Exhausting Dreams

I’ve been consistently sweating in my sleep.
Dreams in the same neighborhood as the swaying structures
Only now we are not pedestrians.

Nor roof top runners.


The vans return.
Mass panic.
Drunk, drunk rednecks.
And, disenfranchised swarming points of public services.
No one seems rich.
Or perhaps the rich are unseen.
Alee and safe from our strife.

The previous night, the riots/disaster broke out.
Some truth revealed of which I discovered myself involved in
Through familial inheritance. clandestine.
Unaware until that moment.
Strange feeling of alienation.
Now that I know my involvement, my allegiance, must change.
My family has implicitly caused the suffering of many. With at least a bit of awareness.
<With too much intoxication?>

We leave a keg party in the woods.
A young man, Hunter

I went to high school with this blonde

Son of a politician [in the dream].
We were not friends.
He was in a higher clique, multiple levels.
That said. he was always kind.
I am by far the sober one.
But have the deepest of dread about driving the
Super drunken party.
As in, if we get pulled over by the cops (sic. American cops midst a crisis….DANGEROUS) it is more important for me to ditch the carload and make for this public center. That looks like the Tuscaloosa Library

(ed. note: before ‘tuscaloosa’, it was called Druid City. Point in case, the biggest hospital is known formally as DCH- Druid City Hospital. Quite magical considering the Magic City is only 45 min. NE.)


Hunter offers, kindly yet foolishly to drive us in his huge red truck.
Within two minutes we are clearly going to crash and hit a metal solid post. I think:
1. Hunter’s father has the sway and motive to save his son and the party to the crime. That is if we/they ever make it to trial. Which is questionable. The state of AL is in shoot first question later mode.
2. I will bail from the truck before impact IF impact is inevitable. I have great confidence in my ability to time and gauge this.
3. Amy is the only one in the truck I feel loyal obligation to. I fill with dread. We have not spoken in years, and she feels like dead weight that I am responsible for. And I intuit she may feel the same way about my own prescence.
People begin to reach up and try to snatch the wheel. This is ok by me.

Somehow we avoid crashing.


Amy bails.
I bail.
We freeze

And look at each other. We did not plan to bail together.

We apparently were just similar minded in how to handle the problem.
I indicate with eyes: I’m going my way. Do you want to come or go?
She crosses the road towards me.
Before she finishes, I’ve started running toward my destination.
She cannot keep up.
She arrives later and is pivotal in assisting me help the people my family

tacitly, indirectly, hurt.
(Ed. Note: she loves her family. They have never truly hurt her or even let her down in waking life).

We save the day after a protracted dance of:
She distracts and alludes the vanmen outside through camp.
I evade them inside while finding and sneaking people.
From this multiple story structure that winds horizontally.
It seems to grow ampersand sprawl.

The people often resent my help.
Some refuse it.
An armed faction of the people I’m trying to get outside decide me a hostile enemy.
Complicating my evasive action.
They change forms. An elite force.

At one point, í beat a crow to death, over and over it came at me, with a tennis racquet. When I looked on its lifeless body, felled upon the second step of a staircase, I fill with dread.
I killed it in fear it was a transformed enemy. In retrospect, I cannot be sure that I had not just beaten a confused, agitated bird to deæth. Maybe it was just a bird. Then the whole question stops making sense. I feel confused but on the run. Time, survival.
end: successful but incomplete.


Cut to last night.



Same place, same time.
Only, I embrace the role of driver.
My car.
Interstates flooded with water and cars.0
I dodge and weave impeccably.
But, I feel exhausted and stressed.
Then, I know when/that I should/ to

pull over and rest.

The panic inside me ceases.

The disarray outside continues.


I drive people in and out of the city all night

(I would not describe it as a nightmare. Not even as a bad dream.

Just a tiring, surprisingly self re-affirming dream)

*

I see none involving nengk.

I feel like a chemist when I boil water.

Astood upon three toes.

Oops

now four.

And the sky matches the ground.


He told me we ought to blow it up.

The snow.

Cuz of the moon.

An allotment of the ailment is being carried

By wagonmasters & confronters.

I pay attention to your punctuation.


Sometimes my teeth bend but don’t break in my bad dreams.

Of getting ready for Gertrude’s party

That never happens.

Disproportionate response.


Unreeving.

Receive the rowen.

We worked double overtime.

