By Dolores J. Nurss

Volume V: Sharing Insanity

Chapter 22





I wrote of Deirdre traveling back and forth between the two farms, but I dreamed of the widows.  And I dreamed the infirmary but wrote George Winsallís recovery there.   

Regarding Damien, I had this dream on Monday, November 21, 2016


*1.  Damien Lost in Money-Land

            I am Damien.  I seek access to land off-limits to the lower castes.  I get lost on a peninsula: a charming upper-caste place, but hard to get past.  One road turns into a giant lily pond.  Another leads down onto the roof of a manís home, which I clatter down noisily.  Just as I nearly sneak away the owners arrive and I must come up with a lie about my presence.  End of dream


Flash images on a different day:  Damien playing harp while Malcolm extracts somebodyís tooth.  A rich patron of Malcolmís sits nearby, explaining that he couldnít turn on Malcolm for the rumors; he thinks Malcolmís doing the right thing.


I dreamed vaguely, as Lufti, of the punishing ride that covers several chapters.  At some points I rode through crowds of refugees, with fires on the hills.  And I resorted to whatever chemicals would get me through, mixing greenfire with chaummin as my mind slowly crumbled.

In waking life I had suffered an excruciating sacroiliac misalignment, triggering fibromyalgia cascades throughout my body, and my dream made use of this (the nurse-practitioner at the Native American clinic thought that x-rays might indicate a pinched nerve, but the image came back fuzzy, and the other clinic that made the x-rays didnít bother getting a better shot or sending with it any kind of expert opinionĖit was only for an Indian clinic, after all.)  I had no access to any kind of painkiller beyond ibuprofin, which doesnít work on fibro, so I would lie in bed fantasizing about drunken revelry to induce a kind of psychosomatic relief, not drinking in physical fact, though, because I wanted a healthy immune system to try and fight whatever had gone wrong.   Often my thoughts took a revolutionary tinge.

Sometimes it worked.  And sometimes I dreamed of being Lufti, riding through a burnt-out nightmare landscape, all screwed up on too much chaummin and greenfire and pain, and too little sleep and nourishment.

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