In My Dreams I am a Girl.

Whoa!

Heavily tattooed rock guy say wha?!

I know you all think in my dreams I'm storming through Rockwall, Texas, laying waste to everything with my army of destroyer droids, with my pink lightsabre, and Jenna Jameson sucking on one cock, and Tera Patrick sucking on my other cock, with laser beams and rainbows and unicorns busting out of my asshole, while I'm playing Van Halen's 'Eruption' on my favourite Explorer, and throwing down my ultimate witticisms along the way, wherever the Hell i feel like it.

But I don't.

In my sleepy-timez (do you like how I even make sleepy-time all gangsta and LEGIT'n'shit?) I live in the spaces in-between...



I read Time magazine, and they had an issue devoted to the mechanics of sleep- what it's for, what it does, how much we need, what happens during, you know, the whole 9 yards.

And it said sleep was for your brain and not your body, and that you needed it to do a big file-save of all the days goings-on and things to remember/learn.

So, because I spend so much time on my napster machine, in my dreams, when I'm on stage about to sing a song, I always 'Ctrl A', and select the crowd, so everyone can hear me.

And when I do, everyone kinda lights up, gets highlighted, to show me they're selected and ready.

And if any stupid teenage boys are moshing real hard and kicking the little girls in the front row in the head, I just 'Del' them off to the Recycle Bin.

Don't be an elitest wanker, I can't afford a Mac right now.

I've noticed I spend an inordinate amount of time swimming in my dreams, but the water holes and oceans are real, and not in the slightest exaggerated.

Like:

The choppy and quite violent Tasman Sea off Makara in New Zealand, where, when you're not being dashed on the black rocks or dumped by the waves, you can put your head under and see Crayfish, kina, and sharks swimming around your feet.

And Taniwha too (in the dreams).


Te Taniwha!

Like:

A waterhole in the Daintree Rainforest, in Far North Queensland, which looks normal enough by day, but as the light fades, you notice the water lights up, like an indiglo night-light watch, from all the micro organisms that live their entire lives in the water.

It's the closest you could ever come to another world.

Like:

Another waterhole, not far from the last, which is full of fallen beech trees, so the deep parts look like you're underwater, looking up into an amazing Nordic forest. And when you swim, all the huge fish, (who don't fear people) come to smell you and nibble your toes with toothless, fishy mouths.
In my dreams they speak in morse code, and convey to me complex messages of great import to the rainforest, found in the stomach-lining of a mosquito, tapped out with their gums on the ridges of my metatarsals.



And when you swim there, it's like flying in slow motion through the trees, it's like you have mastered reality, and can bend it at will, it's like you and gravity have finally made up, and it has stopped holding you down and breaking your back.

And it's so, so very silent too.

These are the places I spend dreaming.

These are the places I go to to escape and regroup.

These are the simple places, more than the pyramids, or the Lost Cities of South America, or the Zen Gardens of Japan, more than any other place I've found peace and inspiration, that I miss and long for and want to touch and be touched by again.

And I am a female.

In these times, I am totally without anger or frustration.

I have no grudge, no jealousy, no spite.

I don't ball my hand into a fist so tight my knuckles crack and go deathly white.

I am purely peaceful.

And as I swim through branches, or watch the ancient Maori Sea Monsters, or translate complex aquatic codes and ciphers, I translate too my own thoughts into balance.

The hurt of my waking day is massaged smooth again by a strong yet gentle wisdom.

I give in to my soft voice.

And when I awaken, I am sometimes surprised to see my real face, with its prickly beard and missing teeth.

With its stupid high walls and its alarms and its hungry dogs and barbs and pits.

With its so very sorry to be this way, I wish I was in control more.

With its goodbye all the time.

So that when I'm awake, I dream of sleeping.

And when I sleep, I sleep more.

_____________________________________

I'd like to use this moment to share with you a happy memory.

When I was living in the rainforest, around 1997, I was all alone in a tent, in the middle of a stinkingly humid sub-tropical night, a hundred miles from the nearest living soul.

I could hear the bats in the trees, the pigs in the undergrowth, and the insects everywhere in between.

And I could hear a kind of deep rolling thunder, but softer, like a muffled horse, or a body being rolled down a hill wrapped in carpet.

Bushes were cracking and giving way, dirt was kicking up, it was louder now.

Then suddenly my dome tent totally buckled under the weight of something that looked from the inside like it was 7 feet clear across.

I heard heavy breathing, and mucous being spat from nostrils, and pissing.

Then that rolling sound, and the tent buckled again.

I was frozen in terror, and without trying to talk myself up, I have to say I'm not really terrified of anything, unless it's clealy capable of, and about to destroy my life forever.

Examples are: Rhinos and the Death Star.

But after this process repeated about 5 times, I just got angry, and, not caring if it was some freakishly oversized lost proto-mammal from the Late Eiocene or not, decided to look whatever it was in the eye.

Maybe even wrestle with it some.

It's the rainforest- it brings that sort of thing out of you.

So I unzipped my tent as the rumbling started again.

Full moon, great visibilty.

Very, very wet.

And here it comes...

All I could see was plants buckling under the weight of this thing, dirt flying through the air, and suddenly-

Two half breed mongrels, running down the hill and having the time of their lives, using my tent as a bouncy castle.

Our eyes met, and they changed course, aimed straight for me.

They both leapt at the same time, aimed directly at my throat, they made no sound.

They hit me, and I hit the forest floor- hard.

They weighed easily 50 kilograms each.

And they made straight for my head, where they...well, they licked the shit out of me, so to speak.

These dogs were like the stereotype a lot of us have about surfers.

They were all about "HEEEY DUUUUDE !!!", and partying, and being best friends eva, and loving life coz it's so rad, and generally being the coolest people you could ever meet.

I played with them for an hour, then without a seconds warning, they disappeared again, thundering up the hill.

I stayed at that camp for 3 more weeks, and every night, those dogs came to visit me, by boisterously bouncing off the walls of my tent.

Somewhere, near the top of Australia, they're out there tonight.

And they are fucking loving it!

That's a nice thought to drift off to...



Some other time I'll tell you all about 'Alexis the Bat'.

'Nite all.

Don't forget to read this and vote for me as the best Victorian Blog in the Australian Blog Awards.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.