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10 May 2003 @ 03:09 am
god by night  
I just woke up from a dream about God.

Everyone in a particular residence had died and was waking up again, because they weren't really dead. They were waking up as zombies--hundreds of them. But God was angry with them, so he whipped up this huge black tornado and flung and spun them all around the funnel, women and men and children, intending to set them back down later.

While he was doing this, he checked the offices to see if anyone was left and spotted a single startled janitor, pushing a broom in the empty building. This guy--an appealing, nebbishy fellow, resembling David Nabbit--didn't really have anything to do with the dead folk. He wasn't dead. But God randomly pulled him out as an example, asked him to make an accounting of himself, his happiest moments. The guy explained that, when he was young, one of his happiest memories was of going out with his eighth-grade boyfriend. He used to eat warm things, like ham sandwiches, and then breathe a sealed kiss against his boyfriend's neck until all the heat was gone. His boyfriend timed these things as a personal heat record. In the middle of the recitation, God seemed to get kind of bored and just sent the guy flying up in the air, right out of his shoes like the rapture into Ham and Cheese Kiss Heaven. (There was a label: Ham and Cheese Kiss Heaven.) God said he wasn't sure if this was a particular heaven made only for the man. It was possible, God mused, that the man led a whole club dedicated to this idea, that there were more fetishists out there with this peculiar joy. God explained how he knows everything, except for some things he doesn't know, which apparently he keeps from himself, in accordance with a privacy clause.

There was a lot more to the dream, which was freakish and disturbing, what with the zombies, but I can't remember any more than that. However, what woke me up from this dream was a power outage that zapped the apartment and presumably the city beyond. Huh.



I had the hugest crying jag last night I've had in years, maybe decades. Gasping, hitching sobs, screaming with muffled hysteria into pillows, nearly hyperventilating, throat so raw when I was done I couldn't swallow anything without choking. Insufferable loneliness.



Earlier in the evening I watched the director's commentary of The Usual Suspects. It wasn't bad. I saw the entire film again, filtered through the voice-overs. Even more abstract, and somehow it seemed to roll along faster, as if it were a shorter film. Funny.



I've been meaning to mention for a while now: in the elevators of my office building, everyone respects the powerful, unconscious laws of proxemics, and will unfailingly rearrange themselves at equidistant points whenever someone gets on or off. It's uncanny. I've been watching it for weeks. Two people will always move to stand on equal sides of the elevator, as far apart as possible and yet parallel; with three people you usually get two in the front corners, and one person standing in the middle back, or an inversion of this; with four you get classic die-face arrangement, with everyone taking a separate corner; likewise with five.

I wonder if this happens everywhere. I bet they've written studies on it. Googling "elevators proxemics" gives 43 results. Not a whole lot, but a page on Designing Places for People is kind of interesting, as is a paper called In and Out of Elevators in Japan.



It's three a.m. and God has woken me up to write this, apparently. I don't feel the holy spirit, though. I just feel gritty-eyed and sleepy.



A new chapter of Take This Longing was posted a few days ago. A match of reader to writer kink is always an amazing satisfaction to find. Satisfaction is actually a bland, four-syllable word. Some of the words in this story come right off the page striking hot, like a match head flaring in the brain, setting off a line of fire right down to the dearest bodily part, the cookie, the furrow, the hatchway, the Altar of Hymen, the brat-getting place, the cat, the cake, the Cave of Harmony, the cockpit, the jam-pot, the jazz, Lady Jane, the womanhood, the wound, the sally-port, the pumpkin, the novelty, the mouse, the modicum, the matrix, Love's Pavilion. I think you know what I'm talking about.

I'm not sure I trust this book of Slang & Euphemism.



I may have to have pancakes tomorrow morning.
 
 
 
Kat Allisonkatallison on May 10th, 2003 05:02 am (UTC)
Your dreams are always astonishing and wonderful, even when disturbing, and I'm so glad you write them out for us. I think I shall carry the Ham and Cheese Kiss heaven around in my head for the rest of my life, a little icon of the Happy Hereafter.

