La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams

No. 64: March 1971

Bone

It must be P. who, while stroking my head, which is bald — my hair is only a sort of wig or mask — notices that my “frontal” bone (that is, a bone that covers the top of the skull like the cover of a soup tureen, but flatter, barely rounded) is moving.

This frightens me at first.

Mind the fontanels, which might not be fully bound yet even after so long!

Then I check for myself. Passing my thumbnails along the edge of the bone, I barely need to apply pressure for the bone (like the case of my alarm clock or the battery cover on my radio) to come loose and go rolling around on the floor.

I can see my cortex.

I pick up my bone and put it back in place. I begin to worry again, more and more, about the chance of infection.

Later, I dare to move my head and my bone does not fall, which is reassuring.

I’m glad to know it’s just a dream.

/ /

I am in Dampierre, in my old room. There are spider webs everywhere.

I begin to suit up to leave on motorcycle. I pick up my shoes. They’re full of spider webs and tiny droppings, like little grains of wheat or lentils. On the sole is a large spider, which I eventually crush.