And looked into your mother’s eyes.

She could not smile then but she does now.

As assiduous as inexorable is

My final defenses are indeafsible.

A prerogative disinclined toward extravagance,

As much as the silver sliver of

The new moon is caustic

And the lurdan lurid.


The succubus and incubus work in tandem.

One pulls rope and the other gathering eggs.

No small surprise they work in sleep’s misty revue.

A dæmon to a dreamed of demon that never derived from the proper diabolical.

A small child born.

A mom and dad.


And suddenly you stroke your chin,

And I miss my train

Of thought again.

Scraps of yellow bits scatter my room

And I sit indian style.

Crossed.

Bow drawn. Arrows all a’quiver.

Quivered and quivering.

Set asleep amongst the Ingessana Hills.

Children recover souls they did not know

They missed.

We are the doctor-diviners with a sleepy second sight.

We dream the dreams the sleepers cannot fathom

Until awakening.

There is no need to fear.

I see none involving nengk.

Hard to describe dream

Time was askew and this manifested in the way I viewed things.

Things moved too slowly. I moved faster than the flow of the world.

Intermittent whiteouts/color bursts of vision only to return and have missed a few scenes.

I was caring for a young boy of about ten. There were no words exchanged.

He looked sallow, yellowish skin from poor nutrition.

Deep set, big dark saucer eyes.

It was an informal, novel arrangement for the short term.

He asked me there for the night?

His mother. His mother was aweful and possibly maleficent.

He lived in a trailer home, that connected to others like an aluminum apartment complex.

One story.

My cat kept plying at doors, as always.

The door to the connecting abode. She kept opening it and running inside.

I kept sneaking inside to retrieve her. Worried I’d get the boy in trouble with his neighbors.

I finally met the daughter girl of the neighbors. She was about 20 years old. Beautiful.

Suddenly, I’m her age too.

We attend school. We are friends, but it is hard and dangerous to have friends in this place, so we are very quiet.

Her home is immaculate and in the Thai decorative style.

Her mother wears very traditional almost ceremonial garb.

The mother watches me and her daughter but says nothing to me.

Never formally acknowledging me, but I feel comforted by this. Welcomed nonetheless.

The mother talks in mutters to her husband in a language, presumeably Thai, that I do not understand.

Those are the only words.

Me and the daughter never speak.

We draw geometric figures on the hardwood floor with chalk.

I notice a discoloration that is dried urine on the floor.

I worry my cat did this.

She writes, “my brother.”

I never meet him.

It stays grey outside, but now it is darker.

I return to the boy.

He and I take off running into the night.

Frenetic, nervous. Running. Like animals nervous before a storm.

We run for hours through meadows in dim moonlight.

Sparse trees here and there.

Everything is an aqua teal green.

You can feel a building electricity.

Like the accumulation of major internal static charges.

The boy stops. Freezes.

I’m running so hard I almost do not notice.

I stop, turn heel, and tear ass to be at his side again.

I make it to his immediate proximity.

The earth tremors. Isolated to the area immediately in front of us.

The earth tears open like a ripple over water.

A slight scar forming.

It is his mother.

Aweful. Pure force and energy. Intuited.

The boy is now catatonic, stood upright behind me.

There is a surge of fear followed by the security of knowing exactly what you are supposed to do.

Even if you have no idea how to do it.

Just do not let the boy touch anything.

The mom comes up from the ground in colors and consistency the like of a nebula and the root structure of an old tree. Explosions in the air like fireworks.

I just watch. The task is easy, if you do not panic.

~

It may snow today.

Í dræm of swaying structurez

The first night, I dreamed,

We three ran roof top to roof top of the dilapidated neighborhood.

There for the wrong side of the tracks [sic. haven] provided by Amy A’s abode.

Mary C. ampersand Julie Ann B. (two grace filled people who took a sharp veer on the Christian side to which I’d never relate).

We ran atop house `o house til the abrupt end o’ the block.

Four stories high was the final structure, condemned, that used to house god knows what.

Mary C. at the far edge.

Me at the opposite far end.

Julie Ann B. cheated away from my edge like a 1st base runner poised to steal 2nd.

The house does a pendulous sway.

We all freeze.

Having seen Amy A. (a few hours prior) make an untested, brazen, leap,

resulting in a ten foot multiple tumble into a rocky canyon.

We could not see her, but her howl could curdle milk.


