dream journal

i am outside a low but wide and looming glass building that has been put on a sort of lockdown. i remember playing a physical sport something like soccer in the plaza in front of it in hopes that it would open up. i dont remember the exact mechanics of this but it eventually does open. once i am inside i look around and it's deserted minus some rubble and loose fires burning out.

some sort of creature that i don't know starts to come towards me, i remember each one having several different forms. one of them is something like a crustacean in a large black shell and its covered with a dark tar substance. another is a something that would be a smaller version of the lochness monster. i start to shoot at these things but they are coming i nlarger an dlarger numbers and i can't keep them back.

they push me back outside the building and into a corner of the plaza before they finally stop coming. none of them ever get close enough to touch me or harm me in any way.

i wake up from this and i am asleep on a large wooden stump in my grandparents yard. it's a really warm night in the summer. the moon is very full and bright and i am hiding my face under sheets so that i can sleep. i have headphones on and i am listening to something but i start to worry that i can't hear any nature that is around me. i get worried that some animal is lurking up on me. i take off my headphones and grab the sheets and stumble awkwardly towards the house nearby. i am in a hurry and i feel dizzy so i keep falling over. at the front door a large bear stands there waiting for me.

dream journal

i'm at my grandparents house and they are both still alive. it's a special day of the year but i dont remember which one. we have a family tradition on this day that we strip down naked and then walk and run through the forest. it's winter time so i'm partially afraid of being cold but mostly embarrassed about my body. it's early in the morning when this is about to begin and as the moment draws near my grandpa is making sure everyone is ready to go. it seems to mean a lot to him.

the moment comes and i take off all my clothes and start to walk through the darkness and into the woods. it's actually very peaceful and i don't even mind the cold. it's too dark to make anything out but i think i'm walking around with an uncle of mine.

after a while i am no longer in the woods but in the cul de sac where i grew up. the streetlights are all blaring orange light onto the sidewalks and roads and i am embarrassed about my body again. i can't find anyone else from my family. i'm starting to notice the cold more and more. i'm worried now that i am not clean so i pick up some snow and start rubbing it over my body. over my chest, arms, and ass.

my body is shivering now and i need a warm shower. there is a large shower head mounted on a streetlight in front of me and i turn it on. steaming water pours out immediately and i gain control back of my body.

my dream changes now and some of my friends show up who were taking part in the ceremony. i don't recognize any of them. they've gotten caught up in a role play where they are in a war and they start to hunt me. because we're friends they give me a minute head start and i run off the roads and into snowbanks and across fields looking for somewhere to hide. i find a hole with someone else in it, he begs me not to hide there but i have no choice. we're found almost immediately. i'm not sure what they do with the other person but they take me prisoner.

the next parts are a blur of traveling via a retro spaceship that seems to be an olds kid's ride that moves on rails, going to other worlds, and watching them hunt other people and things. at some point they all end up dying except for one. i don't remember how it ends.

my dream changes again and i'm back at my grandparents house. i'm younger again and i'm resting my head on my brothers chest. it's so comfortable and feels right. i kiss him on the neck.

then i wake up

there is something fertile in 20 west

something Here

in the rusting hydrants waiting for their fire

and the lights that are hanging

hanging themselves from the wires

i dream

i am masturbating

in the middle of a hotel room

standing between two beds

sleeping friends occupy them both

i am limp and want so bad to come

but someone turns over in their sleep

and i am gone

i dreamt

of having viscious sex with you

you were eight months pregnant

and i don't know why

i dreamt

of creating a landscape painting

with a deep purple sun set

and blurry black animals in the foreground

with white stitching eyes

i dreamt

of drawing a self portrait

with an erratic and vague outline

of my soft body

but an intricately shaded image of my nose

it was meant to represent smell

and the clarity it brings

to memory

straight edge

carved into a rusting bridge

in a weed filled town

in my new jagged home

oh i

eighty on ninety four

your cracking tar is the fragile branch

for my timid little claws to inch out on

do you sway so easily?

do the whistling winds bend your western reach?

or will weighty water drips tip your

end into an early earthen bed?

no, you grow and flow towards the east

a sense of the sun's subtle warmth

a blooming expansion outward

oh i

eighty on ninety

little feathered wings in a whirling flurry

do they ever tire?

where do i land?

a mobile upload

of my grandfathers grave stone

a ghostly glowing

filling up my room

and spilling out my window

into summer air

moonless sky tonight

black except for your orange blaze

minneapolis

i wanted to connect the poetry

of the swooping birds on the interstate

and the depression of excessive masturbation

their graceful arcs that caught the winds

of speeding speeding trucks

tossing fragile bodies away in gusts

while the runts watched from the ditch

but there weren't any dead runts in the wavering distances

the brave games of birds stole my libido

or was it their directionless nature

or was it the pointlessness of their movement

which really wasn't movement at all

and i spent two weeks in the west without coming

back in the plains i keep my window open at night

and every little breeze carries her scent

or her scent

or her scent

or her scent

and i am hard again

and i am soft again

and i am still here again

nevermind

i don't want to feel guilty

for holding you at arms length

while i have some time to myself

all my friends

are tiny little crescent moons

at three in the morning

and something about me

is like boys finding a mound of dirt

and riding their bikes over it

in a lazy loop

stubby cracked fingers

no

they're not

elegant and calming

unearthly connections

ten tiny wells

what flows through you?

what do you channel?

create through lead

through wood and paper

create through the flesh

little muscles focused

around the circumference of a pencil

something exotic

in the wild wild strands of hair

little muscles focused

around me

what do you channel through me?

what flows into me?

