Angelina Jolie and Sandra Bernhard holding the world up

In the dream, Sandra Bernhard was holding a red metallic mini-disc recorder. She wanted to record herself remembering her dreams. We knew we were already inside one of those dark mortality dreams, with that “I’m gonna be dead someday” feeling. Sandra and I were both scared, our faces and necks getting hot, like fever. Sandra held the recorder near her mouth, then decided that I should go first. I put my hand on top of hers and brought the recorder close to my own mouth. I wanted to kiss the back of her hand but was distracted by the glossy green stones in every ring on every finger of her hand, each stone reflecting the light that was coming from the end of a telescope she had stationed by the window.

“In the year 2525″, I said, leaning in against her arm, “500 citizens got quite good at switching eyeballs with each other. A Minus 425 nearsight for a Plus 1200 farsight, in diopters, got to be no big deal for them, it was the resulting emotional perception exchange that was the real gamble”.

“Yeah”, Sandra imagined, “my 20-20 for Angelina Jolie’s Minus 175, hardly a change in vision really, except for night driving, I could get by squinting when I had to…but Angelina’s emotional rub…I…no, too packed tight like a snowball in spring…”. Then Sandra clicked off the recorder and wrapped her hands around mine, “Tell me your numbers, darling”. Before I could say just how I thought I saw, footsteps sounded up from the stairwell that led down to the stage where someone had just finished a performance, we could hear the applause spilling over. Sandra and I turned together toward the doorway and waited. We were awestruck, when the footsteps stopped, to see Hillary Clinton there, grinning at us, looking smart in a long red gown that exposed much of her beautiful breasts. In her right hand she was loosely holding a pair of binoculars.

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