I was at the seaside with Hilary. We were talking about how we would die, and I had either already died, or had had a dream in which I learned how I was going to die (drowning in saltwater). I was not sure whether I might be able to avert this doom. My death seemed to hover in a nebulous area between past, present and future. I took a shower, and felt I had the power to predict other people’s deaths as well.
It turned out that my Dad had HIV, and I thought how sad it was that he would have to use a condom even though he is in a monogamous relationship. I was also concerned that that he couldn’t donate blood or organs to me if I had to be hospitalized.
We were back at the old house where my Dad lived when I was a kid. There was some debate going on about how many rooms were in the house, and where his house ended and the neighbor’s began. I remembered that he had done some remodelling, but I couldn’t remember whether or not this had created an extra bedroom that could be only be reached by going through his bedroom. There was a large second story to the house, which isn’t there in waking life. Even in my dream, I couldn’t remember having ever been up to the second floor, but I shrugged off the confusion, remembering vaguely that we only used the second story for storage, which itself struck me as strange, given how nice and large the second story was.
In the dream, the front lawn sort of blended into the field across the street, and while walking out there I saw the carcass of a raven in the tall grass. The raven was as large as a medium-sized or even a larger-than-average dog. I was slightly grossed out to discover that I’d gotten a little bit of raven-carcass on me. Then I noticed other ravens lying still in the grass or wheat or whatever was growing in the field. They were all as large as the first dead raven, and lying perfectly still, but they were completely alive. I tried prodding one to rouse it, but it wouldn’t move. It occured to me that they must be digesting after a big meal, and that they were conserving energy until their stomaches had emptied enough to make it worthwhile to go out looking for a fresh kill.
The ravens began to stir and take off, in search of carion. I thought I’d better not lie down or they might mistake me for a carcass and try to eat me. Then I was one of them, and we were flying back towards my Dad’s house. I was flapping slowly, and flying, but not very successfully (I was slow and didn’t soar like the other ravens) because I didn’t have their instinct for how to flap. I thought about the heavy black solidness of ravens compared to other birds, and this made me think of the kind of thick glasses worn by Buddy Holly or Elvis Costello, who have always been sort of interchangeable in my mind. I was still a human and had arms, not wings, but this didn’t stop me from flying clumsily and haltingly back towards my Dad’s house.
I saw Elvis Costello / Buddy Holly lying in the field, bloody and damaged. Someone had been torturing him and he was bleeding out of his anus. I started carrying him back to my Dad’s house, where some type of theatrical event was going to be happening. I was still a raven and carried him there through the air. I was going to blame his torture on some rival faction which was secretly in cahoots with a group to which I belonged. It’s unclear what these factions were- they might have been gangs of ravens, political parties or perhaps theatre companies.
[submitted by Anonymous]
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