let my body

be a canvas

for ten slender brushes

send my color

flowing out across the page

across your sheets

a history of lines

across my back

and in my mouth

megan is in the hills

that follow me out to the east

flowing force of earth

swimming up and around rock and river

they're the arc of your back

and the rivulet of your spine

under a waxing moonlight

i can only feel the comfort of your calves

the hills are something boiling

something tumbling beneath the skin

and oh my flaming head against the window of the greyhound

a holy circle of frost around my bowing head

i was praying for something beautiful to happen

the way back west

soft earth and moon replaced

a painful solar gaze and a stretch of dead field

it was the morning's first invasive light

grown into the size of a week

and it was foreshadowing to me even then

in your basement after dark

my hands are spiderwebs

clinging lightly to every corner of your body

and in the dark we both pulse

we ebb and flow

between finger tensed lip biting tongue shoving leg gripping throat moaning sweat dripping jean straining neck sucking breath stealing muscle aching back arching thigh pulling hip thrusting

passion

into

th

e

calmmmmmm

wide

wide

eyes

deep

..

black

whispers whispers

what we are afraid of most

whispers

whispers

..

black

whispers

what time is it

but the black whispers us back into each other

and the black crushes me back into you

let me put all my color into you

can i show you my deepest reds?

my pinkest pinks?

whispers

..

an unseen black heart beats now

bangs out of pace now

something primal that swallows us both

it's in your eyes

and i hope it's in my eyes too

and i hope we're both caught in the black's bloodstream

swept up into clothe tearing wrist holding hard kissing hair tossing mouth gaping teeth sinking back scratching nail digging rhythmic pounding dragging grinding throbbing breathy heaving gasping

love

the first storm was this morning

rain at my window, thunder in the walls

but it was you that woke me

and all day a fog hung around the streetlamps

and all day a fog hung around my head

taking in abstract resistance

the shadow that's the darkest side of us

pulling me down

and 52 neatly packaged messages

of genital mutilation and rape filled up my eyes

bloated out my head

and i don't quite to know what to say

when you ask me what i thought

with your earnestly inquisitive eyes searching out the recesses in mine

and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you

when we're sitting in a dark room watching burning photographs?

i guess there's something in the way

that you run fingers through your hair

and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you

when we're sitting on a bench listening to local artists

i guess there's something in the way

that you kick your legs when you laugh

and it's foggy in my mind, can i kiss you

when we're parked in my car in your driveway in light rain?

i guess there's something in the way

that the streetlights fill up your eyes

and i guess it makes perfect sense that the drive home was through a thick fog

Dream Journal 14

i was with alec and we were on a soccer team but we were playing against a british team so the rules were really different. in the game you could use your hands and toss the ball around and pick it up and run with it. so i guess it was more like rugby. the game was a charity event to raise money for some disease, or veterans, or something.

a bunch of other people were on the team; kody, megan, ben, and others i don't remember. i wasn't on the starting team and neither was megan. on the bench she was talking with my brother and ignoring me. while i watched the game our team was not playing well, we kept doing all these extravagant and pointless moves and not just scoring easy goals. we kept missing shots by just a few inches.

then it started to rain and the field got muddy. megan was still ignoring me until i made a joke about how maybe everyone in the game actually had diseases which is why we never scored. she laughed at that. after i said that they played a video of a helicopter crashing and the pilot dying on the stadium big screen. i guess we were playing for him.

next it is after the game and i am putting on my clothes at home. that day i had gotten a new bra in the mail and so i go to put it out, but it's more of a sports bra that will leave me looking flat. this upsets me a lot. so i take off the bra i am wearing and put on the new one and then the rest of my uncomfortable clothes. i look at myself in the mirror for a long time and wonder why i never noticed that i wore women's clothes before.

then i woke up

so out of place

so absolutely in the only place i could be

listening to josiah

listening to flicking lighters

my quiet humming and your fingertaps

the fading winter wind no longer bellowing

the sounds of us both living in your car

so out of place

so absolutely in the only place that i could be

in your basement on the couch

feeling each other dully through thick comforters

feeling the sun and the hours and windows

slipping away

lusting to escape the growing springtime light

into the dark

so out of place

so out of sync with the way that we were

when you ask me kindly to go

so you can get some sleep

and i never worked up the courage

to try and touch you

so childish so childish

i drive home waiting for a message from you

swaying like distant heat in the summer

feeling like a child

meeting at a central location on bicycles

bare knees and bare feet

whispering beneath a plastic slide

when we speak in these wild open tones

it feels exciting

i hope i'm not placing too much hope

on your slender little frame

it's so exotic to have another body

inside this car

empty for miles and hours

escaping and returning to looming shadows of skyscrapes

i hope i'm not placing too much pressure

on your slender fingers

writing out each lengthy message

about color palettes of paintings

or the ways that vonnegut has affected ourselves

so selfishly waiting on your overflowing response

getting hard at everything that you say

i hope i'm not placing too much of me

inside of you

needing to tell you my anxiety at 3 am

today i liked

sitting in a theater filled with people we didn't know

and some we did

i mean some that she did

and watching a terrible movie and laughing out loud

at all the same awful parts

and none of the little strangers making a sound

i liked megan's voice

and how it was so much lighter than i thought it would be

so much lighter than anything i had heard before

if i'm writing poorly it is like a whisper on winter winds

it is something forgotten, a moment shrouded in nostalgia from childhood

something like a million little ants on the sidewalk

something like being alone in a forest outside my grandparents house

if i'm writing truthfully it is soft and delicate

fragile, no not fragile, but crystalline

and her eyes that looked so unafraid into mine

and i was always the first to look away

and i will always be the first to look away

the drive home was fast and i was light

and it was a moment of pleasure that i should hold on to

like the tralfamadorians do

and it will just as pleasant to take medicine and fall asleep

to Daniel Johnston screaming about Satan in the woods

and how some things take a life time

and i wish i were a better writer when i am

sick and/or happy