Howling at the moon

I’m absolutely lusting for sleep! If I had time to sleep I’d have wet dreams about it.
I’d dream about Diamanda Galas singing Satisfaction with the Stones.
I’d dream grades which would materialize onto student papers and insightful commentary which would guide them on their path of critical enlightenment.

I would dream of sleeping and in between astral naps I would dream of polka dot pedicures and fishnet stockings and my missing leather skirt (honestly, how does one lose a skirt? that’s a rhetorical question) and pinstripes and lace.

I would dream of cosmic cartwheels and public stonings in academia. Instead of our monthly department meeting we will be crucifying two members of the literature committee, one from writing and, if we have time a linguist or two. Please remember to bring nails and the activities committee will be distributing hammers on site. Stonings of media and communications people and ESL will be held next meeting, in case of rain we will be in the student center. By the coffee machine. Bring your own stone.

I would dream of hallucinations, and ashes and purple striped dragons that wagged scaly tails at me. And waterproof mascara that leaves luscious stripes on pillowcases.
And pet zebras that eat dandelion puffs. Which don’t grow in PR. So I’d import them. In my dreams of course.

And I’d dream “Stormy Weather” smoky blues at the top of my lungs in my sleep.

And I’d dream of cuddle parties. And pajamas with barbed wire patterns. And washable tattoos.

What would you dream?


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