Another week has passed. I hope you guys missed me as much
as I missed you… as much as I miss sleep, my friends, my family. As much as I
miss snow falling silently in the dirty glow of streetlights. As much as I miss
purple.
I’ve been sleeping so
strange at night. Side effects they don’t advertise. I’ve been sleeping so
strange, with a head full of pesticides…
My dreams have never been so strange as this last week. They’ve
been so vivid I feel them painfully, if not physically. They seem to trail
behind me throughout the day, like a kite string, or my breath in the cold
mornings. I can’t quite shake them; they sit in the back corner of my mind gathering
dust and suspicions. I’m going to share them in an attempt to exorcise them.
I dreamt about a man sitting beside me, holding a giant hunting
knife. He asked if I was a realist or an idealist. I said I wasn’t sure. He swung
the knife at my chest, and I somehow deflected it. He told me I must be a
realist; an idealist never would have believed he’d strike.
I dreamt about my best friends from high school. You guys
remember Florida? I miss you all the time. I hope your futures are sliding into
focus.
I dreamt about sitting in the backseat of a car with TR
driving. We were trying to get to church because she’d left her keys there the
night before. Lucy was leaving when we pulled up, wearing a purple bandana. She
saw me and I felt like a ghost, or the idea of a ghost. Perhaps a dream. Something not quite
real, or not quite human, I’m not sure which. Lucy, I still keep the idea of
love on a chain around my neck.
I dreamt about flying a plane full of strangers. We crash
landed on a yellow brick road that was mortared with the blood of children. These
children staggered around with glazed eyes begging for us to hold their hands,
while a ragged militia threatened us with rusty bayonets.
Why are you scared to
dream of god, when it’s salvation that you want?
[Note: One time I
wrote a poem to embody my dreamscape]
Children of desire your
mouths are empty skulls
droning
wordless songs
Children of tomorrow you
tear your clothes while
the
world laughs, laughingly
Children of revolution, your
voices dig wells
for
the thirsty to drown in
mother, your cold fingers tremble
brother, your breath stirs ashes in a stone hearth
father, your mind scavenges rotten ideas
sister, the bones rattle in your fist
while the sickle moon
dances
dances
Children of desire, your
eyes are hollow sockets
leaking
sticky smoke
Children of tomorrow, your
future hangs bloated
in
the gallows of yesterday
Children of revolution, your
honeyed lips drizzle
poison
into hungry mouths
mother, your smile is on backwards
brother, your future swells like a black balloon
father, your life is a silver dagger
sister, your mind swallows infinity
still the sickle moon
dances
dances
Sorry guys, I promise my next post will be more informative.
I really do have a whole heap of hilarious anecdotes and progress reports from this past week. Check
back soon for my sense of humor, I'm sure I only momentarily misplaced it.
So rest eludes me, now
I’m back where I’ve already been. Waiting for the rain to start, looking at the
sky.
I love you.
-b
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