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Literature Text
I am in the kitchen of a dilapidated seafood restaurant. Meat cleavers and fish hooks decorate its dirty walls. At the center of the kitchen is bizarre water tank. It looks like the water tank in which Houdini was trapped during his fatal last performance; it is rectangular with transparent sides, about the width of a shower and several feet taller than me. The water is green with algae. The tank contains java moss, amazon swords and algae-covered rock as though it were a fish tank.
For some inexplicable reason, it is boiling. Hot bubbles and steam rise to the top. There is a living baby floating inside. It bobs and boils with the sickly green water.
A cook saunters into the kitchen. I beg the cook to take the baby out and give it to me. Moments later, a woman enters the kitchen, takes the baby out of the tank and hands it to me. I think I've saved the child's life, but when I look again at the child in my arms it has morphed into a twenty pound catfish.
Examining the catfish, I discover that it is made out of ground hamburger meat, the same packaged, ground hamburger meat one buys at a grocery store. The meat is still partly raw; the fish is still alive! I want to save it. It flops around in my arms in spasms of pain. I take it to a large bathtub. There’s no time to waste. It’s still cooking. I must cool it down with cold bath water. I turn the water on and having filled the tub, I let the fish leap in.
For some inexplicable reason, it is boiling. Hot bubbles and steam rise to the top. There is a living baby floating inside. It bobs and boils with the sickly green water.
A cook saunters into the kitchen. I beg the cook to take the baby out and give it to me. Moments later, a woman enters the kitchen, takes the baby out of the tank and hands it to me. I think I've saved the child's life, but when I look again at the child in my arms it has morphed into a twenty pound catfish.
Examining the catfish, I discover that it is made out of ground hamburger meat, the same packaged, ground hamburger meat one buys at a grocery store. The meat is still partly raw; the fish is still alive! I want to save it. It flops around in my arms in spasms of pain. I take it to a large bathtub. There’s no time to waste. It’s still cooking. I must cool it down with cold bath water. I turn the water on and having filled the tub, I let the fish leap in.
Written by Frank Jaspers in 2016.
This work is part of a collection of actual dreams. The collection is called Notes from a Madhouse. The intent is to explore the logic and symbolism of my actual dreams, and eventually to use that knowledge in the writing of poetry and fiction.
This work is part of a collection of actual dreams. The collection is called Notes from a Madhouse. The intent is to explore the logic and symbolism of my actual dreams, and eventually to use that knowledge in the writing of poetry and fiction.
© 2016 - 2024 Frank-Jaspers
Comments8
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I honestly can't say what any of this one might mean at all.