The Man With The Thistledown Hair Speaks About My Dream 3

I once had bitten the head of a snake clean off. The snake was a blue-black ribbon that came from the hair of some kid's grandmother down the street who had orange juice trailing from her fingertips, and milk shooting from her metal breasts in the wildest of directions. If you can imagine a world in two dimensions instead of three, milk was shooting in two dimensions. The snake made the sound of a TV switching off and my tongue became swollen and warped, seriously, as time bent and swiveled around my salivary glands. Saliva from snake and man mingled and fell fast together like embraced lovers and where they landed, on the grassed earth around me, an entire civilization sprang up and artists and guildsmen and hunters and kings and whores and lecherous men with snake tattoos who worshipped the half man, half snake god (who I swear must be me), all paraded down their gilded boulevards and shook drums and trumpets and knifed others as they went. A comet of a tooth sprang from a mouth, mine, the snakes, and landed in their midst ending their history as quickly as it had started and they were NO MORE. This, all happening in the briefest of moments, like when you look over your shoulder when driving to change lanes, was so. So it was that I fell down to my knees, the snake springing up, headless, from that very vista, and, embracing, we circled the Earth in a hollowed out coconut, or a tennis ball, or a fried chicken. The stars behind, below and above us all winked in and out and sprayed us with vibrant electricity and behind my closed eyes there were lighted elephants and lighted ladders, all going this way and that and below there remained the Earth, like a hollowed out coconut, or a tennis ball, or a fried chicken. The Beatles liked to write pop songs. When our orbit began to slow, the snake found feathers springing from its headless neck and we flew over field and farm and chased cows into lakes or over cliffs, depending on where we were and what we felt like doing. I didn't realize that we were sharing bodies and minds and that there were feathers EVERYWHERE now and they were big and bigger and there was no limit to their softness. I don't know how feathers spring from nothingness. I don't know how snakes without heads become men without hearts. I don't know how stars spray electric elephants and lighted ladders. I don't know how kingdoms spring from spittle on ground around your feet. I don't know anything. My mind is a mile wide and a millimeter thick. Ants aren't anything, they don't live in grandmother's hair. They don't make the sound of TVs switching off. Fuck ants. The Beatles won't make anymore songs. I thought I was dreaming but my ankles weren't mine.