Alaska

Flexing that bicep too many times may cause it to explode.

Nah, I’m good.

I’ve seen it.

Where?

Places.

Name one.

Remember that summer in Alaska, those guys, you know…

I’m not recalling ever going to Alaska.

It was a November morning.

Really?

I had just woken from that dream where your mother kept saying my full name. First, middle and last.

I remember the dream just no Alaska.

You wore six shirts and a pair of those sweatpants that said Firecracker horizontally along your butt.

You really have me confused with some other floozy.

It was you. You had red hair at the time and were obsessed with Rob Pattinson.

Did you go to Alaska with a thirteen year-old girl?

No. I went with you.

You did not. I have never nor ever want to go to Alaska. I don’t like Rob Pattinson, I own one pair of sweatpants and they do not pronounce that I am some firecrackery harlot.

It had to be you.

Why does it have to be me?

Because I remember you there and I remember you commenting on the fella whose arm exploded from flexing his bicep way too many times.

My head is about to explode if we don’t move on to something else.

How can we move on? If I didn’t go to Alaska with you then who did I go with? Is this even my life anymore? Why can’t I remember a small thing like who I traveled to a desolate shithole with?

Maybe it was a dream?

A dream within a dream. Your mother calling me by my full name while my dream self is dreaming about you and I in Alaska watching some isidious man’s arm explode from a building of pressure caused by and incessant amount of flexing. How do I know this isn’t a dream and that the dream we are speaking of is actually real life and that we saw what we saw but for some reason my subconscious is trying to fool me into believing that that was a dream and that this dream is real life.

Pinch yourself.

Why?

It is supposed to awaken you from dreams.

That has no backing for relevance.

I would say it is very relevant. You want to know if this is a dream why not try, well I’m not going to say proven method, try a scientific theory that may allude to the realization that what we are in fact engaged in what may not be reality.

How does it feel to you?

Like another day.

I guess it would.

I wouldn’t know.

You’ve had dreams right?

I’ve dreamt many a night. I couldn’t tell you how my dream self felt in those dreams. So to say that I feel like a normal person today is a moot point.

What do you suggest?

I gave you the best advice I have in store. Pinch yourself. What could it hurt?

Fine.

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Anthropological Aphorism Besets Categorical Distrust Engaging Formulaic Falsities Grotesquely Gouging Geographic Habitations Intricately Involving Jurassic Jests Kaleidoscoping Lavish Magnetic Neutronian Oscilloscopes Pulsating Queerly Returning Salaciously Through Unitarian Vernacular Warranting Worshiping Xanthic Young Zebras

The people in the foreground are all fake. Extinguishing the hearts of men with their didactic paranoia. Easily seen from the rooftops they single file march upon the bodies of foreign elementals. This would be a dream if I were asleep. It would be a nightmare if I reasoned it so. They turn corners in abstract arrangements. An orchestra plays their steps to the beat of a timpani drum. A dove flies in the mouth of a child bewildered into believing a God rests in the root of his spine. A female: a male, hazened to be born of nothing in a voided sun. Heretical placement of signposts rest shoulder to shoulder with the giant mistakes the male made in previous forms, notwithstanding his prior allegiance to a general disdain to universal misinformation. A radiant glowing forms around the female in haze of plasticine molding. Guiding her allegorical repetitions to a sense of self that only exists in the hearts of fallen angels. An infant crying awakens the senses to the realization that nothing is ever what it may seem to be. The people in the foreground look to sky for answers to lives that will never be lived. The male and female kiss; realizing if that’s all they have then life was worth the hardships, knowing no matter how long it takes the answers will come to them in dreams foretold by an existence not seen nor heard but felt through the belief that something better rests at the end. Finding peace within themselves. Enough to realize that the lives they have are the lives that ┬áhave been told through the generations. The male and female look into each other finding a future of unpromised iniquities. They take themselves hand in hand, disappearing in a fog to embark on a foretold future unbeknownst to them.