The loneliness is inevitable sometimes, I think, and isn't really assuaged by all one's friends chiming in with assurances of love. (Though you *are* loved very much, you know.) I will instead say that it makes me happy, this non-cheerful a.m., to think about you tucking into a fine plate of pancakes, all buttery and syrupy and tender. (Just like my feelings for you this morning. *g*) Perhaps there is a Pancake Heaven waiting, the same one where coffee is *good* for you.
Anna S.eliade on May 10th, 2003 11:53 am (UTC)
Your dreams are always astonishing and wonderful, even when disturbing, and I'm so glad you write them out for us.

I'm glad you like. I wish I could remember more of them. If I weren't so lazy, I'd work on my technique. ;)

I think I shall carry the Ham and Cheese Kiss heaven around in my head for the rest of my life, a little icon of the Happy Hereafter.

{g}

The loneliness is inevitable sometimes, I think, and isn't really assuaged by all one's friends chiming in with assurances of love. (Though you *are* loved very much, you know.)

But it's good to get love from you. I will gladly trade you a ham and cheese sandwich for some love. But with the sandwich, you get some love too. So really, it's an even trade, and the sandwich is kind of a bonus.

::stares at above sentences::

Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm awake even when I am. Must stop typing things as they appear in my head.

I will instead say that it makes me happy, this non-cheerful a.m., to think about you tucking into a fine plate of pancakes, all buttery and syrupy and tender. (Just like my feelings for you this morning. *g*)

{g} I did just have pancakes, and they were just like that. They were pancakes of love.

Perhaps there is a Pancake Heaven waiting, the same one where coffee is *good* for you.

I'd say something about pancake kisses here, but that'd just be wrong.

::ham and cheese kiss!::
Herself_nyc: Spikonherself_nyc on May 10th, 2003 07:26 am (UTC)
This post is a work of art.

I'm sorry you're enduring the loneliness and the crying now. I know about that. It happens, it's bad, it waxes and wanes. You have my phone number. You won't use it. But I'm thinking about you. And now I'm thinking about your heaven dream and all your synonyms for pussy, too.

Here's a pretty picture of Spike.
Anna S.eliade on May 10th, 2003 11:47 am (UTC)
This post is a work of art.

It's like cubism. The cubism of the half-asleep mind.

I'm sorry you're enduring the loneliness and the crying now. I know about that. It happens, it's bad, it waxes and wanes. You have my phone number. You won't use it.

Yeah, well. I am often stupid.

But I'm thinking about you. And now I'm thinking about your heaven dream and all your synonyms for pussy, too.

:)

Here's a pretty picture of Spike.

And Lo, it *was* a Pretty Picture of Sex Spike.
(Deleted comment)
Anna S.eliade on May 10th, 2003 11:45 am (UTC)
I am just back from a pilgrimage to the temple of great cakes, IHOP. I also had eggs, bacon, ham, hash browns, and caffeinated iced tea. I am going to hell on a burning sled! Tasty, though.
rubywisp: by karenbearrubywisp on May 10th, 2003 10:22 am (UTC)
I love the way your mind works. And I'm sorry you're feeling the loneliness so strongly. That's an awful thing. ::hugs::
Anna S.eliade on May 10th, 2003 11:44 am (UTC)
Thanks, you. :) And thanks also to your icon, who just gave me a big, cheesy, faux leathery, Shatnery hug.
rubywisp: by karenbearrubywisp on May 12th, 2003 10:15 pm (UTC)
Dork!Angel is all about the cheesy.
harmonyfb: horror mavenharmonyfb on May 10th, 2003 10:56 am (UTC)
the Cave of Harmony

Known in this house as "Mom's computer area". ;)

God explained how he knows everything, except for some things he doesn't know, which apparently he keeps from himself, in accordance with a privacy clause.

Wow. And I just dream about food and sex and fandom. How come I don't have big philosophical dreams? Wait, I think I just answered my own question. Never mind. ;)
Anna S.eliade on May 10th, 2003 11:42 am (UTC)
Known in this house as "Mom's computer area". ;)

Heh. It made me think of the character Harmony. I'd forgotten about you. Do you really call it that? That's funny.

Wow. And I just dream about food and sex and fandom.

Oh, I dream about sex and fandom quite a lot. Actually, this dream has both fannish and timely elements--it's not hard to dissect some of them. The zombies are from Angel, the guy thinking of his boyfriend is actually, now that I think of it, more like Henry Hart from Big Eden than David Nabbit, and the tornado represents the recent tornados in the midwest. Not sure where God comes in. I haven't watched Dogma recently, and he didn't resemble Alanis Morissette at all.