Dreamed 10/19/1996 by Chris Wayan
I'm in a huge, mazelike house with a group of friends, mostly other women. We encounter tricks, illusions, tests. Some are psychological, emotional--and cut painfully deep. I expected challenges to our spatial skills, courage, cleverness, and magical talents, but not to have our friendships and trust shaken.
My friends are all human, but I'm not. I'm someone I've dreamed before--an adolescent lemur-girl called Gray, after the dove-gray color of my soft short pelt. I have a wolf tail, rangy coyote legs, green slit eyes, a long snout and tall pointed ears... I love being me! Just wish I could find someone like me. The right species.
But I both live the dream as Gray, AND draw our maze-adventures as a cartoon--at the same time! The doubleness is dizzying.
And when I slide out of the picture-frames and find myself drawing them, I'm quite different: older, male, more human-looking. But not human--I'm a sort of Greek satyr. I still have short fur, especially below the waist. I can tell, because I'm naked, as always--clothes are too confining, with my huge, perpetually erect phallus. It's the size of my forearm, not quite human shaped, and velvety with short fur.
What IS this, some tacky wish-fulfillment? Not MY wish! Since when is a giant penis fun? It's no more sensitive than a human penis, and it severely limits my partners--who can fit me in? Hardly any humans. Frustrating! Mares and cows are big enough, but I want someone to talk to, not just sexual release with an animal. I can't find any other satyrs or fauns--for I guess that's what I am.
Suddenly I see that these two selves, superficially so different, have similar frustrations: friends, but no love! Brief sexual encounters at most. But no lover--because we meet no one like me.
For the first time I wonder: "Why does my life-story go this way so consistently?" Neither version of me is ugly or cruel or stupid--why can't I find anyone right for me?
I look beyond the cartoon frames, beyond the drafting table, at the larger picture. And finally start to see... this pattern has a purpose! I'm being USED. Some powerful spirit is using me as a sensor, a camera, a field recorder! So I must stay single, unsatisfied--moving. A roving eye. And loneliness is the motivation.
I'm furious. I get NOTHING out of this deal! Treated as just an instrument.
I decide "I'll go on strike--or quit!" This is it. The end. I won't do it any more!
And wake again...
NOTES IN THE MORNING
I think it's time this camera went on strike.
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