ABSTRACT
Dream Woman points to the shit in the corner. It looks like a coiled snake. Or a penis. An eyeball appears in the palm of Dream Woman’s hand. Means what? . . .
Her pointing finger looks like a gun. Now like a cigarette. A sinking, sickening feeling in my stomach: it’s the glowing coal at the end of a stick from the fireplace. Panic: He couldn’t have burned me. He couldn’t have burned me. Calm down, calm down. Quiet and receptive. The coal is pressed into an ass-mine?—on the bottom of the tailbone. No feeling or memory of physical pain. A clear moving image, like a film, but totally dissociated. . . .
