Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Dream From The Night of Michael Jordan's Birthday

I've somehow made my way into a church. It's a really big church. I can tell I don't want to be there. I'm not alone in the church, as evidenced by the other people in the church. There are all different kinds of people there. I still don't want to be there.

A guy approaches me. He's wearing a drab grey suit and khaki pants. His mustache says "Screw you." He'd never actually let it say that, though. He is some sort of minister or pastor. The reason he approaches is because he has been trying to get me to join the church. I don't want to join his massive church nor his mustache. I'd rather be honest.

Then, I'm being held by two people that I hadn't seen. They hold me under my arms. Another person wheels an apparatus over to me. The apparatus is a modified crucifix. The back of it looks like a traditional, wooden crucifix. I soon find out that it's different, though. Imagine you're facing the cross from the front. Approximately where Jesus' elbows would have been are two metal planks stuck out in front of the crucifix. They are perfectly parallel with the ground. At the very end of the metal plank, there are handles that extend towards the sky. They are padded.

I am soon on the crucifix. My head is strapped in with a leather strap with a buckle. My hands grabbed the handles and were tied down. My feet dangled below me.

At this point, I noticed all the people in the pews. They had all turned around to watch me. They assumed I was becoming a believer/member/comrade. I knew I didn't want to do this. I had a feeling that guy (mustache) had been working me over pretty good. It seemed I had been resisting successfully so far. This was his last hope to overpower me.

I wanted to hurt him. I decided to hurt his feelings. And those of the members. I began to sing, or rap, a song. The song I chose to sing to hurt their feelings was Straight Outta Compton by NWA. I rapped the entire first verse in the dream. I remember coming to the 'N' word. I don't say this word. I said the word in the dream. Offensiveness was the name of the game in that old church. As soon as I said it, I looked into the seated crowd and saw an African American man. I felt embarrassed continued the song. And the 'N' words. My fleeting embarrassment made my face hot and presumably red.

Soon thereafter, the song was done. I felt victorious.

Next up was an old breakdancing friend of mine, who I'll call Jose Castellon. It's not his real name. Jose was put onto the modified crucifix. He had a red t-shirt on. His head was shaved totally, save his bangs. These were long and full of hair gel. His blue jeans were baggy. They almost completely covered his white K-Swiss sneakers, but not quite.

Jose was similarly strapped into Crucifix 2.0. He wanted to be as defiant as I had been. It was nighttime now. He demonstrated his defiance in a totally different way. He began to breakdance. His hands and head strapped in, his legs were the only things moving. They were moving like crazy. They were flipping and flopping around like a fish out of water. Only it was terribly talented, angry, and effective.

Jose breakdanced all night long. Literally, he continued his kinesthetic resistance until morning. In the morning, after having watched him all night, he finally gave up, exhausted and atrophied. I approached him to help him down. As I got near, I noticed that he had blood and spit hanging from his relaxed lips.

Seeing this made me sick and angry but something made me feel as though Jose's protest had worked. I guess he looked like a bonafide martyr.

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