I never liked Avatar. The film had the narrative style of a television commercial, the villains were flat one dimensional characters, and it could have been an hour shorter, had they removed some plot detours.
Why is it, then, that I keep on dreaming about it?
This very thing I pondered one night when I found myself explaining to a police officer why I had stripped naked and shot a cat with a makeshift bow and arrow and roasted it on an unapproved watchfire behind my apartment.
Actually, that was easy to explain compared to the part where I climbed up on a stone retaining wall and masturbated into the parking lot.
I could only tell him that I had sleepwalking episodes and I didn't know what I was doing.
Considering the fact that I had no idea how I got thigh high in the weeds along the road cut behind Building 12, the man believed me and let me go with a warning.
Guess where I was while all this happened.
No. Really. Guess.
That's right. I was dreaming about damned blue cat people.
The funny thing is, the dream didn't correspond.
The night before, I went to bed wearing a polo shirt and shorts. I had underwear on.
That's what I normally do. I wasn't sleeping commando.
I was sprawled on my piece of crap bed with no headboard or footboard, basically a mattress on wheels, laying on a cheap bedspread that always comes off in the middle of the night, and when I closed my eyes, I saw palm branches and some big Saturn-like planet filling up the sky.
When I raised my hand to rub my face, I noticed it was blue, and my face felt wrong.
It appeared I was lying in some sort of jungle. Millipedes the diameter of PVC piping crawled over the leaves, gnawing on tree barks while hairless cyclops squirrels chased each other across the branches, extending colorful dorsal fins in a kind of mating ritual.
I sat up and discovered I was blue, I had a tail, and wore nothing but a loincloth.
The spots and dreadlocks told me everything.
I was dreaming about that stupid movie.
Yeah, I know, there was sort of a connection, but I didn't actually touch myself. I only lifted the loincloth to see what I had down there, because they never showed that part in the movie.
It turns out Avatar genitals look like fins with a row of small orifices running down its edge. In lieu of testicles, I suppose,I had a pair of tubular growths dangling around the fin like dead snakes.
I covered up again, scratching at insect bites incurred from lying in a dirty pestilence laden jungle.
When I felt a painful burning itch beneath my loincloth, I suddenly realized that one of the blue lumps attached to my fin had black legs, and set about removing it at once.
If you've lived in the Midwest as long as I have, and know something about the country, you know how to avoid Lyme Disease. Therefore, I thought it a good idea to not let the thing burrow its head into my body, my cat's claws seeming to be handy enough for crushing the though little exoskeleton. It bled green.
This is a far cry from self pleasuring anything in a parking lot.
I put the flap back down and stood up, taking in my surroundings with anxious dread.
A spear lay propped against a nearby tree, which I quickly retrieved to protect myself against...whatever.
Following this, I spent the greater portion of an hour getting lost.
I was surrounded by oddly shaped multicolored jungle plants, the majority appearing to be poisonous or otherwise unsafe for consumption.
I was hungry. Starved, even, but I didn't kill any kitty cats.
Instead, I encountered a female figure weeping into the bark of a tree.
Blue, of course. Naked except for a thin draping of beads and a loincloth. Her breasts were slight, so the former part didn't matter that much.
I crept closer. "Hello?"
She sniffed and turned to face me. Blue spotty feline face. Yellow eyes. The usual.
Well, not so usual in the fact that her eyes were cloudy looking, like she were in need of (no pun intended) cataract surgery.
The face and body were plump, in sharp contrast to those stick figures they had in the film.
"Hi," I stammered, I nervously raising a hand. "I, uh, I see you?"
"I'm sorry," she said in a half sob. "I don't see much of anything."
The words were spoken in a foreign language, but my brain interpreted them as English.
I repressed a chuckle. "It's okay. Being, uh, visually impaired is no big deal. There's even a surgical procedure for that, I think."
She just stared, not comprehending.
"They can cut it out?"
She covered her face in terror. "No! No knives!"
"Uh, it's not a knife. It's a special type of light."
She dropped her hands. "Are you a sorcerer?"
"No," I laughed. "I'm not even a doctor. But a doctor could help you."
"Where is this doctor that you speak of?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I can't promise anything, but I'll try to find one for you. Somehow."
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" she asked me.
When I said no, she tackled me to the ground and kissed me so wildly that I had to struggle to avoid suffocation.
