Dream Journal 12

i don't remember most of my dream but what i do recall is this:

galileo is in a room sitting before an organ made completely of glass and crystals and it is connected to a telescope. right before he begins to play he says something really grand and epic which i forget now, but it had something to do with while he plays music the gods below and above weep or something. so he starts to play this really abrasive haunting music that powers the telescope so that he can see every distant planet

then it was this really great montage of the planets in our solar system spinning to this incredible music and as the music picked up and got more intense the planets began spinning faster and faster until it all sort of just ended in noise

there was also a part of my dream about bathrooms and showers, but that's all i remember.

lost outside your window

a milky film is resting over everything tonight

the fog lays low and swallows distant trees

and the dripping moon light

all the streetlights are washed out

their colors flooding the air

orange blends with a purple sky

the air looked so bruised

when you spark the lighter

and i catch my face in the mirror

snap back to you

thick glass is all our lips touch now

all our tongues secretly touch

we get lost in avey and noah

i don't know any of the words but you do now

you never used to buy albums

but at least you don't carry cigarettes with you anymore

and your face is freckling

i wonder what bruises your jeans are hiding

your body is everything unreal to me

religious symbols and holy holy artifacts

a dripping painting of a mother

another spark and i'm back

we're at your place

and i'm heading home again

minneapolis

what are you?

what do you want from me

or what do i want from you?

will you haunt me like these street spirits

these little snow ghosts

that weave between my tires

do you inspire me?

i wish i could get into your skin

sleep soft in your grey womb

buses and snowstorms swell in utero

but i still pull right and watch you dip

under a horizon

you don't mar the sky

but you don't decimate me either

you are not the sublime monument of mount ranier

a whispering stranger behind the fog

but now rock is replaced by gloss

rock is replaced by gloss

rock is replaced by gloss

is this what you're telling me

minneapolis

it feels so selfish to cry
a slight swerve into the side of the road
iced and solid
so strong packed down hard into the ground
my chest heaves into the wheel
all i can see is the fleshy white
of your breasts
and imagine soft nipples in my mouth
it feels so selfish to get hard
pulling quietly to the side of the road
short breaths
short breaths
the car is cold and
i am hanging in the air in front of me
clinging to the windshield
left blinker clicking in the silence
pulling back onto the road
it feels so selfish to be writing this down

im not ready to write anything

until i cry

im not ready to write anything

until i cry

im not ready to write anything

until i cry

im not ready to write anything

until i cry

because until then i am a fucking fake

who has never felt anything deeply enough

and i have never experienced anything

meaningful

and i shouldnt keep lying in everything i write

its more self deception than charlatanism

i feel minneapolis watch me

when i pull off the highway onto your street

my honda civic idling in front of your apartment

fingers idling with a box of condoms

i try to hold my breath between the car

and the front door

i guess i am ashamed of my breath

a weird premonition

something about it shouts sex and death

its so unreal to joke about suicide with you

why are you still here

and am i in your latest creation

what makes an artist

can i bite on your lip rings

when did we start watching this

what are we drinking

do you like to be here with me?

hard orange lights push in through windows

slipping between tiny cracks in the blinds

penetrating deep into our privacy

what do you taste like

how do you make it through a day

will you ever let me...

can i bite on your lip rings

let me stay in your bed

alright

alright

i can feel minneapolis gazing down at me

a snowstorms clouds hanging low

add a depth to the city that makes everything

frighteningly real

its really weird to see you do whatever it is you think you do

you take photographs of yourself and edit them in ways that

highlight really weird truths. like what you hear in pop songs

and you are really attractive in all these incredibly superficial ways

so every guy you know just lusts after you in awful ugly ways

but i think you are honestly trying to bring some sort of enlightenment

to your life and to the lives around you

but it wont ever quite work out that way because you are far too tan

and your tits are too big and your eyes are too big

and no one will really be able to look at your art

maybe you don't want that though and you just want their eyes on you

but its very depressing all the same

and sometimes im thankful to be ugly

because maybe i can be an artist