Crashing Planes and Subduing Lust
I boarded an averaged sized plane with yellow wings and white tail. A man welcomed me onto the plane after kissing a woman goodbye. The seats were yellow and covered in dust. I was the only passenger and felt reluctant to sit down in such filth. Distrust was growing.
The pilot told me to buckle up. I looked down at an unknown city as the plane took off. I noticed we were flying too close to the rooftops.
“This is dangerous. You’re going to get us killed,” I screamed.
The man raised his hand to silence me.
The pilot’s quiet chuckle soon turned into a peal of laughter. His whole body shook and convinced me of his derangement. He pulled the yoke and guided the plane to the left. The plane’s wing smacked against an antenna and sent us plummeting down. The body of the plane split in half. The impact of landing in a swampy terrain hurled the pilot over a pair of trees and broke him. Horrified, I watched as the upper half of his body hung from a telephone pole, his eyes and mouth open in equal surprise. The man had drowned in mud.
Had I cause the accident through anticipation? Or was I there to bear witness to something that already happened?
Anne and I played a show in London. I have new keyboards with extra knobs I’ve never seen before. When I twist them they make incredible sounds that bounce off the walls and back into our ears. The crowd danced slowly until we transitioned to a more upbeat tune. The whole place was dancing and jumping around. I began to play the music using only my mind and the knobs. Anne followed the improvisation with deep guitar strumming.
As we were packing up the equipment a group of women approached me. They asked whether we’d considered touring with another band. Before I could reply the woman with coal black hair drew so close I couldn’t respond. I felt distracted by her facial symmetry. Her eyes were blue jewels and familiar. But I couldn’t place where I had seen her.
But I wanted her to be real.
“You’re exquisite,” I said.
She smiled and looked away. I gathered she was spoken for. The lucky devil was a pretty girl in her mid-twenties. She wanted me to back off and explained this with her brown eyes. In unison I heard the women whisper, “Jealousy.”
“If I desire her you shouldn’t feel jealous,” I explained. “You should feel flattered. Maybe even a little envious. Such lustful thoughts have no bounds, not with such a ravishing woman.”
The blue eyed siren stood inches away from my lips. This time I looked away. The scent of her perfume was stirring my thoughts. When she placed her hand around my waist I moved away. I gave myself strict orders to behave properly, even if it was a dream.
I left the venue believing I would see her again. After we packed the equipment into the truck I told Anne and the others I would walk home. Walking inside dreams is very soothing for my mind. It’s usually quiet enough that I can think about my waking life and view my self from a separate perspective. I see how much more I could be doing with my life and I long for the time to do it.
Then a young boy crossed my path and interrupted my thoughts. He looked at me and crossed the road. I followed him across a park and into a backyard. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. We ran down a long alleyway and turned right.
We’d reached the swamp. The pilot and the man were gone. The boy went to a tree and shuffled the leaves on the ground. He picked up an oval rock, deep black and smooth. It belonged to his father, the man on the plane.