapid snip-snip action.
Pain and red hotness welled through my head-my hands began quivering…and made my progress that much slower and much more painful.
I record my thoughts the way a dog marks his territory…there seems to be a method to this madness.
But I contradict myself.
There is no method to any madness, so as to speak…that which lacks a method, either intuitive or through logical deduction can be truly termed madness-Einstein was talking about insanity mind you, and not your garden variety madness.
The dream was like a chicken bone lodged in between the teeth.Vegetarians-please dont ask me to explain.
There was a large house, in which I had gone to meet someone-
someone I once knew,
and at once I knew it was a dream.
But I was curious of the unfolding events-which were quite unlike the recent few days of travel and isolation.
In the big palatial house, where we met, there were kids in one room playing with bright neon toys who invited me to join them.
It was a confusing game, where they tied neon pink rubber balls filled with helium to their heads and bounced them off by headbutting them.
The only thing I remember about the game now was that it wasn’t as easy as they made it look.
And that she was waiting for me in the next room, with a look of a mother who knows you’ve broken her favourite perfume, or a wife that has caught you jerking off to scat fetish videos.
Only women have the capability of speaking volumes with a single look.
Men sadly don’t have the necessary amount of estrogen to interpret the same.
A disembodied voice boomed somewhere in the mansion.
It was the infomercial guy…I could recognize him anywhere.
“Do I want her for the entire night?
“Nah…twenty, maybe thirty minutes at the most”
“After that I might actually have to start a conversation with her!”
“Now who would want that!”
In the next room, when we met, I tried to force myself on her-that’s the awful truth…that I was being a dream rapist, that I tried to hug and kiss her…and the most distinct sound that I remember was my beard rustling as it rubbed against her cheeks.
Maybe this vivid memory of the beard rustling against her cheek was a self defensive mechanism of my psyche, because I’ve never grown a beard so far in my life, and maybe this was my psyche’s way of distancing the self from the actions that I clearly was horrified of committing.
You see, I would later tell myself, it was the bearded man who was forcing himself on her, not you, even if it was your own dream.
You see, you are still the same guy, the guy who usually asked permission to hold hands or never asked for a phone number until it was given, or opened car doors and drew chairs.
You are still the same guy…
The palatial mansion was was made of white marble, with golden & lapis lazuli borders, whatever that means.
Strangely, after the initial token resistance, she caved in, and began kissing and hugging while softly moaning- and in horror I stopped myself, and blurted out something, which I will reveal later.
She stopped for a second, and gave a silent acknowledgment of what I said and threw herself back to continue the amorous act that I had initially initiated.
I grew increasingly confused and guilt ridden as she pushed me onto a marble lounge and woke up at the same time I fell on the marble lounge with a thud.
I woke up to me saying…”But I’m Married!”