Dream #2: Putrescent Crumbling Bloody Rubbery Oily Blue Cheese Meat Pus

05.07.2010 § Leave a comment

At dawn a man carries a frail lifeless body up the steps outside a motel (it’s the motel from From Dusk Til Dawn, except all in muted blues) to its second floor and knocks on a door. On the other side he expects a doctor. I open the door; apparently, I am the doctor.

He sets the body down in the bathtub, exasperated, and desperate for help. He must know that I cannot help, but has nonetheless brought this matter to me, out of some frantic obligation, some mechanical denial, some futile confession. There is clearly nothing that science or medicine can do for the body, but I know that for his sake I must remain a pillar of stability. I must play the elder authority figure and not break down.

But for the life of me, I cannot help it. What I am seeing shakes the foundations of my existence. This is simply not an ailment of this world. It could be God’s doing, but most likely it is the Devil’s.

This man’s flesh is putrescent; it looks like blue cheese marbled with blood. It’s as if all liquid and solid have separated. The dried, cakey, rubbery meat is crumbling, and the oily pus is oozing out of the cracks, pooling and creeping toward the drain. But what is most harrowing is the inexplicable chicken head protruding from his torso, feathers slicked with placental goo to its jaundiced melanoma.

I crack and start sobbing quietly, burying my face in my hands. The man becomes unglued and throws open the door, fleeing in hysterics, leaving me alone with the body.


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