Somewhere in the Southwest of the Fragmented States, our 4 by 4 broke down. We scratched around in the desert dirt, looking for Roman coins. But every coin we thought we found, turned out to be a Coca-Cola bottle top, printed as a Roman coin. Coke knew their time was nearly up; they wanted their remains to be rediscovered as greatness.
It was a hot day. Not bleak as it should have been, but orange, fiery, with a sense of adventure. The adventure came from the sky, a genderwild vulture which I knew to be me, wearing frilly skirts, leggings, talons, wings, and barbs on long threads shooting out from its head, like a cat o’ nine tails, but made of softer material, like a spider`s web, with tiny soft spheres along the lengths of the threads, like knots. It somersaulted in the air, neither male nor female, it was clearly both joyous and dangerous, but without a clear head.
The genderwild vulture was a sign. A sign for my wife, who appeared next to me in the desert. She said This is for you, at which the vulture took me through a void in the desert to a completely different world. From unconsciousness I descended down into a system of deep caves, thrilled. Finally, amongst a procession of others, I was led into a cavern, where our hosts sung a choral piece, the purpose of which was to remind us to hang up our coats. Someone mentioned Jane Eyre, which I have never read. At this point, the dream dissolved…I wonder what clues Jane could have for the genderwild?
Centre of the Web 