09-18-11
The whale
I'm crawling through the dirt - uphill - in the rain, wind, and darkness. I feel crushed by the sky. Two ghost-women fly like kites on either side of me, calling, urging the climb. I don't seem to have a choice anyway; there is something sucking me in.
At the top of the hill--though I've only been able to look a few instants--is a strange stone house. Not particularly a castle, or a house, or stone--or ancient, or ruins, or in good repair; beyond all, strange, and sucking, and extremely internal to the world. Further up is further in, and the ghost women, something that had flown out. Somehow I know the meaning of all of it, without having the slightest idea what I'm doing.
Endless climbing; fall asleep. In a tiny clearing in the grass along the climb, rocks and puddle becomes a pond. I stand in the edge, then lie half in, fall asleep again. I am among a group of small lizard-men, born up out of the grass by a bus riding on smoke. We're all very primitive, but some new aspect of consciousness has suddenly dawned on us; we each see in the other something we knew from only our own minds.
Now we're just a bus full of lizard-men; very peculiar green men, gawking at one another, as if we had all just discovered the other would like us to die.
