Wednesday, July 14, 2010

In the beginning there was some place like Leeds but the barrier was great when we had to
Go around or under the walls because int he wayt he rocks are wide and flat now in my dream they were also tall and flat. I might have been a mermaid with one other person swimming across and there might have been someone swimming a little further behind and after us. Then it turned into the last night on earth and a group of us were huddled because the great authority that would be (a mixture of Stalin and my old camp director, Nancy) wanted us to seem asleep. One nice German lady, who was also me, but different from me because she had big hips, a long white skirt and short brown hair and a very authoritative gait, went right up to the huddle of us, looked in the middle and said, when we accused her of not lying down dead asleep, I'm ust buying some jam. And at that moment we all started buying some jam. She said, I love jam. The police said it was okay. Somehow jam became a neat (neat and sticky) evasion of the law.
I've forgotten a bit. There was this other woman different from me. Another foreign country. She was a blind mother and I dreamt her Spanish—a pathetic seeming Almodovar woman. She had a son and a tiny car that was open and bent. The car had no doors and at the same time they were doors concaving. In the same way that I was the German woman once who had laid down with her jams, I was also simultaneously this blind mother. I knew I was blind but nothing in my vision had changed. I was only frightened with the awareness that I was blind. I continued to drive my son as the woman had done. I trembled with fear. Interesting to continue with dream vision. I suppose blind people dream images. So I was seeing all and trembling all with the knowledge that I was blind. But nothing was hidden from me.
My dream continued and I continued blind with it. Somehow I was not with a son any longer but an old friend of mind. We were discussing personal matters having to do with our relationship. Meanwhile we were being ushered around by the Nancy Goldberg powers. At one distinct point we were at the top of a shiny white modern construction. It felt at first to be the top of an escalator in a fancy new museum. In my dream there was no museum really, this was some sort of checkpoint out of the Nancy domain. Everyone was struggling down this solid white block with blue glowing lights contraption. There was an escalator but it was not like an escalator—it had a much wider step and no traction. I was terrified because I was blind so I gripped onto the sides of the walls above it. I could see it everything but knowing I was blind and more handicapped I gripped. I couldn't all the way relate my blindness to my friend—she helped me here and there. We were disputing and I was finally making her smile when she asked me to talk about something in particular. She said, will you talk about your step-father and mother? In that moment I realized that the mad escalator had been installed by my mother as an art piece. I was dead dumb and blind before my friend's request but not all the way blind. I took a paper bag and a piece of charcoal and wrote the sentence. The sentence was not affirmative. The sentence was against speech. Being written. I wanted what was written and did not want, or need, to speak to her. I did need her help though because of the fearfulness I felt at being blind. I bid them farewell and there was some tears we shed .

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