Waking Dreams

A hand from another room, just out of reach. It disappears, replaced by a voice. I get up and peer round the doorframe and see the back of a thin woman in a nightgown whispering to a caged animal. I don’t recognise the animal. It’s cold, mist issues from the woman’s mouth. Now I’m the animal, stalking the woman from behind. She begins to turn around, still whispering.

*

A woman enters my flat, following strange remote orders. It appears she’s to live with me. I go into the living room and squat. We’re making love in my bed as she enters my flat again, angry.

*

I sit up and look at the disused fireplace, lit up by a sunbeam. Is it morning or afternoon? Dust motes fill the room. Something crawls down the chimney and peeks its head out of the fireplace.

*

In bed. The open door and the archway to the bathroom stare at me like great black eyes. The light-switches between them seem to harbour something sinister. I’m annoyed at myself for leaving the door open. I reach out to close it and fall into the soapy shower.

*

All the objects and fixtures in my room are rearranged in the manner of various rooms I’ve lived in, with or without women. For a while I’m unsure where I am.

*

I dream that I’m drifting between wakefulness and sleep, which in fact I am. I tell myself off for not being able to sleep, try the yogic technique of picturing a spiral, thereby waking myself up.

*

I’m drinking wine from a cracked glass. The wine runs down my arm and my legs. I vomit, pour more wine in the glass, drink, vomit, etc.

*

The words on my screen begin to squirm. A slender-fingered hand reaches under mine to correct them but they’re in a foreign alphabet. I swipe away the hand as one does a spider and am engaged in a struggle with my desk, sweater, chair.

*

The walls and doors of the bedroom have been replaced by windows of various sizes, some dirty some clean. In some I see myself and the other windows reflected. A wind blows through shaking everything.

*

A woman walks across my bedroom, through the window and out the door, over and over as in a skipping silent movie. I don’t know if the ceiling is above or below me. Same confusion each time I turn in the bed.

*