elusive ninjas split cities into dreams
Nocturnal alphabet:
The past two nights I’ve dreamed thick and lively. My consciousness inside the dreams and my consciousness as the dreamer were simultaneously unified and distinct.
In sketchy detail…two nights ago, Dream Q: I walked out into a large grey-blue parking lot. My car was not on the other side of the semi, around which I peeked my head. Bright blue Gracie had been stolen. At my mom I began screaming about money I’d spent on it, money I’d saved for school (I’m curious about these plans for school—could the answer for what to do with my life lie therein?). My outside consciousness felt ashamed for screaming but my inside consciousness couldn’t stop. I was upset.
Dream M: Outside a house across the street from my parents’ house I encountered a homeless couple of early twenty-somethings, dirty-faced and ragged. I offered to let them sleep and eat at my parents’ house. Within minutes three large hippy buses showed up, and dirty (this is not an assessment of hippies in general but rather an accurate description of the people in my dream) hippies spilled out and began to "party." I stood in the garage talking with them, when it hit me I'd seen some go inside. I woke up and thought it all a scam to steal my parents’ belongings. I wished I’d been more keen.
Last night, Dream F: At my parents’ house. My brother, a 20-year-old Navy boy, was there. We just got news he was being sent to war. My cousin, 20 years old and not in the Navy, was also being sent to war. He ran up to the neighbors’ porch, big smile on his face, dropped to his knees and hugged them. "They were always like parents to him," my mom said to me. My brother was being sent to war. I woke up upset.
Dream X: Somewhere springy and New Englandish, bright green grass and dark wooden swings and sheds, clear day but not sunny. I'd been asked to give a poetry reading. Fortunately I’d just written some new poems, and it hit me about an hour before the reading: I’d stumbled upon a whole new way of writing. I began frantically refining what I’d written. Pencil didn't work, time-consuming and wrinkled with scribble. Needed a computer, but none were available or worked. Back to pencil. Cowboys and cowboy belongings ran thematic in the poems. Final plan for the reading: first half read old-style poems, second half read the new style. Despite the rushing I didn't feel anxious but rather sure things would be fine. I woke up in darkness, half an hour late.
In the world I’ve seen today (a tad delayed):
* The urbanization of India.
* A poll—Arab nations deeply suspicious of US motives [via Mr Anigans]
Shoelaces loop and loop until the goods surface:
* I didn’t realize Beta Band broke up, but frontman Steve Mason as King Biscuit Time is supposed to have an album out in February. This pleases me.
* A new Mojave 3 album, Puzzles, is supposed to be out in March. This also pleases me.
* Apparently my ass is bugged by Pixel guy. I say it almost every day: today feels bizarre for some reason. And this. Another day eluding ninjas is a successful day.
The past two nights I’ve dreamed thick and lively. My consciousness inside the dreams and my consciousness as the dreamer were simultaneously unified and distinct.
In sketchy detail…two nights ago, Dream Q: I walked out into a large grey-blue parking lot. My car was not on the other side of the semi, around which I peeked my head. Bright blue Gracie had been stolen. At my mom I began screaming about money I’d spent on it, money I’d saved for school (I’m curious about these plans for school—could the answer for what to do with my life lie therein?). My outside consciousness felt ashamed for screaming but my inside consciousness couldn’t stop. I was upset.
Dream M: Outside a house across the street from my parents’ house I encountered a homeless couple of early twenty-somethings, dirty-faced and ragged. I offered to let them sleep and eat at my parents’ house. Within minutes three large hippy buses showed up, and dirty (this is not an assessment of hippies in general but rather an accurate description of the people in my dream) hippies spilled out and began to "party." I stood in the garage talking with them, when it hit me I'd seen some go inside. I woke up and thought it all a scam to steal my parents’ belongings. I wished I’d been more keen.
Last night, Dream F: At my parents’ house. My brother, a 20-year-old Navy boy, was there. We just got news he was being sent to war. My cousin, 20 years old and not in the Navy, was also being sent to war. He ran up to the neighbors’ porch, big smile on his face, dropped to his knees and hugged them. "They were always like parents to him," my mom said to me. My brother was being sent to war. I woke up upset.
Dream X: Somewhere springy and New Englandish, bright green grass and dark wooden swings and sheds, clear day but not sunny. I'd been asked to give a poetry reading. Fortunately I’d just written some new poems, and it hit me about an hour before the reading: I’d stumbled upon a whole new way of writing. I began frantically refining what I’d written. Pencil didn't work, time-consuming and wrinkled with scribble. Needed a computer, but none were available or worked. Back to pencil. Cowboys and cowboy belongings ran thematic in the poems. Final plan for the reading: first half read old-style poems, second half read the new style. Despite the rushing I didn't feel anxious but rather sure things would be fine. I woke up in darkness, half an hour late.
In the world I’ve seen today (a tad delayed):
* The urbanization of India.
* A poll—Arab nations deeply suspicious of US motives [via Mr Anigans]
Shoelaces loop and loop until the goods surface:
* I didn’t realize Beta Band broke up, but frontman Steve Mason as King Biscuit Time is supposed to have an album out in February. This pleases me.
* A new Mojave 3 album, Puzzles, is supposed to be out in March. This also pleases me.
* Apparently my ass is bugged by Pixel guy. I say it almost every day: today feels bizarre for some reason. And this. Another day eluding ninjas is a successful day.
2 Comments:
Did your brother really join the navy?
I think if I was a hippy and wanted to steal things I'd try to be more inconspicuos then bringing 3 busloads of hippies with me.
Hi Kim--yes, my brother really did join the Navy, a year and a half or so ago.
Hi finnegan--I do wonder where it comes from. These dreams in particular got me thinking, because they are thematically linked, and there is a lot of dichotomy going on, a lot of inside/outside. I wonder what's up with the scams.
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