From the Oneironaut Collection of Past Potential Scandal and Beyond
You have to go here and see the top picture on the right-hand side, and then scroll down to the picture at Monday, December 13, and heck you might as well peruse what's in between. (caught via 8ZERO8, thanks (and while you're there check out the Baghdad Christmas photo))
Man, I do have dark humor, but I usually don't laugh so heartily at violence to babies.
And those blasted Ninjas. I've been so naive.
Yesterday evening I recalled a dream I had about one of my students when I was teaching required English composition at a community college. We didn't have sex in the dream but we were incredibly in love. We went to Paris with a group of people who strayed from us. While we were looking for a place to eat he strayed, too. I was confused and hurt. I ate dinner by myself in a large cafe. Finally we found each other in a big room with a silky cushioned bed and plush carpet. The rest of the group was there too. It was never resolved or even further important why everyone had strayed. This fella and I were so in love our bodies were like champagne. We were giddy and kissed.
When I woke up I felt just as giddy as in the dream, the same feeling I had for the first two weeks after I met Mark. This was when I worked at Borders. The customers must have loved me then. I smiled and bubbled at everyone. I didn't sleep for two weeks. This student of mine usually sat in front of my desk, which allowed me to see his one tattooed leg, his only tattoos as far as I could see. Mark too has tattoos only on one leg, all the way up (use your frisky imagination--or don't), which I suppose is the giddy-love connection in the dream. This student also wrote very well. He never did what the assignment asked for, and I knew he knew that, so I couldn't give him A's like I wanted to, but his writing was rich, gritty, and potent. He was also very intelligent, far beyond any of the other students I had, all of which I suppose is also why I had such dream about him.
Anyway, the next day I'd kind of forgotten about the dream. Memory of it flickered quietly across my brain as I was reading before class. That day I was giving an in-class essay. Easy for me. I walked in and when the time came I began handing out the little blue booklets. The Dream Student walked in, looking emotionally troubled. I am terribly empathetic, but I thought maybe I was just reading into things because of the dream, thinking it gave me some extra connection to him. While I was finishing handing out the booklets, a scene flashed into my mind: The Dream Student dramatically closed his blue booklet, tossed it up on my desk and then ran out of the room. I looked at him, and he was concentratedly writing. Ok, I thought, you're just reading into things.
When I finished handing out the booklets, I sat down at my desk and everyone was writing. A full second later, The Dream Student dramatically closed his booklet, tossed it up onto my desk and left the room quickly. My whole body gasped. I was thoroughly freaked and fascinated. I opened up the booklet and in it he had written a paragraph explaining a particularly troubling situation he was in, omitting some personal details, and that he could not concentrate. During the semester, I gave him every chance in the world to make up this essay and other work, even though some of the times I shouldn't have. He always told me when he couldn't come to class and why, but there were many many of these times. Based on what I perceive of his personality I don't think I was just being fooled with dog stories, if I need to justify my special treatment.
For some reason I felt more deep compassion for this student than any other. I've always been one to root for intelligent underdogs; he'd been in some trouble with the law, multiple times from what I gather, and like I said, he was fucking smart. He talked about the kind of things I would talk about with my friends, along the same philosophical bend. He delivered bright monologues that annoyed the dimmer part of the class, but which I found entertaining. But there was something bigger, I think. That dream, and psychic happening the next day, affected my whole self, emotionally, physically. I don't think love = love in the dream, but I do think the dream was especially significant somehow. Someone get me an interpreter, stat, s'il vous plait.
Man, I do have dark humor, but I usually don't laugh so heartily at violence to babies.
And those blasted Ninjas. I've been so naive.
Yesterday evening I recalled a dream I had about one of my students when I was teaching required English composition at a community college. We didn't have sex in the dream but we were incredibly in love. We went to Paris with a group of people who strayed from us. While we were looking for a place to eat he strayed, too. I was confused and hurt. I ate dinner by myself in a large cafe. Finally we found each other in a big room with a silky cushioned bed and plush carpet. The rest of the group was there too. It was never resolved or even further important why everyone had strayed. This fella and I were so in love our bodies were like champagne. We were giddy and kissed.
When I woke up I felt just as giddy as in the dream, the same feeling I had for the first two weeks after I met Mark. This was when I worked at Borders. The customers must have loved me then. I smiled and bubbled at everyone. I didn't sleep for two weeks. This student of mine usually sat in front of my desk, which allowed me to see his one tattooed leg, his only tattoos as far as I could see. Mark too has tattoos only on one leg, all the way up (use your frisky imagination--or don't), which I suppose is the giddy-love connection in the dream. This student also wrote very well. He never did what the assignment asked for, and I knew he knew that, so I couldn't give him A's like I wanted to, but his writing was rich, gritty, and potent. He was also very intelligent, far beyond any of the other students I had, all of which I suppose is also why I had such dream about him.
Anyway, the next day I'd kind of forgotten about the dream. Memory of it flickered quietly across my brain as I was reading before class. That day I was giving an in-class essay. Easy for me. I walked in and when the time came I began handing out the little blue booklets. The Dream Student walked in, looking emotionally troubled. I am terribly empathetic, but I thought maybe I was just reading into things because of the dream, thinking it gave me some extra connection to him. While I was finishing handing out the booklets, a scene flashed into my mind: The Dream Student dramatically closed his blue booklet, tossed it up on my desk and then ran out of the room. I looked at him, and he was concentratedly writing. Ok, I thought, you're just reading into things.
When I finished handing out the booklets, I sat down at my desk and everyone was writing. A full second later, The Dream Student dramatically closed his booklet, tossed it up onto my desk and left the room quickly. My whole body gasped. I was thoroughly freaked and fascinated. I opened up the booklet and in it he had written a paragraph explaining a particularly troubling situation he was in, omitting some personal details, and that he could not concentrate. During the semester, I gave him every chance in the world to make up this essay and other work, even though some of the times I shouldn't have. He always told me when he couldn't come to class and why, but there were many many of these times. Based on what I perceive of his personality I don't think I was just being fooled with dog stories, if I need to justify my special treatment.
For some reason I felt more deep compassion for this student than any other. I've always been one to root for intelligent underdogs; he'd been in some trouble with the law, multiple times from what I gather, and like I said, he was fucking smart. He talked about the kind of things I would talk about with my friends, along the same philosophical bend. He delivered bright monologues that annoyed the dimmer part of the class, but which I found entertaining. But there was something bigger, I think. That dream, and psychic happening the next day, affected my whole self, emotionally, physically. I don't think love = love in the dream, but I do think the dream was especially significant somehow. Someone get me an interpreter, stat, s'il vous plait.
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