Waking Finnegan

“We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our whole life is rounded with a sleep” ~ Shakespeare

My Photo
Name:
Location: zurich, Switzerland

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

December 21, 2004


At some sort of high tech forum--Vegas-like atmosphere laden with geeky types in thick glasses and pasty unattractive looks. Hostesses in tutus and fish-nets serving piña coladas and caipirinas. Strange-looking matrons overly bronzed and looking like walking preserves--like bog people--and walking around with overly in-bred dogs.

Steve Jobs and Bill Gates are sitting on either side of me and both have horrible breath--or what seemed to be--but it's not. One of them's farted since everyone sitting round our 'blackjack?' table are collectively holding their noses. The two are talking some mile-a-second patter about customer support, and Bill Gates mentions that he's here to prove he's 'one of the people' by going around giving hands-on help to newbies. Jobs is red in the face and Gates he's repulsed by him--that he's a slime-bag. Gates talks right over him. I need to breathe and so get up and walk out into the tent-like space.

A humungous chandellier is hanging from what now appears to be a tee-pee, since there's a terminus at the apex which opens up to the sky. I focus on the posts and realize they are whole tree trunks--massive--look to be redwood or cedar. The chandellier has a bar swing attached to its base where little teddy bears are lined up and seemingly animated like Pirates of the Carribbean characters. I can't focus and see if they're real or not.

In a kitchen covered in yellow tiles and there's a toilet collecting water under the sink. I see there's some cruddy matter floating around and try to flush it, but the handle breaks--now the water is rising and lots of bigger crud comes up to greet me and jumping over like little lemming shits. I move quickly away but they're after me. Front door doesn't work and so I scamper over to the sofa-as-Ark. Gurgling sounds and then a majorly loud flush. The little turd-like things, which had been following me, backtrack and disappear around the counter. Now a growling sound. I'm too disgusted and petrified to get up and find out what it is. Then a tail. A pit bull, but like the friendly one in Our Gang. I realize it's Skipper, Michael Ivandetti's old dog from Bellevue Avenue. But skipper wasn't a pit bull; just a mutt. Skipper notices me and his tail and backside go into wagging contortions. His right eye is blue like a crystal marble--the other one dark and impenetrable. He comes right up to me and looks so sad. I ask him 'Where's Mike?' He begins howling and the pitch goes up and now it's not Skipper anymore but something like a wolverine or badger--I'm not sure--and it looks menacing. I sit quietly paralysed--I dare not move--this thing could tear me up in a few seconds. He doesn't notice me. Walks right past the couch, sniffing everywhere. He starts eating some of the remnant turds and then goes round the counter corner and begins growling. A terrible fight erupts and I'm wondering how to get out. Then the badger or wolverine's head comes sliding into view and it's dislodged from the body. It's howling and Skipper reappears with his mouth all bloody and smiling red teeth happy and tail-wagging. I say: 'Good doggy'. His whole head has been chewed up and I go to look for some medicine in the bathroom. No bathroom. I find a stairwell to a basement and begin feeling for a light-switch but can't find one.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home