This morning I had three dreams in a row, all of which left me feeling either sad, or creeped out, or lonely. It really was quite the morning. I’ve decided to break up the dreams into three separate blog entries, each under their respective names. The second one was “A Drowned Friend”, and the third one was “The Back Porch.”
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“The Oriental Chicken, or, My Brother’s Not Even Gay”
Mom and I were in my brother’s bedroom, and he was telling both of us in great detail about how he was having an affair with a married man who is the owner of a well-respected recording studio in town. (Neither my brother nor the real-life man is gay, by the way.) Mom and I were shocked, not only to find out that he was gay, but also about his unfettered ‘TMI-ness’ about it. “If he eats any cheese at all, he can’t get it up.”
“Who?” my mom asked.
My brother gestured in the direction of the next room. “Hunk, in there. He’s sleeping right now.” My mom made a face and left the room in disgust.
I couldn’t help laughing as I said to him, “Hunk? You know I know him, and that he does what I do [referring to recording and music production]. He’s not even gay, and neither are you. How did this happen?”
My brother didn’t say anything. I sat down on his bed to collect my thoughts, and saw a plain brown cardboard box next to the bed, so I picked it up and opened it. Inside was another brown cardboard box which said, in large black letters:
“Oriental Chicken” – DILDO
PRIVATE – Please do not use without owner’s permission
I shook my head and closed the box without even looking at the Oriental Chicken. I didn’t want to know. I put the box back on the floor, stood up, and walked out of his room so that I could go to my room and play the accordion. It sounded strange, with lots of air escaping (which makes the sound either go flat or not happen at all), so I stretched it out all the way to inspect the bellows. They were almost completely worn away. It was amazing that any sound was coming out at all.