We quite and in quiet acted in diligence.

Holding the space of the present tense

While immediately looking to one another

And then the other.

Are we in harmony? How are we distributed?

Does the outfield (us) need to shift?

And then we three dance and (re)distribute our weight.

Slowly and gracefully descending to the ground.

With a hand and help from one another.

Leverage exploited.

Physics.

No words exchanged or needed.

In perfect peace and health.

Hours later we reunite with Amy A.

I cannot gauge her. In health or worse for the wear?

Rode too hard and put up too wet.

This much is clear.

Amy and I wait tables under a skinny, reformed Cody B.

I keep forgetting that is my purpose.

No one else cares. My tables moan but move on unfazed. Not angry, despite slow service.


The following night, I dream.

Mary C. (far on one side) , Julie Ann B., again, nearly cheated from my position on the polar, more precarious, side

We, all three, find ourselves (precariously) alit.

This much is clear:

The ledge will withstand two of us, not three.

My edge is the most likely to give way.

I feel tired and glad.

Like my path does not follow theirs anyways.

I tell them to shift their weight toward Mary C.’s edge while I test my edge.

Julie Ann B. sees my intention clear.

She pivots across the broken plank making my edge the most lethal.

She and I now share the same bit of ledge.

She hugs me.

Her back to the ledge

Her feet pointed to mine.

My heels pointed barnward.

She is now poised between me and the free fall I was glad, nearly excited to make.

My life now hangs with hers,

Instead of alone.

I feel sad, but loved.

And yet she increases the likelihood of us both dying.

With her additional mass

On the already precariously split wooden plank.

I feel deep disappointment at having to take her mortality and life into consideration.

I’m not committing suicide, mind.

I’m moving to a new plane. I’m more than prepared for it.

But what was proper for me (letting the plank split, myself fall, into the mystic. Unafraid)

Was not proper for her.

She was still here.

It occurs.

What I mistook for wood is cheap alloy

Perhaps. I think,

I could smash the back of my head into the barn

Until the alloy gives

And we could three slip in.

Reverse Head smash one: alloy gives several inches.

I am encouraged.

I look at Mary C. on my far side.

She sees my intent.

Nods.

No words needed.

Julie Ann B., still clasped about me in a hug,

screams

She has a much more frightening perspective than Mary C., or myself.

The quicker I do this the better.

I think.

She will panic and inadvertantly pull us off the ledge.

I’m fine with this, but it is not proper for her.

Reverse headsmash 2

Reverse headsmash 3

None hurt me.

Each produces more give in the alloy behind us.

A shadow encroaches from over our heads.

Pressing forward.

From our backs.

The back of the barn

Directly behind us.

Directly overhead.

All encompassing.

Reverse head smashes, without pain, continue.

No panic in my mind.

No true bravery either.

Just a desire to get JAB inside the barn.

My mind fears the shadow is from a UFO.

The biggest airborne ship I’ve ever seen.

How could it not be alien?!

Panic for the haven of the barn’s interior now.

Reverse head smashes continue.

Sans hurt.

I feel a wet trickle

I feel scraping, like forest branches, from behind my head.

Cutting my temples, face, neck, and shoulder tops.

Nothing hurts.

I just feel blood run on my face and neck.

Barely.

I realize I’ve broken us into the barn’s interior.

I twist and fling Julie Ann B.

into the hay loft immediately behind us.

Mary C., who has never weighed more than 100lbs, jumps across

To my ledge, I catch her hands and propel her inside the loft.

Still on the ledge. but safe now,

I turn to see the fearsome shadow’s progress overhead.

I realize it is just a regular commercial jet

But it is about to crash into the field ten feet away.

We have hay behind us.

I worry the heat of the explosion’s backdraft will ignite this dry material.

I expell loud nonsense in an attempt to say all this as a warning.

The plane crashes.

I wake up.

I’ve been sweating hard in my sleep.

2nd time dream

2nd time this plot occurs in my dreams this week.

On university of al quad. Working.

I work for the school.

There is an event to prepare for.

I want to be spending the time in other way.

N appears to my surprise.

The dream is now in bold font (?)

Each dream I then proceed to write two pieces of poetry for N.

One is called Settes and the other Echoes.

These are clever names but I can’t remember why

I Dreamed I Slept Last Night

sharing bread with a family in a neighborhood

loaves of sourdough distributed

to 5 us. We each get our own. It’s too much.

