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BY Michael

12/01 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixtieth Dream: I was driving to Ohio. It was an impulse, as most things in dreams are. I was driving a small green Oldsmobile, with a name that began with a “V.” I don’t old a green Oldsmobile, but my son once did. Sleep covered the road so that when I put on the brakes I heard a hissing sound, but the car did not slow. The hissing must have been my tires sliding on the night. No other cars were on the freeway. The police had closed it down. I must have just missed the barricade.
12/02 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-First Dream: In Ohio there is no snow on the ground, but the wind howls over frozen corn stubble in sixty mph gusts. Bricks have fallen out of the round barn. I look through a brick to mud and straw. Standing on a rock I look into another one. In the dark I eventually make out a shadow in a far corner from which I suddenly seen eye shine. The pupils are ellipses, staring back at me. I am back inside the chicken coup and I can hear the round barn on its side, rolling toward me.
12/03 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Second Dream: I dream the rose. A busy fresh snow covers the highway as the evening rush-hour heavy metal whistles by. In the median sits a square box, wrapped in plain brown paper, and done up with baling twine. Covered with a light dusting of snow, it is unmoved as the cars pass by, although the snow covering swirls around on it, resting, but never quite wetting the paper. A crack forms in the top of the box as the cars pass by. A single red rose slowly sprouts out, petals unfolding warm against the falling snow.
12/04 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Third Dream: Deep in the woods, the sluice rises high from the sawmill below. The wood is old, and great stalactites hang from the cracks where the water which still runs through it has leaked through, frozen, thawed, and leaked again to make these freakish icicles. A wind presses its way through the pines to play the old rocking thing, complaining on its platform of raw timber. It’s snowing here too. Beneath the sluice I feel the flake’s fingers seeping through my hair. I can feel the vibration through my feet as the wind rocks the sluice.
12/05 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Fourth Dream: I have gone out onto the deck and laid down in a lounger with my headphones on. I can feel the sun soaking into my body warm The music is sweet, and I feel like I am I love. I am sleepy love, drowsy in a state of grace.

I don’t know what this music is called. Once man believed that naming a thing gave you power over it. I am unable to name this female singer, so I have no power over her. But I feel the singing, and then I own the song.
12/06 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Fifth Dream:

Three men
are gathered about a table
in a sub-street apartment in East Ann Arbor,

Three small men
engaged in dark ceremonies
of wire, black tape, and electronic circuitry.
One of them is paying close attention to the work.
A forgotten, disemboweled, Radio Shack blister pack
lies discarded on the carpet,
snippets of insulation and heat-shrink tubing.

Outside, the morning fog rolls in
still wearing last night's spongy dress.
Steering her drunken Robo-Zamboni,
she bears down cloudy
over the hood of a green Chevrolet Vega,
flooding, stretching, embracing,
pounding the tin gracefully into the concrete.
12/07 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Sixth Dream:

Inside, sheltered from the mist,
three men are gathered around a table.
One of them is thin, with a Van Dyke, and he is smoking,
Marlboro red.
He wears gold-rimmed glasses and a short-sleeved shirt.
His long hair is a worn ponytail,
and he squints one eye against the smoke
as he takes something apart with his fingers.

He is tucked into a dark corner
almost behind a battered wife of a refrigerator.
A dim lamp covers the corner, the table, and its centerpiece:
A copper cylinder six centimeters in diameter.
Threaded on either end.
12/08 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Seventh Dream:

It has knurled caps a half inch thick.
The entire device is nearly eight inches long.

Once a cartridge fuse in an Ohio foundry,
it guided gouts of electrical current
to blast furnaces in high heat passion sparks of orange, yellow, and gold.
The foundry has passed on to silence,
on to desolation,
on to rubble,
on to beyond.
From this crucible of honest power
a genesis has stepped down to re-define its function.

Three men are gathered here
to ponder this mandella.
Six arms laid across the table,
three parallel pair,
three radial points.
12/09 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Eighth Dream:

One of them is thinking about his wife. Picking up the device, he rubs his thumb over a small crack near one end. He is wondering what he is doing here.

The man with the cigarette laughs, smoke cutting up into his eyes.

Three men. One of them has arms of stainless steel from the elbows down,
curled into gentle forceps that he drums on the edge of the table,
engaged in his own brittle incantations.

The device has been placed back on the table. What kind of flower will drive through this green fuse?
12/10 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Ninth Dream:

Outside the apartment,
the sun is breaking down the street,
running so fast she can hardly stay on her legs.
Slowing at a stop sign, gathering power--
she is down now on all fours,
reaching, staging, rhythmic and alive.

Smelling the river ahead,
she smiles,
lowers her head,
and springs forward across deep moss.
Sleek, small skull of gold and black,
ageless in scent and memory,
already feeling the deep grass along the river bank,
already dodging the trees.

