I fell asleep watching National Geographic; consequently - coupled with drugs, alcohol, and something akin to sexual exhaustion - I had the strangest dream.
It began at an anniversary party - my own. I think it was our 60th, and it was futuristic, in that way that the not-so-distant future is often portrayed, something like "Minority Report" or the flash(ing) forward at the end of the final episode of "Six Feet Under." I was silver and distinguished - slimmer than I expected - in a very expensive suit.
I was married to Apollo Ono, and it was somewhere around that time I realized that that the flash-backs began.
Evan Lycasek figures in somehow - I think as my nemesis, and as a competitor for Ono's affections.
We were well-traveled - Apollo and I; there were scenes in jungles, sweating and running from tribes - with torches. I distinctly recall a ritual - our wedding(?) - wherein heated rods were pushed through our abdomens. If the poker missed your vital organs, and you survive the pain, and the risks of infection, you were bonded for life [politics-schmolitics; that's (gay) marriage]. Someone may have wound up paralyzed ... that part escapes me.
There was abundant ass play, a blood-letting (blessing) in honor of our marriage, and I think robots got involved somehow.
Making out on a mountain-top, at dawn ... felt like being the first men (note: Adam and Steve jokes), and the first to discover love (or, more aptly, LOVE). It was a waking dream, where I saw things happening and could gently shift the course. I mostly shifted the course of things into Apollo's pants ... and once, out of the path of a lion.
I think I also hooked Lycasek up with Johnny Weir ... or Clay Aiken.
I don't recall how the dream ended, save that I rolled over to check the time and fell back into some cute, absurd moment.
I was happy.
It was 6:30AM - and Rough Trade called ... wistful, apologetic, and set some things atwitter ...