Saturday, 8 January 2011
I am at an exhibition of my work, a giant floor spaced installation (chessboard) in a large room. There are lots of people in the gallery. Some are dancing others sitting, there is live music, a guitar player is playing songs. I look at my installation but it is blurry. Everything else is clear but my work is all blurred, and as I come closer I realise that there is a clear giant plastic packet over the work similar to that of a biscuit or cracker packet, just like Oreos would be found in. Why is my work covered? is it to be protected? There is a sense of anger but also unceertainty. People seem to like the work so I begin not to bother. I sense something from my background. My family are there?
As I return home, of course my house is not my house but it feels like my house. I go to my bedroom and a friend is in bed with a woman I fancy. I reach into my coat pocket of my jacket which is like reaching into the far corner of the room, to pull out a condom and some lubrication from amongst some collected business cards. When I look around, it feels like the other side of the room, I see my friend and his woman stare at me. They have a stare that reminds me of the way sheep stand away from you but turn to look at you. A "sheep stare" on both of their faces. I fancy both of the sheep now, my friend included. But I get the feeling they want privacy and my intrusion for sex is unwarranted.
I head down the deep stairs of the mansion house towards a kitchen. I realise that the maid has not locked the back-door. I open the back-door ajar and realise there is a hooded youth standing outside. He is as startled as I am. He shouts "how did you know I was here?!" and sort of signals to someone who I notice is around the other side of the wall/window further to the left of the Kitchen. The wall is slightly transparent and a feeling of anxiety tells me this criminal can actually get into the kitchen through this transparent wall. I begin to shout at the youth "FUCKOFF!" as a sort of defence mechanism hoping to scare the shit out of him and they will all disappear. Instead, I notice a gang of people entering the house from that transparent corner on the left hand side of the kitchen.
And not before long I realise an army of black church members, party of some ritual sect, Malcolm X, are surrounding me in some sort of hallucinogenic kaleidoscope of extremely well choreographed people. My movements are in synch with all their movements. They are dressed in black robed clothes similar to pastors of a Black Church. Amongst the voodoo group there is a black young man with an androgynous look. I want to have sex with her. But he is trapped within the ever changing choreograph of the moving black bodies. It reminds me of a Spencer Tunnick photograph but even more beautiful and trippy. I stare intently at all the bodies now. Blood starts dripping on them in some ritual dance. Voodoo. I'm getting extremely stimulated staring at the boy/girl hidden amongst the others, who seems to be the star jewel of the bunch.
And then I wake up feeling sweaty and with an amazing hard on on the verge of cumming. Sometimes you wish you could go back into your dreams for just that extra bit longer...
Posted by Leo Cohen... at 14:21