Somewhere else,
three small men are gathered over a table.
One of them is nearly finished.
12/11 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Sixty-Ninth Dream:

Outside the apartment,
the sun is breaking down the street,
running so fast she can hardly stay on her legs.
Slowing at a stop sign, gathering power--
she is down now on all fours,
reaching, staging, rhythmic and alive.

Smelling the river ahead,
she smiles,
lowers her head,
and springs forward across deep moss.
Sleek, small skull of gold and black,
ageless in scent and memory,
already feeling the deep grass along the river bank,
already dodging the trees.


Somewhere else,
three small men are gathered over a table.
One of them is nearly finished.
12/12 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventieth Dream:

She is down now on all fours,
reaching, staging, rhythmic and alive.

Smelling the river,
she smiles,
lowers her head,
and springs forward across deep moss.
Sleek, small skull of gold and black,
ageless in scent and memory,
already feeling the deep grass along the river bank,
already dodging the trees.

I can feel joy in movement,
in the scent of the small deer.
It senses something, startles and leaps, and I can feel
The catch that pulls it down
Feel its weight tumbling over me
I can taste its blood, warm, fat, and salty.
12/13 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-first Dream: President Bush stands on my deck wearing a dripping swimsuit. Purple spots and broken veins punctuate his thin bony legs. He towels his hair saying something I can’t make out. He uses the word “boy” a lot. As he rubs, the top of his head begins to disappear. His words grow fainter. He continues, briskly erasing his body as he talks.

My chair lifts from the deck, clumsy at first, one back leg dribbling on the wood, and then becoming airborne. I move up over my house, over the road and out over the lake.
12/14 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Second Dream: I am moving into the clouds, mist passing by me before I begin to wonder if I have gone too high in this flimsy chair with no safety belt, with no landing gear, and with no visible means of propulsion.

In the distance, I see someone pedaling a bicycle. He is heading to intersect me, and I have forgotten the sun, the deck, and the president, as I watch the cyclist, lean theihisr own machine, covered in stretchy spandex, and aerodynamic helmet, as he pushes the machine my way. He waves as he passes by.
12/15 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Third Dream: Gliding over a pine forest into a valley where a mother of a river is carving her way through the earth. My chair comes to a bridge that is moving to the beat of thousands of feet approaching from either side. Your work is finished. We no longer need you. It is a happy, compassionate crowd of humans.

The bottom drops out of the bridge. I am spinning like a maple seed, dizzy in the air. I feel the rush and the foam of the river against my face. I am alive, too much alive.
12/16 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Fourth Dream: I dream President Reagan, or perhaps it is mere caricature of President Ragan sitting at a cartoon desk. The desk is only a line drawing, now even colored in, although the President himself is in full color and animation. No, it is a real body. The head is just too big. He is complaining that he doesn’t understand why “we can’t just drop one of the big ones on them and save all this money and bickering.” Offstage voices are quietly clattering answers that fold into my brain only as ideas and not distinct words.
12/17 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Sixth Dream: I can feel the pillar vibrating beneath my feet periodically. This is when the plumes of purple dust blow out from its sides. But the pillar is yellow, like sulfur, and streaked with orange and black. The top is reddish. There ain’t no purple that I can see, and I can see its entire length clear to the bottom. A mile is not too far, unless you stand it on its end. Then it seems to be a long way. Adam is still here, chewing on his coffee stick. He’s looking across at the city.
12/18 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Fifth Dream: I’m standing on the roaring stone pillar. Plumes of purple dust are rising from its side. A thin man with a gray hat…well all his clothes are gray. The hat is brown. He crouches near me, but the pillar isn’t big enough for both of us. I’m wondering about this. He has a pronounced Adam’s apple, and he wears no socks. He’s chewing on one of those plastic coffee stirrers. “You must be my spirit guide,” I remark. He nods but doesn’t answer right away. Then, looking around, he asks, “What’s with the two moons?”
12/19 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Sixth Dream: I can feel the pillar vibrating beneath my feet periodically. This is when the plumes of purple dust blow out from its sides. But the pillar is yellow, like sulfur, and streaked with orange and black. The top is reddish. There ain’t no purple that I can see, and I can see its entire length clear to the bottom. A mile is not too far, unless you stand it on its end. Then it seems to be a long way. Adam is still here, chewing on his coffee stick. He’s looking across at the city.
12/20 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Seventh Dream: The pillar abruptly stops vibrating, and violet dust begins to slowly sweep down the pillar, settling into the valley below. As Adam studies the glass city, I wonder if he is still waiting to hear what’s with the two moons. The one on the right is the right size, and even seems to have the familiar craters. The other one is bigger. I’m imagining the first inside it, and I can fit five of the small ones end to end inside the larger one. It has a yellowish cast with two violent streaks of red.
12/21 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Eighth Dream: I am dreaming the 100 Words site is down again. This time it has been off-line for several days and the writers are beginning to lose direction. Some wander in circles outside the 100 Words Tower, occasionally walking into the glass walls. A few are leaned up against the building, their hands cupped around their eyes trying to see inside. Many have obviously given up writing at all. Some are picketing the 100 Words Plaza. Others cannot stop, and have been typing for days without food or water, the displays growing dim on their laptops.
12/22 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Seventy-Ninth Dream: Damn, wouldn’t you know, I dreamt I was a project manager again. I was with a new company pitching a large project to a potential customer, who looked suspiciously like some movie starlet I couldn’t place. My trainee, boss, or whatever he was made his pitch and it was obvious he really intended to do the project in a way to guarantee disaster. I realized at the same time that I was pitching a different project, one the client seemed to like. The boss guy was looking at me with confusion. I stopped in mid-sentence.
12/23 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eightieth Dream: The streaks of red in the yellow moon are rough horizontal lipstick strokes, starting from the sides taking roughly five degrees of arc, each moving to a point, slightly beyond the middle. They are both about midway, but the right one is higher than the left, so that there is a space between the overlapping points in the middle. I am again considering Adam’s question. “Well,” I say, “One of them is quite a bit larger than the other.” He cocks his head at me, the hat moving in tight formation with his head, “Huh?”
12/24 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Third Dream: I can feel the sinking sensation again, and the purple dust plumes out from the sides. Adam stumbles as if to catch his balance where he is standing in air. The platform seems to be under him. I just can’t see it. I’d like to ask him about it but I’m having visions of Wile E. Coyote not falling until he realizes he is in the air, and this area has that look about it, an almost cartoon perspective, except I can feel the dust in my nose. I can smell something ancient in it.
12/25 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Second Dream: Adam has turned his head back toward the city, pointing. I follow his gaze. The main tower of the city is changing colors, a kind of light show. Fire works are bursting over the city, although I cannot hear them. I wonder if he can, and I look to the place where he is crouched, seemingly in air. I have an impulse to step out with him, but I am feeling sensible. “This is just a dream,” one part of me argues.

