a nightmare

it was to do with a bow, booboo, i remember. and a book. and ants. to use the bow you had to read the book, but to read the book you had first to go through a ritual that would prepare you for the 'impact' of the knowledge. you had to coat on your arms with honey and let yourself be stung by the ants. a friend of mine screamed while he watched his penis wither away. but opening the book did worse, booboo. far worse. but the bow, with it you could make music from the air itself. but not just any music, it brought forth the very words god communicated to create everything we saw around us, and the things that we didn't. and it reduced you to a trembling mass of guck.

now, booboo, you and i were having a party at our place and the guests were being entertained by a girl who played the viola. we knew her. and i knew the bow she held in her hand for what it was. but she didn't. that was crucial. the guests meanwhile kept on smiling cluelessly and sipping from their cocktails.then the girl got off and a loud, guitar driven band began to play. i went to find the girl, i knew, as we know these things in dreams, that she couldn't leave our house because bad things would happen.

when i found her i couldn't tell her everything i knew because my tongue kept tripping over itself. i managed to tell her she shouldn't leave because she will die, but this was greeted with peals of commonsensical laughter and a torrent of words too fast to make out, by the girl and the surrounding people, who were really rocking it by that time. the girl grabbed her case and left. and the first rumble of thunder was heard.

then i completely lost my mind and scared the guests telling them they shouldn't leave because things were coming to get the girl. you took me to our room, which was awash with light the colour of nostalgia and soft red cushions. i started trying to explain things to you but you shushed me. then as i buried my face in your hair i heard the screams. and i felt, rather than saw, the two purple halfclosed eyes staring from a bruised face. beneath those eyes was only an obscenely wide purple mouth. and the purple lips puckered and began to whistle the saddest song we'd ever heard. and we cried until we were nothing but bloodstained droplets trembling on the floor.