Dreamed 2009/12/17 by Wayan
A challenging email: Gordon B, a dream-contributor to the World Dream Bank who I respect for his intelligent, transcendent dreams, finds my furry orientation perverse, even obsessive; he thinks living in San Francisco may have numbed me to immorality. I'd put it just the other way round--people needing to lay out universal sexual codes are the obsessives! I have a hardwired sensory difference--I read the bodylanguage of most creatures as well as that of humans (often better); my world is full of two-leg, four-leg and winged people. This doesn't mean I want to hump your chihuahua.
And cities are wicked? San Francisco (can't speak for Glasgow or Karachi) teaches tolerance for your own weirdness, yes. But the result is, you zoom through growth-stages. The opposite of numb! If you stop, it's only because you've found you.
The trouble is, I haven't found anyone else. So as I fall asleep I ask my dreams "Never mind sexual politics--I'm still alone. What about love?"
I love Snapdragon. But what a shifty affair!
Snap changes when the moon grows full enough.
In crescent, Snap's a man, and with a buff
boyfriend; but he and I have learned to share
Snap's lunar phases--we're Californian.
No, our isosceles woe runs stranger than
mere envy. First, Snap finds his manhood-loss
traumatic. Though a moon-turn to a sleek
wingéd silver dragon is no prob! He
retains his mind and memory. Snap's shame
ain't species dysphoria; glad to be
draconic. Sweet in cool night-air to soar...
But he becomes she, and that he cannot stand!
Makes her gruff. An arsonist of snorts. It's why
we dubbed her Snap. Grump fangs! Oh, you
may have thought Snapdragon was a flowertrue
moniker. Nah. Guys (skin or scale) can't bear
lilynames well! Butch she sulfuriously admits
that three or flor melon-belly-mooned
nights each month, 'Snapdragon' sorely fits.
In past, as the moon climbed, Snap settled down.
But tonight the mood waxes; Snap snaps aloud
"I hate my pussy." This can't be good!
Snap's dragonphase is always my hot date,
since I like girls; but after that "I hate"
we figure both of us should stick around.
Oh, wait--did I forget to say
I'm a werewolf? "Here, were, and not going away!"
I'm a girl (no, not bitch) in both my forms.
Always have felt centered, more at home
as girl (of any feather) than a guy.
So how can I tease Snap? I'm just as bi-
assed. What lesson lurks in all of this? Well,
it proves love fuels our tangle, not just
lust; skin fur or scale, my ideal
is a fulltime girl. Yet here I am, awash
in makeshiftery, with all these guys.
Ugh! It must be love; it isn't wise.
We coax Snap onto bed, in her velvet room
and pounce on her together--never gone
equilateral before, but drastic measures seem
kneaded. She struggles, laughs, relents anon,
pulls us onto her, and as we slide and cream
we know she'll be all right...
|...at least tonight. This moon.|
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