Do you see me?

When I dream I remember all my other dreams. I just woke up and I remember them all and I must write down what I have seen before the memory fades.

I fly, like always. It is not winged flight; it is a strange, halfway swimming-like flight, close to the ground, dipping low. It's slow, I am not in full control. Almost always I am inside some building or some structure.

I always fly but nobody acknowledges the act of flying, as if it was completely normal.

I crave the recognition of the act of flying, I want someone to say: 'You're flying! My God!'

Instead, I ask the same question, always, night after night: 'Do you see me?' I sing this desperate line, over and over, I croon it.

Tonight I was in a movie theater with someone else. I don't remember who it was, the pictures fade fast. But there was a THING near the floor, like a seahorse, a withered rootlike body, a single stalk, a head with tight yellow skin and metallic burnished orange-yellow eyes, flat. It blinked once and I thought maybe it saw me.

I sang to it as I floated past, dipped once, touched the floor. 'Do you see me?' I tried to catch a glimpse of recognition within those orange-yellow eyes.

I woke up.

Diggin' Up Corpses

I went to dig up corpses the day before yesterday. I wanted to post this yesterday but I didn’t have the pictures yet. I have the pictures now. So…
Kata, a friend of mine, is an anthropologist. She keeps getting invited to biologist/anthropology events. A cemetery is being converted into a housing development (I know it sounds like the Night of the Living Dead (or was it the Return of the Living Dead?). This cemetery has been closed down for 50 years and the catholic church finally agreed to sell – under one condition: Remove the bones and relics and put them in bags for reburial/etc. Obviously, to avoid zombie attacks on the yuppie inhabitants.
I obviously jumped at the chance. I mean, few ever get the opportunity to dig up corpses from the 19th century. Most of these dead were from 1880-1890.
Anyway, they have a heavy duty hauler that clears away 95% of the land and toss the gravestones aside. Then we move into the big hole and clear away the rest until we hit COFFINS and BONES.

I went to dig up corpses the day before yesterday. I wanted to post this yesterday but I didn’t have the pictures yet. I have the pictures now. So…
Kata, a friend of mine, is an anthropologist. She keeps getting invited to biologist/anthropology events. A cemetery is being converted into a housing development (I know it sounds like the Night of the Living Dead (or was it the Return of the Living Dead?). This cemetery has been closed down for 50 years and the catholic church finally agreed to sell – under one condition: Remove the bones and relics and put them in bags for reburial/etc. Obviously, to avoid zombie attacks on the yuppie inhabitants.
I obviously jumped at the chance. I mean, few ever get the opportunity to dig up corpses from the 19th century. Most of these dead were from 1880-1890.
Anyway, they have a heavy duty hauler that clears away 95% of the land and toss the gravestones aside. Then we move into the big hole and clear away the rest until we hit COFFINS and BONES.
The first gravesite was a crypt. I went inside. There was the lid of a tin coffin. They were a bit concerned about the tin coffin. I didn’t know why – until they pulled me aside and explained about the Tiramisu Dead.
You see, tin coffins are fairly solidly built things. Some of them are so well built that they keep the body rotting for decades. No dessicated mummies in some of them. They still have flesh that sort of pools and congeals against the bottom of the coffin and we have to pull it off with a sickening slurpy sound that is only bearable because you are too occupied with the horrifying stench of decaying ancient flesh. These are the Tiramisu Dead. They sort of look like rotted Tiramisu.
So I jump in the crypt and hand out the tin coffin lid. Gratefully, the corpse is intact and DRY. I mean, it’s a nearly perfectly preserved skeleton. It’s staring at me. It is holding a cross in his right hand.
We dug up a lot of bodies. We put them in boxes. Then we tagged them. We wore rubber gloves. The heat was stifling so my hands were sweating up a storm and the gloves became stained with old human bone.
The biologists/anthropologists/archeologists were making jokes. ‘Look at the knee of this dude,’ said a funny guy, ‘When he croaked he could barely walk. It’s beautiful!’ (Tossing knee to other fellow).
‘Why’re you calling it beautiful?’
‘Hahaha.’

Pig glances to the side of the pit. ‘Hey! I found a skull!’ (pulls skull from the sand).
(Fellow Digger) ‘Yeah. That’s a child’s skull. 11 or 12 years old. Well done!’
(Pig) ‘Nifty!’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Hey, did you guys have anyone listed around 11 or 12 nearby?’
(Fellow Digger in Charge) ‘No? Wait… Yeah, there was someone in that age bracket.’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Toss this skull in with the rest of it then please.’
The first gravesite was a crypt. I went inside. There was the lid of a tin coffin. They were a bit concerned about the tin coffin. I didn’t know why – until they pulled me aside and explained about the Tiramisu Dead.
You see, tin coffins are fairly solidly built things. Some of them are so well built that they keep the body rotting for decades. No dessicated mummies in some of them. They still have flesh that sort of pools and congeals against the bottom of the coffin and we have to pull it off with a sickening slurpy sound that is only bearable because you are too occupied with the horrifying stench of decaying ancient flesh. These are the Tiramisu Dead. They sort of look like rotted Tiramisu.
So I jump in the crypt and hand out the tin coffin lid. Gratefully, the corpse is intact and DRY. I mean, it’s a nearly perfectly preserved skeleton. It’s staring at me. It is holding a cross in his right hand.
We dug up a lot of bodies. We put them in boxes. Then we tagged them. We wore rubber gloves. The heat was stifling so my hands were sweating up a storm and the gloves became stained with old human bone.
The biologists/anthropologists/archeologists were making jokes. ‘Look at the knee of this dude,’ said a funny guy, ‘When he croaked he could barely walk. It’s beautiful!’ (Tossing knee to other fellow).
‘Why’re you calling it beautiful?’
‘Hahaha.’

Pig glances to the side of the pit. ‘Hey! I found a skull!’ (pulls skull from the sand).
(Fellow Digger) ‘Yeah. That’s a child’s skull. 11 or 12 years old. Well done!’
(Pig) ‘Nifty!’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Hey, did you guys have anyone listed around 11 or 12 nearby?’
(Fellow Digger in Charge) ‘No? Wait… Yeah, there was someone in that age bracket.’
(Fellow Digger) ‘Toss this skull in with the rest of it then please.’