I have been tormented with dreams probably no stranger than those visited upon the depressed and beaten upon savages of any era.
There is a girl who appears in my dreams in the same fashion.
She starts out having fun and partying with the natives... Any natives in Any Nation, and after a spell... I see her start to get out of control. I see the giant rubber mask start to slip off of her head. I don't pay attention too much because my mind is elsewhere at the gathering, but her head gear is most intriguing.
There is a man in a corner along a fenceline out of sight. He occasionally draws the attention of the party goers because he is making some kind of art. They accept him. He seems interesting. I get closer, more out of trying to find a corner to be comfortable because I am not so comfortable here. I feel like every one in the crowd is operating on a different time piece. I feel like they are wolves waiting for a reason to cut my throat... In some ways I welcome it, but it's a dream and I know that if I want to get somewhere I have to be willing to be the victim... and I have to appear as if I can't fight.
I move around the muddy swimming pool and dodge drunkards having the good time I kind of wish I was in on... Kind of, except I hate them. I hate them and I can't tell you why in any way that seems sensitive or giving. I dodge them and I am not afraid at the same time.
As I come upon the artist at the fenceline, I see that he has strung before him several canvasses suspended from a wire. They hold portraits. He has flipped them and is painting from the guides of shadows from the portrait's other side. They are mine. I made those original portraits. I left them amongst friends and strangers and they must have been uncovered as easily as some dumb teen crime novel.. if they were even hiding... He has them now. But I am not angry. I am hungry. I am looking for a comrade in this backyard Poltergeist.
I am fascinated. I don't tell him who I am. I don't tell him that they were mine. I only watch and wait for the wolves to lunge at me when they are too drunk to masturbate and seek violence for pleasure, as they splash and spit from the muddy pool at anything that seems ill fitting. IN this corner with this thief, I feel safe... But I feel like my escape plan lacks space for an unsure brush.
From the corner of my eye I see the girl. I see the girl I have seen before. She wears a rubber mask that covers her head. She jumps into the pool. Her Osiris Horsehead mask starts to slide off and I realize that her skull has been cracked and half of her brain is hanging out.
I move to her and beg her to sit while I check out her skull. She acts happy as if she knows and it isn't a big deal. Her friends are oblivious to the danger and start to harrass me for giving her shit about swimming with a fractured skull and brain exposed. They start to push me around and I can see her laughing with no cares as they move me from the shallow end. I see the artist at the fenceline covering my paintings, stopping only to watch and memorize our expressions...and I go down without a fight.
Because I know they have a 30 second attention span.. ALL OF THEM.