“What’s your point?” the other part responds. The tower begins to rumble again.
12/26 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Fourth Dream: We are in for a ride this time. The column vibrating hard against the soles of my feet, drops 50 yards, as near as I can tell. But what can I tell in this place? Adam soon catches onto the movement, swiveling to look behind him smoothly. “This is something, eh?” he remarks, nodding behind me. I can barely keep my balance, but take a glance in that way. The hills are covered with windmill farms, as far as any eye could see, and they are doing a brisk business from the looks of things.
12/27 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Fifth Dream: The column stops moving this time with a solid boom that sends a circle of dust rings across the valley floor, scampering, disappearing in the distance like rabbits. Then I hear the first boom, and the beginnings of the echoes. Adam is looking at my feet. He gestures casually, “Look to have a small problem there, mate.” Then he does that head-cocking thing again. “I guess yer ok with it now though?”

“Ok with what?”

“Well, you’ve nothing to stand on there.”

I don’t really want to look down. My eyes roll in that direction.
12/28 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Sixth Dream: I see under my feet the same thing I’ve been seeing, that small circle of chalk-like substance and that mind numbing drop through hot thin air. I’m guessing he’s seeing the same thing under my feet that I’m seeing under his, only I have been more discreet about it.

“It’s ok,” I say. “Not to worry.” Adam shrugs. I file this anomaly in the mental parking lot, something to chew on later, if I have any later. My clothes, which were soaked with sweat, are dry. It’s arid here. We’re going to need some water.
12/29 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Seventh Dream: With a decisive clunk, the tower shifts, but it doesn’t move again. Somehow that throws me more off balance than the movement and I am forced to squat and grab an edge. Maybe Adam has the right idea squatting in the first place, I wonder, so I sit down, feet dangling over the edge while the tower begins vibrating, first slowly, then increasing in amplitude. Large chunks begin falling off, tumbling and breaking up against the side. I can feel myself moving sideways Adam is saying something to me, but I can’t make it out.
12/30 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Eighth Dream: It felt like something breaking in the column. The thing fell at a slight angle and started dropping like one of those express elevators, leaving my stomach somewhere outside my chest trying to catch up. We were falling through a cloud of purple dust that suddenly disappeared only to be replaced by the ground rushing fiercely toward us. I wanted nothing more to do with this ride. The thing was broken, spewing spare parts into the air, and the carney who was supposed to be watching the thing was off on lunch break. I jumped.
12/31 Direct Link

100 Dreams

The Eighty-Ninth Dream: I woke up face down in six inches of dry sand and with some wiry little plant caught in my upper teeth. My eyes hurt like hell. There was no way to get the sand out of them. Lifting my face to a flat vista, I saw someone in the distance, Adam, walking away, carrying a large rucksack. “Hey,” I gasped. He didn’t seem to hear me. I lifted myself, calling more loudly. Nothing. Then things rearranged in my brain. “Fucker! I’ve got the gun.”

He stopped, slowly turning to grin at me. Spirit guides.