(no subject)
Mar. 11th, 2004 10:11 pmThings I've dreamt(ed?) about.
A pin with a golden elephant with rubies for eyes and encrusted in diamonds. It was an elephant's earring and if you listened hard enough you could still hear its screams.
A carved figurine of fox. It was made of a red/orange material that "glowed" like amber. I was giving it to Julie.
The end of the world. The skies went dark and cold. The clouds covered the entire world. The only clear part of the sky was a symbol that I knew simply meant "the end". Then tornadoes etc. came and that was all.
A magical staff that I made from a daffodil.
A ghost of a piano.
An elevator in a green haunted victorian mansion.
A trolley car in San Francisco.
A machine gun.
16 bullets left.
My father as a child that rocked himself in the corner and huddled away from his monster of a father.
My father who fought in the Korean war and came back changed.
My father who turned into his father.
My father who screams in his sleep.
My mother's father who fought in WWII(?) and came back changed.
My father's father who fought also and came back changed.
My mother who served during Vietnam but left before they shipped out.
My grandmother who was forced to go to and Indian Res. School and came back not knowing her native language.
My uncle who killed himself in a state penitentary when he was 30.
My brother who always smelt of cigarettes, alcohol, and woods. Who killed himself two summers ago. Who I loved. Love.
One day I'll write a poem about the elephant's earring. The rest I wouldn't mind forgetting.
They say that when you are aware that you are dreaming that you can fix your dream. This is true, however, sometimes there will be that one person, when you tell them to get out of the way they’ll say no. This sort of thing has only happened twice while I was dreaming lucid. Maybe each world that you visit when you dream is already there and populated by weak dream images that come from your subconscious. Picture thousands of these worlds; then when two real people are inside the same dream and interact with each other it isn’t the same as always. In one dream I was convinced that I had found my soul mate then toward the end we were talking and I said “you know this is only a dream right?” s/he said “yeah but there’s no reason we can’t tell each other where we live in the real world. I said “but I can’t remember” s/he couldn’t either. when we were waking up I saw the golden gate bridge in the background and screamed “San Francisco” at him/her. I’m not sure if s/he heard me. I harbor slight hopes that one day when I go to San Francisco I’ll find him/her. Just incase s/he is reading this. Green gas, elevator, doll, father, fast trolley car that dream.
Science is the explanation of magic. Whenever there is something science cannot explain it's magic. Since science can explain so much there isn't hardly any magic left.
When I was younger I thought that whenever Michael talked to something I couldn't see it was because I wasn't looking right. I spent hours trying to see what he did. He used to tell me stories. I was never sure if they were real or not. I guess it doesn't matter. They were beautiful anyway. Even now there's some part of me that thinks everyone who is "insane" is just MORE than we are. See more, hear more, understand more. Better.
Though my greatest absolute fear is becoming schizophrenic. If it's genetic I'm doomed.
Here's to beauty. In all its forms.
A pin with a golden elephant with rubies for eyes and encrusted in diamonds. It was an elephant's earring and if you listened hard enough you could still hear its screams.
A carved figurine of fox. It was made of a red/orange material that "glowed" like amber. I was giving it to Julie.
The end of the world. The skies went dark and cold. The clouds covered the entire world. The only clear part of the sky was a symbol that I knew simply meant "the end". Then tornadoes etc. came and that was all.
A magical staff that I made from a daffodil.
A ghost of a piano.
An elevator in a green haunted victorian mansion.
A trolley car in San Francisco.
A machine gun.
16 bullets left.
My father as a child that rocked himself in the corner and huddled away from his monster of a father.
My father who fought in the Korean war and came back changed.
My father who turned into his father.
My father who screams in his sleep.
My mother's father who fought in WWII(?) and came back changed.
My father's father who fought also and came back changed.
My mother who served during Vietnam but left before they shipped out.
My grandmother who was forced to go to and Indian Res. School and came back not knowing her native language.
My uncle who killed himself in a state penitentary when he was 30.
My brother who always smelt of cigarettes, alcohol, and woods. Who killed himself two summers ago. Who I loved. Love.
One day I'll write a poem about the elephant's earring. The rest I wouldn't mind forgetting.
They say that when you are aware that you are dreaming that you can fix your dream. This is true, however, sometimes there will be that one person, when you tell them to get out of the way they’ll say no. This sort of thing has only happened twice while I was dreaming lucid. Maybe each world that you visit when you dream is already there and populated by weak dream images that come from your subconscious. Picture thousands of these worlds; then when two real people are inside the same dream and interact with each other it isn’t the same as always. In one dream I was convinced that I had found my soul mate then toward the end we were talking and I said “you know this is only a dream right?” s/he said “yeah but there’s no reason we can’t tell each other where we live in the real world. I said “but I can’t remember” s/he couldn’t either. when we were waking up I saw the golden gate bridge in the background and screamed “San Francisco” at him/her. I’m not sure if s/he heard me. I harbor slight hopes that one day when I go to San Francisco I’ll find him/her. Just incase s/he is reading this. Green gas, elevator, doll, father, fast trolley car that dream.
Science is the explanation of magic. Whenever there is something science cannot explain it's magic. Since science can explain so much there isn't hardly any magic left.
When I was younger I thought that whenever Michael talked to something I couldn't see it was because I wasn't looking right. I spent hours trying to see what he did. He used to tell me stories. I was never sure if they were real or not. I guess it doesn't matter. They were beautiful anyway. Even now there's some part of me that thinks everyone who is "insane" is just MORE than we are. See more, hear more, understand more. Better.
Though my greatest absolute fear is becoming schizophrenic. If it's genetic I'm doomed.
Here's to beauty. In all its forms.