Sex Dream Metaphors
Finally a sex dream?
I add the question mark because, of course, this being my head, instead of the symbols in the dream circuitously suggesting sex, such as a mighty steam engine screaming into a mountain tunnel, the sexual component not only suggests something else, the dream tells me it should, literally tells me.
Someone elses house, almost a youth hostel, kind of European with lots of people of different nationalities and races, talking, drinking, camping out on the floor. A couple is already sacked out in a blue sleeping bag on the big bed where I am trying to sleep. I feel honored, because I get to sleep in the innkeeper's big bed while he's away. The innkeeper comes into view as I roll over and see the couple and I realize I have slept soundly through their lovemaking.
He greets me, then grips my lower arms and pushes them back above my head into the bed and lays directly on top of me and says, "If you hear nothing else I say to you, hear this." Then he puts his mouth over mine in a kind of kiss, and I can feel the texture of his lips and how he moves them, the hard crest of his costal cartilage and breastbone, the heat from his soft belly. He's like different lands of one continent - each rolls into the next, but distinctive in each region. Like prairie into farmland into foothills, you know where you are when you are in the midst of it.
In the dream, I realize as I lay covered, that this is metaphor. Each movement, texture, gradation of temperature, degree of give in his flesh, models something else, something complex and averbal, and I should listen carefully, see the whole message that is being conveyed, but I'm too simple, I realize with some panic. I'm too dumb to see the entire metaphor at once, to grasp the model and how its parts interrelate, and because it's a man, I'm excited by his body, and the excitement obscures my ability to see and understand.
Can I have that nice dream back where Mr. Flansburgh is just banging me on the floor of a white white ceramic tile kitchen? That one with where he's loud and needs a shave, and I can see every black whisker in sharp relief as we're mashin' around on the cold floor? Whumpa, whumpa, whumpa. Is that too much to ask, brain?
I add the question mark because, of course, this being my head, instead of the symbols in the dream circuitously suggesting sex, such as a mighty steam engine screaming into a mountain tunnel, the sexual component not only suggests something else, the dream tells me it should, literally tells me.
Someone elses house, almost a youth hostel, kind of European with lots of people of different nationalities and races, talking, drinking, camping out on the floor. A couple is already sacked out in a blue sleeping bag on the big bed where I am trying to sleep. I feel honored, because I get to sleep in the innkeeper's big bed while he's away. The innkeeper comes into view as I roll over and see the couple and I realize I have slept soundly through their lovemaking.
He greets me, then grips my lower arms and pushes them back above my head into the bed and lays directly on top of me and says, "If you hear nothing else I say to you, hear this." Then he puts his mouth over mine in a kind of kiss, and I can feel the texture of his lips and how he moves them, the hard crest of his costal cartilage and breastbone, the heat from his soft belly. He's like different lands of one continent - each rolls into the next, but distinctive in each region. Like prairie into farmland into foothills, you know where you are when you are in the midst of it.
In the dream, I realize as I lay covered, that this is metaphor. Each movement, texture, gradation of temperature, degree of give in his flesh, models something else, something complex and averbal, and I should listen carefully, see the whole message that is being conveyed, but I'm too simple, I realize with some panic. I'm too dumb to see the entire metaphor at once, to grasp the model and how its parts interrelate, and because it's a man, I'm excited by his body, and the excitement obscures my ability to see and understand.
Can I have that nice dream back where Mr. Flansburgh is just banging me on the floor of a white white ceramic tile kitchen? That one with where he's loud and needs a shave, and I can see every black whisker in sharp relief as we're mashin' around on the cold floor? Whumpa, whumpa, whumpa. Is that too much to ask, brain?