Tag Archives: nutty dreams

Regular Poem: Dream Journal

1 Apr

it’s like
when you finally start a dream journal
you stop remembering your dreams

they’re just blurs and smudges
streaks left over when the
windshield wiper of wakefulness has swiped over

i think a few nights ago
there was honeysuckle
and trying to transplant it,
graft it in
like you would a tree
but my subconcious knows even less
about botany
than i do

but anyway that’s not enough information
to put in a dream journal
and if it were
i quasi-remembered it
in bits and pieces days later
so i can’t remember a date to put on it
for the dream journal

so not like streaks on a windshield
after all

more like
details suppressed during a traumatic event
due to adrenaline and focus on other details at the time
and then re-emerging haphazardly and unexpectedly–
sudden goosebumps when you’re not cold

i read somewhere
if you don’t dream you’ll go crazy
dreaming creates some neurological equilibrium
whether you remember the dreams or not

not something you can control
and you can’t even observe it half the time
at least not without a bunch of fancy equipment

there are other better ways
to go crazy

Regular Poem: Double Portion, Please

27 Apr

i had a prophetic dream the other night
i hadn’t had one of those in ages
and so wasn’t prepared for the effects

i started awake at 4am
sweating and aching
hands and feet swollen
stumbled to the bathroom
reached for my toothbrush
but then realized it wasn’t yet time
to be performing tasks

i fell back into bed
and back into dreams

of swamps and trudging through them
cautiously thoughtfully but confidently

when my alarm went off
and i reached for my toothbrush at the appropriate time

i still felt
the heat and wet of the swamp
the teeth of the alligator

my prophetic dreams contain
just small truths
but if i were to be perfectly obedient
listen and do
even twenty five percent more

what could my dreams tell me then

it’s a scary
i’m here at the edges of the sublime

elisha commanded an unseen host
and it frightens me to think
that could be me

at least i’m not an old testament prophet
i’ve comforted myself by saying it so many times
but what if i’m meant to be
but i’m indulging myself in being a piece of shit too much
to realize my full potential
and i’m just getting vague hints through bizarre dreams and weird interactions

of course it could be coincidence
but i don’t believe in coincidence
i’m a calvinist after all alas

i can’t just sit around and wait
for a mantle to fall upon my shoulders
dropping from a chariot of fire
so obvious too obvious
for my modern sensibilities

but surely everyone
has a prophetic dream every now and then
surely i can just live and be

if i really believed that though
i wouldn’t be paying so much attention to my dreams
would i
if i really believed that
i wouldn’t be begging for more

Regular Poem: Sassy Shoulders

17 Apr

it didn’t make sense to me
until it did
one day i looked in the mirror
like weeks later
and i was like
those girls were right

it’s not like
nobody’s ever seen them before
work cycles through phases
just like my dreams
unlike the moon
because the moon makes sense

but still distinct phases
with discernible beginning and ending points
several weeks i’ll dream about
winning large jackpots
but i’m not excited
just worried
about how much tax will be taken out
and the next several weeks will be
that recurring cabin in the woods
where there’s always a different large dinner party
several weeks
the kids at work all want to pull my hair
the next several weeks
i get my shirt ripped off over and over

so it’s not
as if they’d never seen
my shoulders before

but sometimes
they are just
more sassy
i guess

it’s nonsense
i’ll take it

Regular Poem: Games For One

22 Apr

It’s a game
with no winner
just a game
playing to play
itself out–
that last screen
on computer solitaire
where you win
and the cards
they’ll fly from
their neat digital stacks
as long as you’ll let them
until you click new game
and start again.
No one remembers
a specific game
of computer solitaire–
it’s all
just black and red and numb
no home runs
no shooting the moon
no 11th-hour three pointers
no reusing the same ridiculous drawing for several rounds in Pictionary.

It’s a prank
the brain plays
on itself
like tp-ing
your own yard

to have a dream
that haunts
that melds elements
in such a bizarre way
as to
linger and color
your entire day–
a tattoo
you didn’t conciously choose.

Regular Poem: Like a Heartbeat Drives You Mad

18 Nov

I tend not
to keep my visions to myself–
I tend to
share them with whoever
will wrap around my dreams
with me,
blanket themselves in my imagination.

I tell them
like a traveling bard
singing of adventures
memorized and set to music
about how

my unconscious mind cycles
(I haven’t been able to pinpoint
any correlation
to lunar cycles
or hormone cycles,
stress or food,
It cycles at its leisure
like me on a wine-drunk
spring night
on my cruiser,
jingling my bell at raccoons.)

This month
(I might begin
in introduction–mysterious,
I’ll dream every night:
intricately plotted,
of wonder and woe,
haunting melodies and laconic meanigful phrases–


Last night,
(I might continue,
lead with an example upon which
I will build my argument)
behind my eyelids,
under my sheets,
within myself,
my slumbering brain

saw with its unseeing eyes
the woods–
not any woods I consciously recall,
not any woods that exist–
Ozarkian and Evergladesian
at once,
dirt roads
not winding but sloping,
sloping up and down–
a roller coaster–
the horizon appearing and disappearing as
the car I’m driving is bouncing
like a cartoon car.
on the top of the mountain
an animal tableau:
two cougars ready to fight,
a gigantic donkey,
three timid but curious does watching, waiting.
The bouncing car bounces down to a valley;
the vision is gone.
The bouncing car bounces up to a peak;
the vision emerges again

In the dream
(other things
and I might recount them
depending upon audience engagement,
but the point is)
I was unsettled
by this strange herd of strange animals
so far away on the hilltop
and so big,
poised in almost combat
but never moving,
intimate in its strangeness and

They say
(I might add
for ethos–
scientific credibility
rather than the mystical
nature of
one who dreams often and loud)
you can’t read
in dreams.
But I could’ve sworn
(I might add
for pathos, a touch
of the confident but vulnerable)
I read a text message–
or maybe I heard the voice of the person sending it and merely saw a jumble and assumed I had read it–
(I might add for logos,
the rational dreamer)
that assured me the
had been weird
but ultimately had meant nothing–
in fact that the picture I had sent of the scene
was a poorer quality
than the other picture the sender of the text
had also received,

I was convinced,
wondering at the
import of the portent.