The movie didn't specifically state this, but Avatar dreadlocks have a life of their own, and soon our hair was joined together.
All at once, I found myself being overwhelmed with bursts of foreign emotion.
I caught a vision of the female being shunned from her tribe due to her disability, her family and friends turning their backs on her due to some barbaric aboriginal custom.
I felt the pain, the hurt, then a wave of pathetic neediness that crossed the borders of codependency.
This telepathic communication must have cut both ways, for she seemed to notice my shudders of revulsion and my churning stomach, removing her mouth from my lips.
"I am sorry," she cried. "I have been dependent on others ever since I have lost my sight. Now that I have sexually matured, I have been shunned, and now have no one!"
She dampened my chest with her tears as she blasted my mind with images of future death and rejection.
I just frowned as I thought about striped canes and Lasik surgery, and old blind men in Kung Fu movies kicking ass.
She seemed to get what I was sending, for she chuckled at that, and when I thought of Chillee Willie the penguin and The Terminator saying `chill out', she smiled.
And then she starts kissing me again.
"I love you," she said in between tongueings.
"I barely know you!" I gasped.
"We have made T'sailu," she grinned. "That makes us close friends."
"I thought T'sailu was when you had sex," I muttered.
She blinked several times when I mentally recalled the scene from the film when they had hair sex.
"But that's all wrong!" she said. "You know nothing!"
"Enlighten me," I said.
"What we are doing right now, it is T'sailu Wacnop. No child is produced by it. For T'sailu Qubrunt, our queues must be connected in another way, as well as our bodies..."
She ran her fingers down her flat chest. "If it pleases you."
I wasn't quite sure at this point, but my fin certainly was. Images from the film flashed through my mind once more. The bit where he gets beaten up for sleeping with the alien.
"What are these? Hallucinations? They are so vivid."
I thought about Lasik again. "It's from the same place," I said vaguely.
"You are a god," she said with wide eyed amazement.
And then I sent her a flash of me in the hospital after getting hit by a car.
"Oh...regardless, I love you."
And she resumes kissing me.
A tail slips under my loincloth as she unties her own, throwing it into the bushes.
Instead of a vagina, she has sort of a fleshy vacuum attachment lined with worm-like wigging hairs.
I shudder as she straddles my naked stomach, but she just sends me blasts of sexual excitement, easing the little mouth with the squirming worms onto my fin.
Instead of experiencing T'sailu Qubrunt, I wake up naked in the weeds behind an electrical transformer servicing Building 12 at The Maples apartment complex, red and blue lights flashing at me while a cop and a dark skinned fat woman point and mutter to one another as they stare at me.
Not wanting to get poison ivy, though I probably already had some already, I didn't bother making a covering for myself. I just stood and waited for the cop to come over.
He was a thick necked, red faced man with freckles and crew cut blonde hair.
The first thing out of his mouth was, "Sir, where are your clothes?"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, `you don't know'?"
"Just what I said," I persisted. "The last thing I remember is going to bed."
He sighed, smirking a little. "Do you sleepwalk often?"
With a frown, I said, "Not really."
Cops don't like vague answers. "Please clarify, sir."
It came out sounding like an order.
I swallowed. "Two weeks ago, I woke up naked in the bathtub. But that was it."
It's hard to lie to a cop. One look was all it took for me to break down and tell him my history of sleepwalking in my parents' house. How I sleep shot and cooked the neighbor's cat and carved a map of the suburb on my closet door.
"Sir," he said at last. "Did you know that you urinated on a silver Mercury owned by a Juan Hernandez?"
I could see he was forcing down a laugh.
I gulped. "Can you tell the guy I was sleepwalking?"
"I think he knows," the cop smirked. "Lucky for you, he had a good sense of humor about it."
He dropped his mirth. "Mrs. Adderson's cat, however..."
And then he lists all the crazy things I have no recollection about, the fire, the waking of neighbors with strange animal calls, the masturbating.
He put away his little notebook.
"I'm going to let you off with a warning this time. See a doctor. See a psychiatrist. Chain yourself to the bed. I don't care. Just don't let it happen again or I'll be forced to take you downtown."
I sighed, nodding my head vigorously.
"Thank you, officer."
He gave me a curt nod. "Do me a favor and get some fucking clothes on."