I live in a little French Mediterranean town of narrow cobbled streets, bakeries, cafes. But it's in America! An oasis in the dull suburbs south of San Francisco, on the shores of Crystal Springs Lake.

I'm a short chubby dyke. Fat hips and thighs I don't like--I'm just a pink lump. I wear punk outfits and I don't own a car. I ride a bike. I run a small publishing house, write and edit a punkzine.

Today I went out to Xerox a manuscript we're printing. Get on my bike, start out... then pause, worried about my jeans. Torn up knees don't matter, but rips showing my ass do--the local cops have been harassing people in the park about indecent exposure. Will I get delayed? I'm in a hurry to get this issue out.

Wait, I'm wearing Jamie's ratty old black ballet leotard under the jeans. Tight, skimpy, holes of its own, but it covers enough of the holes in my jeans to make me street legal.

Wait a minute. I don't need to copy this manuscript! I forgot--I HAVE a copy. Guess I was really just itching to get out and test the jeans.

Do I unconsciously WANT a confrontation with the cops? But then what's with these two layers--each one with holes, but covering each other?

NOTES

• Punk outfit = my butch, confrontive side. This part's dominant in the dream because it isn't in the daylight.
• Jamie's old leotard = being feminine, sensitive... and vulnerable to heartbreakers like her. I had an unrequited crush on Jamie, a gorgeous ballerina who wanted to be "just friends".
• Leotard's too tight = that femme role is just too confining!
• Holes in punk outfit = baring everything about myself, in my dream-comix and dreamtales.
• Test my jeans = test my GENES! See if showing my deviant sexuality (publishing sexy dreams, or coming on to girls I'm hot for?) gets me punished--by cop or conscience.
• A fat punk dyke = my waking body reversed! I'm an anorexic femme straight boy. Yet the reversals left my core unchanged--the same shyness under the skin.
• Under my new dyke assertion lurks ballerina meekness... and grace.
• The two outfits layered are street-legal, for they plug each other's holes: each role alone is vulnerable, but together I'm protected! Now there's a message! I FEEL like I'm a naked vulnerable outsider showing sexual feelings punkishly, awkwardly... forgetting the ballerina inside, or dismissing her as weak. But her sensitivity (even if it grew from abuse!) protects me too. Complements the roughness I wear outside.
• ACTION: Just find a girl who likes me back. And assert... not myself. My selves. I really am both. Get used to it.

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