Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Two dreams of darting instigation: Back to my old days of competitive nordic skiing in high school, we were on another trip into Canada, sleeping in a rented farm house. Five or six of us were sprawled on the floor in sleeping bags. One young man started in hysterics - something had poked him, but none of us were near him. Something poked him again and he leaped away from the corner. The rest of us, in investigative spirit, tossed pennies to the corner. The naught spirit slapped the pennies away, bouncing back from seemingly empty air like a rambunctious kitten knocking things off shelves.

I was sleeping in a motel, hiding away from an enemy of sorts, I knew he was trying to snipe me. The goal was to lie low, with the blinds closed - only in this shoddy motel slabs of the blinds were missing, leaving open shafts of transparency. This did not please me, and in notifying the front desk, they apologized and offered no other room as they had a bit of a "mini blind" problem. As predicted, my enemy began to snipe at me. I clung to the floor, gripping the rug as though my claw of a hand were engaged in a desperate bear hug. The sniper entered the room, but to my lucky advantage, the television set had been jury rigged by a kindred spirit from a similar predicament to act as a flame thrower. I utilized this in a rush of resourcefulness and blazed my foe to a black crisp of skeletal residue.

Dream Log 10.21.09

Friday, October 16, 2009

Abode Becomes Ice Boat

I have always been intrigued by how components of dreams can shift shape and setting and how we roll with the series of alterations with nonchalance. I was hosting a large party at my house. Streams of guests and old colleagues arrived on the long plank of side walk through the courtyard and entered my abode. It was heavily attended by former coworkers and had the appearance of being a company party! A good friend, Adam, and I took descent into the basement below my apartment for a quick talk while the guests above got settled in and mixed their drinks. When we ascended, the stairs connecting my back door with the lower level was now on the edge of a wooden ship. Beyond us was a black sea, calm, icy, and snow fell as think sheet.

I am also amazed that I did not have a dream with this-man. I learned about this yesterday, finding it almost creepy. I'll admit it made me slightly apprehensive for sleep, as though I'd be entering a realm where I am most vulnerable to the weird presence of an ambiguous fellow. And so I thought about Nightmare on Elm Street. Find out more about "this man" at and see if you have dreamed him prior. I thought for sure just thinking about the possibilities of him being in dreams would bring him out it my dreams last night. However for now I have avoided him.

Dream Log 10.16.09

Monday, October 5, 2009

Sea Nots and Flapping!

Teetering indebted, stringing into the system of borrowing invisible monies, that will not only chase you - haunt you and convince you subtly to choke yourself. You try to build a bigger boat upon it, with it, but we all know salt does not skim over the seas but slips deep into it. I'm throwing away "nots" in the guise of salts, letting the sea grip it and keep it. And I'm doing this because I'm giving into my own delusions of grandeur, un stopping the flow and embracin naivety in my own veins, puffing wind into my pipe dream. Because I firmly believe that it can take sail and skim along smoothly, charging against the waves. The delusions can benefit man by inducing cloudy enough thoughts to make him cough on talking about it and finally take that risk, to actually breath it. I wish to make my business in stories. Stories to hook you into the stimulation of tale that welcomes you deeper into your own forgotten imagination. The drug dealer and I have much in common: dealing a form of escape. I will strive to fill American bedstands with copies of my books, dog eared and battered, evidence they served as bedtime stories and may dance in your mind as new mythologies. If you tell me that there are many who do not make a livelihood dealing stories, I will retort that many have and do. Look at your fellow on the train, engrossed in a book, missing his stop! And then tell me that America is not ready to be intoxicated with a new and wicked tale. If you wish to continue to fight on the side of nots, you can join those nots as they are gripped by the sea! And I will turn my attention to the little vessel, rocking gently and flapping my sails so the next given puff can let it boast its shape and cut apart the nots that still yelp as white caps on waves that still wish to work against me. But the vessel of mine is gaining momentum and will sail where it pleases, to any port I can find: where I can unload to the hungry imagination. And I will enjoy every second in the process of flapping the empty, yet open and crisp sails. In the end all I can control is the flap, and my enjoyment of the flap. I cannot control the wind. But I rest assured and capitalize on the fact that as long as the Earth maintains an atmosphere, the wind will come around. The vast ocean I am enbarking on causes me to tremble, but it does not hinder the exhilaration when even a small gust incites the glide of my ship and the collection of these small victories steady and quench the tremble.