Big Dreams

His dishes are filthy. He should wash them. He thinks that whatever particles of food remain attract sewer gnomes in black shiny wetsuits, who bite his legs and suck his dick at night. They carry tanks of sewer water on their gills to breathe. Their large, basslike mouths cause the technicolor itch. Not from dust mites, no, imagine being bitten and sucked by something invisible, absurd.

He had a dream last night about a blow-job which took four seconds to resolve. The actress performing the act cast herself into the role of a teenager under the legal age of consent. He suspected that she was a minion of those giant treelike dream creatures which Carlos Casteneda calls "inorganic beings (scroll down)." And really, who knows what fifteen means in a world without years? Of course he felt some degree of shame, but he knew, he somehow knew that there were no age-of-consent statutes in the dream-house in the village in the county in the state in the country in the world in which he lay on the floor, receiving oral pleasure. He knew because the world and the country and the state and the county and the village and the dream-house did not exist: there was no dirt, or even dust. There was only the hunter/father to worry about -- for four seconds plus cleanup.