dreams: October 11, 1999
They're taking pictures. We're spread out on the floor in a studio. Expansive, smooth, white. Ouch -- he has to snap something really hard on her body to get her lined up in the right position for the photo. It looks like he punched her. Her body is stretched out like long pieces of string hanging from the ceiling. I stop him, and tell him not to push it so far.
a painful photo shootNow we're all sitting on the floor, post-shoot. Miles was the photographer, along with a few male buddies. I'm behind him. His back looks big, solid, comforting. I crawl up and hug him from the back, pressing myself up against his back.
We look at the finished product: about a dozen magazines pages (advertisements or story spreads, and a couple that look like covers). They're very well-designed, young and chic. There are a few themes connecting some of them, which makes me think that they could be sold to various magazines. I notice that all the models are skinny and professional; I feel big in my body.
Ken Gergen's fruitI'm trying to eat a big piece of fruit. It's the size of a pillow. The flesh looks ripe, golden and juicy. But the sides are all lined with dark prickly thorns (like an exaggerated form of the inner part of an artichoke that protects the heart). They keep poking me, which hurts. I'm trying to use my hands to pull/cut the thorns out of the fruit so I can eat it. But they're on all sides, so it's difficult. Then I see that the little plastic valve popped out (like where you put your mouth to blow up an innertube). I don't want my fruit to deflate, so I try to push it back in.
I finally use a knife to cut off all the thorns, making it smooth and safe. It's a pear. It belongs to Ken Gergen. I think about how I'm so intuitively tuned into him that I know what he's doing during break. Right now he's eating a pear.
- FIN -
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