I sit at a theater desk in a college auditorium. The mathematics professor’s gender is ambiguous. He/she skillfully but inappropriately performs expert ballet piorettes and leaps as he/she delivers his/her lecture, banging out intricate and elegant proofs from one end of the blackboard to the other. I notice that the professor’s pet snake in a terrarium on the stage has matured into a small godzilla. The creature appears to have a painful abscessed tooth that cuts its lip toward its eye. After class I drive down Central past members of a millennium cult. They meet approaching doom by scooting around in hooded robes on their backs, scouring the sidewalks and impeding foot traffic. They all have green, glowing eyes.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #73
Small Godzilla
1 min read
