doll looks like a New York dude/subconscious sex power trip, for fuck's sake   Leave a comment

Well, the wine seems to have evaporated from my writing style, so that’s good. What a prat (confused readers may wish to know that my last diary entry was written after I’d spilt a glass of red wine over my keyboard and housing benefit form, and then tried to wipe it up using the Kiss T-Shirt my brother gave me, which didn’t stop the malfunctions).

It is additionally sobering to realize that my paternal grandmother would be 100 years old today, were she alive. She predated the bloody aeroplane, for goodness sakes.

Alexis is sending me a Domino package. I’m saying prayers to keep postal workers honest. He says it’s big. I think they should get more money actually. Postmen and women are cool. I worked in a post office once, sorting letters for two days. Employment agency called something like Personnel Selection sent a whole bunch of us running down the depot, but a percentage of us stopped under a bridge for a joint. I was worried that my faculties were impaired and that I wouldn’t be able to perform the task, but of course, as it involved putting first class post in one tray and second class in another on the conveyer belt there wasn’t much drama in the learning curve. I popped on my headphones and dug the Sonic Youth/Pixies tape that Phil Benson had done me.

There’s this postwoman who comes in the shop and gets her lunch. She has a sweet, shy smile, and we have an unspoken understanding that we like each other.

OK. Here’s the dream I had the other day. I’m in bed with my ex-girlfriend, who keeps morphing into my present girlfriend, and sometimes seems to be an exotic new, separate lady. She’s particularly exotic because she has a, well, uh…y’know… she’s um…she has a COCK. And she’s really sexy. Now let’s get one thing (at least) COMPLETELY straight – it’s not the cock that’s making her sexy. No. She’s just being really coquettish and stuff. But we’re not having sex or anything. Well, maybe we are a little bit, but the cock thing is bothering me to be honest. It’s sort of getting in the way a tad. Anyway, adding to all this confusion, and giving weight to my theory that I dream in joke form, is the fact that we are staying with my mum and David (in a house I’ve never seen in real life – quite luxurious coastal location) and the other guest is Jerry Nolan from The New York Dolls (for fuck’s sake). At one point we see David helping Jerry (who appears to be a frail woman in her mid-60’s) up some steps. Now nothing much else happens in the dream, but it ends with me becoming sexually possessive over my bedicked amalgamated ladyfriend, who is indicating to me that she is a gal (?) with needs that can never be entirely met by one man (?!). I begin to argue you with her in a mean-spirited way. “We’ve been together for ten years!” I spit, “When did you get this goddamn cock? And who fucking paid for it?”
“Jonathon.” She admits, patiently, as though all this fuss needn’t concern her overmuch.
The Jonathon to which she is referring is the American owner of the company I used to work for (ripping stories out of newspapers and filing them) with whom my office manager of the time would have flirtatious and sexually explicit conversations daily across the Atlantic, much to the distaste of the rest of us in the office.

And then I woke up, and I can honestly say I felt profoundly disturbed.

Posted November 28, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: