think this is trying to tell me something?
a dream:
i was beating up a man. he was letting me land punches, kick him, hit him with heavy objects. i could tell that they were having little effect, and i was barely winded. it was doing nothing, but he was letting me and i kept going until it was time to stop.
doing so put me in some sort of leadership position and i found myself holding a fist-full of keys. two of them slid easily through my clenched fist, new weapons, like wolverine claws. one was dark and heavy, like a fairy tale key, but incredibly sharp and curved like a sickle. i calmly turned them on myself and noticed the cuts they left perfectly matched the ones i already have covering my arms and legs.
suddenly a group of men came out of a building. we were on the top level of a parking garage and they surrounded me. i looked at each of them and asked, "do you want some?" and they lined up in front of me, nodding their heads.
one by one i dragged the keys across their cheeks. i struck some quickly and rough, others slowly, watching the blood bead and drip after the pull of the key.
the last person in line was an older woman with short hair. she resolutely turned her cheek to me, presenting her cheek to me in a way none of the men had. i faltered.
"why are you here?" i asked.
"there's no where else to go," she said.
"this isn't home," i tried to explain.
she looked at me, level, at the keys and at my scars, and replied, "that isn't either."
the keys fell from my hand; i crumpled to the ground, defeated, and cried. so familiar.
the men quickly broke ranks, shouting, "chain of command!" and literally climbed over me, a mound on top of me, covering me, crushing me, forming a chain of linked arms reaching out to the old leader standing above me, somehow on top of me, too.
they left, kicking me as they walked away, clambered off of me:
a wide image of a heap of bones and flesh on the asphalt.
old order was restored.
i was beating up a man. he was letting me land punches, kick him, hit him with heavy objects. i could tell that they were having little effect, and i was barely winded. it was doing nothing, but he was letting me and i kept going until it was time to stop.
doing so put me in some sort of leadership position and i found myself holding a fist-full of keys. two of them slid easily through my clenched fist, new weapons, like wolverine claws. one was dark and heavy, like a fairy tale key, but incredibly sharp and curved like a sickle. i calmly turned them on myself and noticed the cuts they left perfectly matched the ones i already have covering my arms and legs.
suddenly a group of men came out of a building. we were on the top level of a parking garage and they surrounded me. i looked at each of them and asked, "do you want some?" and they lined up in front of me, nodding their heads.
one by one i dragged the keys across their cheeks. i struck some quickly and rough, others slowly, watching the blood bead and drip after the pull of the key.
the last person in line was an older woman with short hair. she resolutely turned her cheek to me, presenting her cheek to me in a way none of the men had. i faltered.
"why are you here?" i asked.
"there's no where else to go," she said.
"this isn't home," i tried to explain.
she looked at me, level, at the keys and at my scars, and replied, "that isn't either."
the keys fell from my hand; i crumpled to the ground, defeated, and cried. so familiar.
the men quickly broke ranks, shouting, "chain of command!" and literally climbed over me, a mound on top of me, covering me, crushing me, forming a chain of linked arms reaching out to the old leader standing above me, somehow on top of me, too.
they left, kicking me as they walked away, clambered off of me:
a wide image of a heap of bones and flesh on the asphalt.
old order was restored.