Category: dream

A Bath for archimedes

Ardor is ard(ours).

Come, I shall draw a bath for you.

Two glasses of Malbec.

Close your eyes and speak the words you hear.

I wish to take diction.

Victorian modernity mentality bound, hound.

Smile creeping in small doses.

Your eyes become 30 years younger.

You speak words softly.

Steadily.

Slowly

But, only at first.

My pen’s scratch against the paper changes. Surface tension of woven papyrus shifting with

Variations in the

coarseness of the grain.

The way my scrawls sound is how you felt when you wore your wool sweater against your bare skin.

White sox lay discarded in the corner.

Shea and lavender scents.

My body quickens at the gravity you begin using, speaking ecstatic poetry.

Body rush. Pert and tightening

to hear you speak in wild abandon, surrendering.

Rider and Driver

I reminded myself of my freedom upon awakening this morning.

Howl easy it is to say that word without meaningful intent.

Free from what?: you may ask.

I don’t know. Myself? Selective desires? What I wanted for other people?

My love of this particular previous mode of life.

I can keep my love and desire anywhere.

Choice and temperance decides if I wilt.

I choose to keep some with you because I can.

<>

Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbed the path of the trail taken.

The coach benched the less adept players.

They were told that they were lucky to make the team at all.

Tuned in ghosts may be friendly, right Casper?

My vocabulary grows.

<>

Giggle. Howl fun it is to smile at what others assumed would wreck you.

Howl I laugh at myself until ’til I cry.

Howl strange it makes me feel efficacious.

Everyone can name a thing that or a person who

they want.

Can they evidence a pursuit of the want?

How long can their arms carry wood during the winter.

How much sun can their skin take from the summer?

Silly beast, did you think an invoice for work done would be presented?

Flatter your-being a little more. But,

do not flatter your-self.

<>

The junko flits about the porch upon which I sit.

I doubt s/he has a plan or a concern for my prescence.

S/he is

hungry enough. To naught,

care to hide.

Stellars’ Jays are more self-aware. They won’t come over.

They just look on from the apposite rooftop.

Both can fly.

I know you can run, but can you lift off?

Why taxi on a runway

when there are

highways and byways?

A hitchhiker and a driver.

There is romance to it,

if you survive.

<>

I know you are a bullet. Don’t make me dodge you.

Shoot to kill, huh.

Catch and release?

I am not endangered so don’t bother.

Shoot to wound?

Crueler and more unusual.

Taxi your own dermis first because your trophies are only relevant to you.

Are you a trophy in anybody else’s eyes?

They will clean you regularly and prominently display you.

They may continue to amass more trophies.

Devaluation of a trophy holder not a trophy.

Talking in my Sleep

I fell

asleep too early only to awaken at three a.m., then, five thirty a.m.

Dreaming in lines of prose

For the first time in a while.

/a kitchen hood fan/

I shoot awake and word-play potentialities for the phrase.

Three contexts I conjure before kicking the endeavor to

Fall

asleep again.

N plays ball with the deceased Jessie-pup.

A Border Collie with no one to herd but a slobber-covered tennis ball.

“She doesn’t know when to quit. She gives herself heat stroke. Don’t let her eyes get too red. She needs a summer shave. I did not know that she was still running.”

A nod acknowledges.

Then I remember, the gal knows how to throw the ball with her own mouth.

Huh.

A sharp knocking kicks me conscious.

Hello?

Just hammers from next door’s reconstruction.

Good morning.

Coffee. Chug.

Walk the block.

My body awoke, but the coffee still ain’t caught what passes for my mind up.

I sleepwalk.

Sister Dream Frag

Just awoke from dream of walking through the woods with my sister.

She told me I cited a quote when I told her: I don’t hate what hurt me; i hate myself for hurting.

A line I thought I made up about a month ago.

Seemed common enough because I read too much but the look in her eyes made me wanna hate myself for it.

We talked again about “simulation theory” and I snapped awake wondering for the first time:

If this is a simulation, of-what is being simulated exactly?

Honest question.

Updated a couple of hours later.

I box things up.

I find this odd card.

True.

Dreamed

I ran with you in dreams last night.

There was a small bit of lace hiding a bit of my clavicle.

When you lifted it

The notation for

a song was below.

Then I remembered

The lyrics.

“Oh yeah.

I wrote this for you

Before we met.”

Dining with the whale

The day ran past without a backwards wave.

I found myself, coffee in hand, at four p.m.

Dreams of the red whale re-meander through my mind.

Recall people asking what we do?

You would say: meander, me and her.

I would smile. I would try not to, and I would fail.

I smile right, exactly, now.

The whale was larger than a breadbox

But, smaller than a tidal wave.

Blood red. No variation in shades, as though block colored by a child.