And I awoke
with foreboding,
(I almost always
end with my waking feelings in
a tidy, pointed conclusion)
a metallic bitterness,
with scratchy eyes
as if I had been allergic to
the woods
or donkey dander.

And so I don’t
keep my visions to myself.
I invite others–
women who come and go,
the rain that washes one clean,
the thunder that only happens when it’s raining–
into my own

silence of remembering.

Regular Poem: An Unconscious Mind’s Wealth of Knowledge

10 Apr

why is everyone i kiss in a dream such a bad kisser there must be something
to be said about my psyche sometimes i don’t realize it until
i wake up and sometimes i know then and there
that what their mouth is doing is wrong what does kissing
in dreams even mean is there a meaning
i just looked it up and there are a bunch of different interpretations because its all pseudoscience of course but the first one i got was that i need to be more open with my feelings that is super general everyone could use a little more openness with their feelings if we’re being honest with ourselves
but that still doesn’t answer my original question which is why i’m always kissing bad kissers
maybe im actually the bad kisser and my subconscious is trying to tell me
in the most roundabout way possible but you know
the only way to get better at something is to practice so there’s that

Regular Poem: Driving

9 Apr

I’m your girl
for roadtrips
and rides to work
or stopping by the gas station for a pop
and touring pretty real estate
lazily on a Saturday afternoon.

I like driving,
and I’m good at it.

But in my dreams
neither of those things are true.

In my dreams
I’m always stepping on the brake that doesn’t quite work,
feeling my thighs contract as I try to will the brakes into submission;
swerving and skidding so I don’t rear-end somebody
maybe half drunk and definitely all anxious;
straight up monster-trucking over other vehicles
and wondering how on earth I’m managing to do this;
getting into a car and starting to drive and then realizing
there are no seats and the shifter’s a lead pipe;
revving up to six thousand RPM and never changing gears
and worrying the whole thing might explode;
careening over highway railings, whispering prayers
on my descent to the depths of a gully;
pulling stutteringly into a garage complaining
of a weird noise and belatedly noticing
one of my tires is missing;
sliding haphazardly and much too fast on snow-packed rural roads
marked No Outlet.

I wake up and my neck is tight–
my shoulders feel as though they’ve actually been
in that car pressing helplessly backward to try
to stop.

And I get in a car
in real life–
and just for a moment–
the brake squishes
like play-doh beneath me, and–
just for a moment–
I’m back in my subconscious,
back on some precipice
with no control
and no front tire,
and it feels like

everything terrible.

Regular Poem: Prophetic Dreams

1 Apr

It’s like
my subconscious gets on kicks,

I get on this kick
where all I want to do
is watch tv shows about polygamy,
and then the next week
all I want to do
is exercise.)

my dreams
share common elements,
this cabin in the woods
that keeps showing up.
And I’m almost always
investigating murder mysteries.

But then
for a few weeks
I’ll have little points–
small details
or general premises–
flashing and strobing and pulsing
a porch light with a short
and these little points
actually happen in real life
a few days later.
Just little weird things that
I can’t remember right now
because I haven’t started a dream journal yet
everyone has been telling me to do.

Well anyway,
I bought a convertible
not too long ago,
it doesn’t take
ambiguously prophetic dreams
to foresee
that I will spend
my entire summer

OUaT 2.8 Recap: When There’s a Fire Starting in Sleeping Beauty’s Dreams

20 Jan

Episode 8:  Rolling in the Into the Deep

Present-Day Fairy Tale Land:  Hook finally gets out of the beanstalk, and Cora’s there wanting the compass.  She says she feels betrayed.  Hook says he’ll get the compass back, and they’ll go together.  She says she will complete the journey without him, and he tries to seduce her back into it.  She says:

You’ve had your chance.  Now it’s my turn to do this… the right way.

Finally!  Some BAMF lady magic!

So she can summon all the zombies with 1 heart?! I wouldn’t suggest messing around with her…

Cora goes to a secret heart chamber and gets a heart out.  She makes all the dudes she killed in the camp a couple episodes ago rise.

Continue reading

OUaT 2.7 Recap: When Wolves… And Wolves

19 Jan

Episode 7: Child of the Moon

Dwarves find fairy dust in the mine.  And by fairy dust they mean diamonds…?  Blue Fairy directs Charming to lock away The Hat because they’re gonna grind that stuff up, so he better keep the hat out of the wrong hands.  Chekhov’s Magic Hat?

“Thanks for saving me from that dude. I’m on my wolf period.”

At Granny’s, a dude flirts with Red, but she isn’t in the mood, and Belle saves her from it.  Red says it’s complicated and looks at the clock ominously.

Charming and Henry talk about Henry’s nightmares (which he’s sharing with Sleeping Beauty).

King Dad Attorney comes to “congratulate” Charming on finding the fairy dust, but really he’s gonna try to run the town in an ominous fashion.  Where’s Regina to run the town?!  Girl, if you’re not in this episode, I’m boycotting this show.

Continue reading

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