I’m having these constant dreams where a tarantula keeps crawling from her vagina while we’re in the act of fucking. With big, thick legs, and a million tiny hairs that stand on end, they tickle my tongue unexpectedly as it glides across her sex. There has to be some meaning to it- probably something to do with a fear of women. I don’t fear women, I don’t think so, anyway, but I do fear losing my sense of identity in another relationship where I’m expected to play by the rules. Whatever it is, at the same time every night, I wake with shortened breath just at the point where it crawls inside my mouth. Leaping out of bed, sweat pours from me to the extent where it feels like I’ve taken a shower without drying off afterwards. Unable to sleep again, in part because of the horrors still flickering in my mind, and also because the bedsheets are soaking wet, I go downstairs and have a cigarette in the kitchen. Stood there in the dark, there are no sounds save for my breathing patterns. It’s unsettling, but as soon as I have something to drink, it fades away. Insomnia. Amnesia. Counting each and every one of her pubic hairs from memory, the taste of her body is almost overwhelming. It’s like pancakes washed down with cherryade or those old chewy bars they gave away with copies of the Beano. Sweet and delicious, but somehow not quite natural. Maybe that’s where the tarantula comes in. Maybe my subconscious is trying to warn me about her because my defences aren’t up to the job. I’m too suspicious for my own good, but as a failed painter/ would be writer, I’ve learned never to take anything for granted. This is the cycle I’m stuck in, and as frustrating as it is, part of me never wants it to stop, because conflict is what I crave most.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

37 replies »

  1. there are always so very many things I want to say about your expressive, jaggedly raw lines, the way they punch and pull and twist. reading your work emboldens me to push my timid words more and I thank you for that
    this particular piece of yours, is an amalgam of visceral imagery – stunningly vivid and beautifully uncomfortable


  2. Dreams are what you’ve already worked out, just you don’t want to see it yet. But a spider. There?! And you don’t strike me as a play by the rules kinda person. Great piece that has me thinking. Thank you.

  3. The spider dreams…always the spider dreams! Mine are not escaping from vaginas, but terrifying nonetheless. Dear wandering man…maybe she will be a thing made up of stars after all. You’ll let us know, when you find her. Xo ❤

    • As much as I’d love to live in America, I don’t think I could deal with the ones you get. The size of them! Quite terrible. Perhaps she will indeed be a star girl; and I’ll be consumed by her light. Time will tell xo

      • It certainly is. I have no doubt she will come down from the Heavens just for you. ❤

  4. Supposedly, spiders often represent dominant or overbearing maternal figures. You’re dreaming you’ve got your tongue in the fount of all life and a spider crawls out–taking away your pleasure in sex. Maybe you do, as you said, fear losing your identity because when fucking becomes lovemaking, I becomes we.

    • Wow- that’s an incredible way of putting it. I would never have seen it like that without your input. It does ring true, though. I’m quite a selfish person, and I do have a habit of backing off when a relationship steps up to the next level. Maybe my subconscious is telling me it’s time to grow up. Thank you! x

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