I have always dreamed of my own destruction.
Last night I dreamed I was on an Indian Airlines flight coming into Prabesh or someplace and we were too low and as we passed over the tightly packed slums our wing clipped a building and tore off and as we were going down, relentlessly going down, I wrapped my arms around my wife and I asked myself the question I always ask in that situation:
Eyes open or closed?
The funny thing about this dream is that I have it intermittently and for as long as I can remember, so when I find myself inside an airplane that is going down again, I have this little exchange with myself:
“Well, it fucking figures. You dreamed about this all the fucking time. No wonder you die like this.”
So last night I decided, fuck it, I’m going to land this motherfucker. And I squeezed my wife’s hand and walked up to the cockpit and grabbed the yoke and landed that bitch on this skinny roadway and walked off into the dust and pink and gold and stink of India with my wife on my arm and the smoking hulk of the 737 standing askew on the roadway.
Good for me.
In my dreams I have been axe murdered. I have been shot to death numberless times. I have been crushed under falling buildings. I have been tortured to death. I have curled up in a fetal position while knives were thrust into me without ceasing.
I have a lot of practice in dying.
I have been in a lot of tidal wave disasters. Ditto nuclear war. Mortar attacks. Sharks and bears. Drowning under the arctic ice is a big one. Elevator collapse.
It is like Jack Bauer all night long in my head.
I have a violence in me like a disease. I have a romance with it.
Nor would I quit it, though it destroy me.
If you believe violence to be an anomaly, you misapprehend it.
Hang down your head for sorrow,
Hang down your head for me.
Hang down your head,
Hang down your head,
Hang down your head, Marie.
Do your hands hunger for damage?
When strange noises stir in the darkness, are you compelled to go into the void to face what awaits?
There are more terrible things than being destroyed.
We are all for the boneyard. There are no exceptions.
Do you imagine your gentleness will save you?
PS- In my marriage, I am not indulged to be my true self, I am encourged at it.
Can there be a greater gift?
If there is, I am unable to name it.