Virtual Thought

We’re at the new house, not the house we’re in now, but the new one and it badly needs repairs. A big rusty pipe is leaking some fluid onto the concrete floor and an exhaust tube, kind of like the type used for dryers to catch lint, is full of some tough, wooly, fibrous material. There are plastic dropcloths on some of the walls, and I don’t feel comfortable living there anymore.

We’re all there, too, having some sort of party with these new people that we’ve met who are trying to fix the house… but meeting with little success.

Alex isn’t helping: he pulls some drywall down and exposes an old door, one which our landlords sealed off right when we moved in. This sparks a conversation about the other doors that were sealed off, the ones that give a view of the backyard. I remark that the room would have creeped me out if I’d had that view of the backyard at night. I don’t remember if anyone agrees.

Right around then I notice that one of my teeth, my bottom right bicuspid in fact, is raised a bit. Probing around with my finger, I shove it back into place.

Things get blurry here for me… what happened next exactly? Securing the thick wire around the styrofoam mannequin head to simulate some nightmarish headgear for the girl who wanted to dress as a Cenobian? We stumbled over the word “Cenobian” and, I think, only managed “Ciccadian” at the time. Was this when my brother and some woman took a nap in a recliner not because they knew each other but because the recliner was comfortable and they both need to sleep somewhere?

At one point my curiosity and dread finally overcome me and I reach into my mouth and pull on that lower tooth. I feel the satisfying ripping that I only previous experienced when I was a kid worrying and pulling my baby teeth out of my mouth… but suddenly I realize that too much is coming out of my mouth. The ripping of dental roots becomes a kind of fleshy tearing feeling and I’ve gone too far.

I rush to the bathroom, one of those bathrooms with a big vanity mirror and two sinks and a marble counter top. I’m still holding whatever it is I pulled out of my mouth. Terra comes with me, asking, “What’s wrong? What is it,” but my mouth is too full to answer without spilling anything. I put my head over a small soapdish (why not the sink?) and spit out some blood and small bits of tissue, which Terra catches in her hand. I don’t want her catching it in her hand and at first I feebly bat her hand away as I continue to spit blood and gobbets of flesh out of my mouth.

Finally, I slap down what I’ve been holding: it’s not just one tooth with some skin attached, it looks like a piece of my jaw along with three or four teeth and blood and skin. It makes a hard sound when it hits the counter top and I’m able to push Terra’s hand away as she’s somewhat limp with disgust. Spitting into the sink this time, I empty my mouth of the rest of the blood, bone, and bits of flesh that I’ve been carrying.

I wipe my mouth and stand up and probe at the gaping hole in my mouth, tender and bloody.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 3rd, 2005 at 5:04 pm and is filed under dreams. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.