You did not even consider dinner,

the whale said.

I do not want to eat.

Why not?

I don’t know.

Just say you are not hungry.

A question I asked in last night’s dream

Would you eat me piecemeal

Or all at once?

Management of expextation.

R.N. looks at me from across the table and grins.

I know the answer.

Off-daze

Hello to this simoon. I slept eons and have been half-awake even longer. Stalks from plant scatterings litter the ground below scales and scaffoldings.

My eyes narrow. Harden.

What did you whisper? What don’t you remember?

Did you intend to forget? It simply sounds like something you’d do, darling.

Out of joint and harmonizing on some strange frequencies.

I remember the steps to the dance, though.

Rather easily.

And a clear recollection of

Anticipating that beat

You always drop.

Knowing

The recapitulation of skipping one step.

Parçigal Dreams of Sleep

Until three days ago, Parçigal had not slept well, no more than three hours in a sitting. Her mind ran busy moving invisible, imaginary things.

She was not tired. Her eyes unfocused but wide ovals.

Had she dreamt it all?

Maybe she had it confused: was she awake for those three hours, and, in fact, actually sleeping right, exactly now?

No-mind either way. Sleeping and waking became less distinguishable to her a decade ago. There was just lucid and sleepwalking.

She plods herself with aloof-nonchalance that conceals a passionate heart (smart or not). She can look until something appears.

Then the sleep will always follow.

Trivia: she says “thank you” aloud every time she yawns. To remind herself.

What a strange breath is a yawn. Inhalation and exhalation are required to breathe and live. Sneezing cleanses. Yawns seem like alarm clocks to wake you up from real life and let you know it is time to lucid dream. Yawns are the only type of breath that appear to be contagious.

What Parçigal found three days ago:


“The immediate source of Eschenbach’s poem [sic. Parzival] was a Provençal romance written by one Kyot or Guiot. Of this writer nothing further appears to be known.”

Mr. Price Preface from History of English Poetry from the Twelfth to the Close of the Sixteenth Century. By Thomas Warton, B.D. With a preface by Richard Price, and Notes Variorum. Edited by W. Carew Hazlitt. Volume 1.* London: Reeves and Turner, 196, STRAND. 1871.

Capricious as she had not been seeking it. But, sometimes she can see things when she believes them.

Curiouser and curio-user.

*Incidentally, “Of this Edition 500 copies are printed on small paper,

and 50 on large.

What are we to make of this?

I Dreamt of Colours Last Night

The gestures of cabals coalesced into pure essences, last night.  They were aswirl, tangled, hurt, confused.  Friction turned into chaos of animals eating their legs right off to escape perceived traps.

Trap-doors.

I dreamt the resolution of vermillion and onyx is a lava flow.  I conjuncted yellows and all others into the medley.

Menhirs via heated igneous.

Potentialize

energy

Un/Canny

“Eff abstinent. I want you to be obstinate for me,” he said.

“If it cannot be with guns, they will do it with chains/aws/ & stones,” he said.

Rejoinder: “You become a chimp from being a chump, when í substitite an i for a u.” I think Abraham Lincoln said that. Giggle.

Rerejoinder: “We turn o to a and from a crone comes the crane.”

Anyone watched Suspiria yet?

Amazonian Dream

Antimony parsimony came in a dream.

Hoarding of elemental medicine in the loam of the gods.

Midden mounds dotting figures lying recumbent underground pushing forth the skin of the earth.

Ancient open secrets waiting for uncovered discovery.

Pole Stars@rest

The sun stayed high until nigh on midnight.

The moon became their noonday sun.

They lived in sleepy embraces, bare and pressed close.

They breathed the oxygen emitted from the pores of one another.

The musk of life making them happy and high.

She smiled as his breath changed, as his muscles spasm into a shallow sleep,

Like a sleeping pup let lie until twitching into dreams of chasing Ingpen white hares.

Love’s Blazon: Parzifal and the Lady he awoke

 

“The lady had fallen asleep. She wore Love’s blazon–a mouth of translucent red, torment to the hearts of amorous knights. She slept with parted lips that wore the Flames of Love’s hot fire.  Thus lay the loveliest challenge to adventure imaginable.”

‘Upon my word, you are Parzifal!’  She said of the red lips.  ‘Your name means ‘pierce-through-the-heart.’

Sleep Paralysis

A peek of disbelief.

Reach.

Awaking in a white, linen dress.

“Let your feet breath in the water through your soles.” The old man suggests.

I break the liquid’s surface tension with the flat of my feet.

A four footed bath tub foutain with animals.

The water turns and becomes red curls.

And i reawoke.

But it took a minute to trust it was so.

Big left toe: wiggle.

Wiggle now.

You are awake and will wiggle.

Sleep paralysis.

