goatmen

I went to bed at 8 am, and flopped back and forth, awake -- until 10 am, when each flop landed me in a new dream. In one dream, I dreamt of Shannon Williams, the Berkeley teacher arrested for prostitution. ``I feel like a gay teacher must have felt 20 years ago after being outed,'' Williams said in a news article I read sometime around 6 am. ``I feel that prostitution laws are dinosaurs. That they're similar to sodomy laws, and they will eventually be repealed.'' In my dream, Williams pleaded her case to the public by setting up a personal installation and scrapbook in an empty dorm room. I visited the room, and flipped through her personal drawings of the prostitution act she was arrested for. But it quickly became clear from the drawings that she didn't have sex with a man, but with a goat; in a childish hand, she had drawn elaborate and shameless pictures of the positions they took throughout the night. I was horrified that the pursuit of pleasure could have no boundaries, that hooves could be as serviceable as men, and I wanted to leave the room immediately. But then, I looked around and realized I had moved into the room; it was filled with my art supplies and clothing. I tried to grab as many items as I could, thinking I could move out in four or five trips; but laziness kicked in, and it felt easier to wake up than move out. My subsconscious said, it's never good to leave so many personal belongings in a bad dream; you'll feel better if you go back and remove them. But I didn't want to see the goat drawings again (and by the way, how could a goat pay for sex?), so I said, screw it and got out of bed.