Something the good women possess when they reach that age of affirmation, when they become self-confidant. It seems to be only something that I can describe as: an assuredness about themselves regarding just what exactly they are; their ultimate functionality and dominance over any other living being this side of Heaven. They reach that certain age, and this depends greatly on the societal stature, but mostly with how they present themselves, and, subsequently, how they perceive themselves…. How dignified they seem. Do you not feel the same way? A woman can reach that status before you ever even know her, and, certainly, before you even afford your eyes to feast upon her. There is definitely something warm and special and strangely lascivious about portraying such sure kindness and refined charm. How many like this can there be? I feel it with the formation of a new smile – the initial parting of the well kempt lips and the brazen white of always uniquely placed, but extremely sexy, teeth. It shocks me with each flutter of tell-tale eye-lids, the kind that offer a thousand promises of hope to the yearning hearts and eager eyes of young boys and big-hearted men. What is a fair measuring tool of such stuff? All one can do is add up the softness of touching hands, the sweetness of slinky ‘s’ sounds, and that one electric moment when the tongue snugs itself 'tween the upper front teeth and lower fronts, in a soft, cradling vice, in order to further tantalize with the beginnings of a perfect “Thank you.”

Three nights ago I had the first dream that I have been able to recall in long time. I hadn’t realized it, but, until that point, I had not remembered dreaming for a long period of time. As it turned out, I had a second dream in as many nights. Both dreams seemed to stretch all governing factors, even as dreams are regulated – or, not regulated. The first had me putting my pigeonholed trust – it seemed I had no other choice at the time – in, not only the hands of a strange old hippie, but in the care – at the hippie’s suggestion – of several Great Lake Manatees in order to safe my compromised and soon-to-be-abandoned self. I had just previously been hosted to a very fine tropical paradise just across the lake, opposite the city of Toronto. A hidden oasis where nothing but fun and games occurred and the people were all very fantastic and the women were all very special, in all their unique ways. I also remember being magically brought back to a warm reality in a mysterious and unbeknownst fashion. The Manatees had, after-all, brought me back to my safe life the well-known normalcy of strangeness that makes me feel all the better. However, when I come to I find myself walking down an alley. Not a stereotypical dark and spooky and ya shouldn’t go down there but you do because you are starring in a 70’s Cult Horror Film and you have no real choice as if you exist for someone’s enjoyment, but not your own. This aforementioned alleyway took me to the back of an aged shop that revealed itself to be a great ol’ bookstore. Dammit, would you believe this bookstore, filled wall to wall, floor to roof, with books of many varieties and categories, but only one theme: that hidden oasis that had just hosted me with it’s harmless and completely hedonistic activities, like some sort of Roman Atrium amongst the scavenged sylvan surroundings that lie just across the lake from that opposing, and terribly imposing, city, behind that corporate retailer with the brightly lit signs.

The second odd fiction placed me somewhere unknown, perhaps old memories strung together in a new mixed setting creating something of sense for that time and place in my sub-conscious. There was an issue of having to deal with hiding two lifeless bodies, at least, somehow being involved – not having taken the lives, but being stuck, again, somehow pigeonholed unfairly, to deal with the mess. That, coupled with the trailing terrorist group and law enforcement agents respectively and the inherent and implicit responsibility I felt to take care of this toddler that always seemed to be in the picture, but that remains to be of mysterious origins, really had me on my toes.

I had a vision the other day, I call it a vision because at this point I cannot recall it, but I most definitely remember experiencing it’s occurrence, and it seemed to come to me in a daze. The place that I was first taken to (the hedonistic utopia, of sorts, that I first described), after being blindfolded and surreptitiously sedated, was just beyond a store with a bright high-standing pole sign, as well as a large and equally as bright sign adorning the side of their building; a Canadian Tire or Blockbuster, that sort.

Of course, so much more happened as I have only given a small gist – serving as a reminder of each strange play; each foreign account. I will probably look back with bewilderment on these two abstracts and remain as lost about the subject as I presently remain about the meaning.

Comments

[michael wrenshall]

dreams are cool... and dont forget the title of your blog ....ret. dm.