Once gone, is when more civilized monkeys brew tea.

I make a strong pot of blonde

Coffee.

I wiggle the left big toe.

I wiggle the right big toe.

The pot boils.

The aroma cannot be a dream?

Parabolic Paean

There was a poet and his rose, and

A garter stalking both.

And the lady with forgetfulness

Oblivious until remembering the

Tresses of misses: one be model; one be tumbler.

A glass-looking to the star in the west.

A ladder Alice keeps handy.

A’Lateralus

That k/night of the encryption of all those cryptic Coptic scrambles.

Into the apparent innocuous steganography

Duplicitous, serving to conceal and

once concealed, serving hardly anybody

Cryptic.

(Brevity perplexing)

Ambiguity in meaning.

Employing cipher and code. Directory path unrecognized.

Cain and Abel:

Mystified mystics, huh?

Swan, iynx, ibis

Wrynecking at this cockchafer (May) doodlebug.

Khephra, my nighttime sun.

We witness the concluding clause of this instrument,

Writ as an English to Portuguese test.

The translated texts falling under the title of Book

With a keynote of ecstacy.

Marvel that it is just

The Beginning.

Barbarous Barber, oh! god of shears.

Shore them that be certain across their crowns.

Whilst I will show them their tears.

Pulling the tides of moons inside

making oceans bleed from their eyes.

With my lyrical vespers ecstatically heralding a wandering star’s return.

Harken, Venus.

Ariandte howls feral heat

Inviting Dionysus to the feast

Of Two Wandering under the Midnight Sun.

The Aura of Alice: Nikaia.

The model of an acrobat.

Circling tangled loops at the thought of a question as such:

If desire be not love; then what of feeling the desire to love?

Ecstatic coronating of this al-chymical betrothal

Lovers become beloveds.

Missives of purpose with intent embuing metaphysical eternal

While Elemental attendants runner it in a return back

To ward now.

Toward and from. Hither ampersand Thither.

But never former

Vows renewed through every flux of lung-moving breath need not be formally avowed at one big affair.

Mavericks each having Sun and Moon self-contained..

The quarrel of Aura to Artemis thusly resolved

Through electromagnetic absolve.

Twice born Dionysus with his lawful Ariandte resurrected.

The Hypnerotomachia of Poliphilo dreaming. Polia.

The Beautiful Dream of awakening to the mayor’s young daughter.

The dreams of Christian Rosenkreutz. Married indeed.

Are you not unbored? Then let me rub the fur of your fuzzy heart wrong.

The stimulant Irritate.

Irritating you up to

Irate.

I rate this meter, but am not its maid.

I am handmade anew everyday

Because I am dying to wake up and out my sleeping dreams.

Ae’ll not serve you potions of soporific words.

Funny how they seem so meek yet it is they who will rape you in your sleep.

Ae keep you awake to seek ‘the awful lucidity of insomnia’

where you will re-enliven in a world where heroines are no longer satisfied with mere men.

Wanting Pharaohs but no longer remembering

They had once created them with mere mortal men.

These are the blood tears the children of nations will so cry.

Just as Satan has been sleeping the whole time.

The blood of the lamb, replaced with lanolin.

Empurpling petals bloom inside.

As I gather your lips into mine.

Slow swaying to a band playing our saraband.

Gauzy dress of cotton becoming feathers beswanning me.

Ensorcelled by the pitch-black, starless hue of your suit

You wear the night sky.

And I am an unlit day.

It is now high noon for my midnight sun.

Silver corona glowing in plumes

As we change up the tempo. With more tempting teasing.

Humming: how pleasing it is pleasing.

On the Currents of Dreams

Cicero. Fetch him. Will he read to us, aloud, his Dream of Scipio?

Recall the nightmares of Nebuchadnezzar? His hope for Daniel’s talent?

Recall. He refused to heed the warning this soothsayer pulled.

Recall: The king lost his mind, to a strange psychosis lasting seven years, at which he regained reason.

So where are the temples erected to Aesculapius?

And, who also dreams like pharaoh Thutmose IV?

Hormakhu comes and goes now.

New forms. Uncovered the Sphinx.

Perhaps goddess Safekht took Serapis as hers.

The learned ones of the library of magic.

《《》》

So incubate. Sleep. Dream

Learn.

The Egyptians taught.

Hermes & Moses received. Others too?

Encrypted. Pentaeuch.

《》

Everything is already written in the very measurements of the dimensions of the Temple of Soloman; and even Paracelsus, so long ago, already said: The Earth is a magnetic body.

Concerned with patterns of currents’ change, they replaced menhirs with Gothic cathedrals.

< < > >

Receiver-Transmitter.

Transmitter-Receiver.

Power & Directions

Flow & Tensions

Telluric

< >

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.