Everyone eats. We are in a forest near the house I grew up

it’s fall (or autumn, if you wanna get technical),

the family and I go to this performance space

like ampitheatre but more aisles in the wings to work with.

lots of others

working hard. knowing their bits to do.

Proud of whatever they are creating.

Instant feeling of ‘aw what the hell, Casey, pitter patter-let’s get at ‘er.’ Unprepared; no clue what the project is.


“Flaneur!”someone yells

hey I know this word! Only recently found out about it

so naturally, I start grinning and looking around to see this lucky flaneur.

after too long, I look back at the fellow who called for the flaneur.

Trying to see if his eyes point it out

and of course he’s staring at me, like I’m a complete idiot. Seen me looking all around at hearing my own moniker.

he’s got a blonde headed little girl standing on his left foot

pulling at his arms

talking at him (and possibly the Universe?) a mile a minute.

the guy looks like a preppy quarterback I knew from childhood maybe

15ft away an attractive blonde is wicked angry at waiting for him to finish his business.

she looks tired and like she has more obligations than are necessary.

the guy mid-thirties is quite good at pretending he doesn’t notice it and isn’t annoyed.

I consider asking if he has considered being a broker


However, I start to get impatient,

is dude gonna say something of relevance?

oh wait I’m the flaneur-need to settle down and meander.

Chill Casey. Figure out how this situation came to be about itself.

(me) yeah, guy, I forgot.

(guy) we know

(me) that I was flaneur, that is

(guy) we know

(me) boundary shifts…

(guy) ok are you done talking yet?

he doesn’t look impressed

I could give an eff. he’s got two gals that are trying to impress him

and he yelled for me says nothing

so go be impressed over there and I’ll do me

unless, you have something to say

effing men, sometimes.

but I’ve only spoken about myself and made assessments.

(guy) take that girl. Keep her busy. Show her whatever the eff it is you do. She’ll sleep at 8. her house. She can show you.

Guy vanishes.

Another blonde girl, one i’d not noticed, is walking over

no smile

husky gal

fit in suggestive, too-tight clothes.

strutting: if it can be called that

just painful to see

cringeful

you wanna give her a hug after you slap her.

I fill with dread at spending one sec with this girl

that’s unfair-she’s a kid

but, man, I realize im a bit tired

and the psychic prep to not allow this ‘un to zap me is gonna take effort

the psychic vampiricism is strong with this one.

Make her smile.

Do you think flaneur is related to the word flapper? (nonsense-worse yet, completely unfunny <if only someone had fallen down>).

The fuck? she says


(dream fades from memory)

(returning —)


at her house. Very messy, untidy but not yet dirty.

She lives with other kids is my guess.

The house is ranch style rambler. dark colors

the roof in disrepair. trees have fallen into it, now acting as roof themselves.

It’s raining.

She gets on her pallate. comforters, sheets, sleeping bags

all the rooms are set up with these beds

it’s is clearly a home where a family lives.

no simple flop

a pallate has been made for me

before I even enter the room.

there is water in the room.

the pallates are wet from accumulating rain water on hard wood floors that curve from warp.

she doesn’t say anything.

just gets under her blankets with her back to me

she’s putting out content even happy vibes. I can tell this is the highlight of her day.

I cry and feel bad for crying. do it quiet like

I’m chilly and wet. it reminds me of sailing

I sleep for 3 hrs

awake

listen to see if anyone’s up

silence.

I sleep 2 more hours

awake

I sleep 2 more hours

the house is full of people

moving the family out of the house

Bit of Last night’s dream

it rained so I remember little except

aguing with one and a half paragraphs of printed on Paper text

Photocopy

not original

Hardy’s A Mathematician’s Apology

not arguing with Hardy but the text bit as living thing

there were other people there that I could not see

felt stuffy and full of egos (academia?)

I’m annoyed to be there and can’t remember how or why I am there.

A Mathematician’s Apology finishes presenting itself.

it’s brilliant and funny. feels too true to be true. Straw man.

it’s ‘feedback from the galley’ time

despite wild applause, NO ONE has anything to say

this pisses me off

so I talk, challenge, blah blah.

the subject matter is not my specialty

the other dummies prob know more than me, but don’t have anything to say?

the one and half paragraph seems relieved someone is talking

we have a good discussion