Let Go the Safe
Dreamed 2014/2/6 by Wayan
Feel tired and a bit faint whenever I get up. On the edge of illness? So I stay in, do little, wary of triggering worse. Work on my lifesize, furry cat-centaur. Sculpt the head: insert plastic foam (packing material) for a skull, inside foam rubber from an old mattress. Trim and pad till it fits.
BEFORE |
AFTER |
At last I cover it all with pantyhose, then a kid's hoodie to smooth & unify the new head. Eventually, a furry pelt will tighten and strengthen the figure. But enough to make her stand firmly? Still wobbly so far.
Like me. Patience! Progress.
BBC Mysteries: Inspector Lewis. A shy fragile Oxford teacher tried a singles site, but her video's pirated onto a cruel humor site. Gets a torrent of mockery and hate mail. She kills herself. Or did she? When gorgeous Shakespeare student Briony does a little digging, she's found dead too. And not a suicide. Bludgeoned!
I'm raven-perched atop a cupola on
a Victorian mansion in Berkeley. Dawn. Rococo trim and psychedelic paint. No wonder Berkelean politics are odd: they live like mice in weddingcakes-- drag-queen cakes the size of God. I'm pondering rare dream-types. And some
bruise in the floral stands out: on roof-brink
Public hazard. And to raise that black lump here
The Berkeley streets are empty. Safe to test if I'm
...pulling me over the scrimshaw brink!
So I float, heart pounding hard. Well, well!
I wake to find it's true. A dawn attack. Clear
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