Dream

Why do I do this to you? It can’t be just for me, this writing here.

I had a dream two nights ago where I could not move. I was in bed awake on my back looking toward the window and toward the door. I couldn’t move my body but I could look from right to left. I expected to see strange lights coming in through the window, but I do not think that they came. I feared abduction. The view through the bedroom door went straight into my living room which is impossible in real life. It was dark and I could not make out anything or any movement. I was terrified. I tried to move for a long while until suddenly I was able to jump out of bed, but the room was no longer in normal three-dimensional space. I was “standing” on “the floor” though this is not right, but it did not feel like I was floating or hovering. The lines of the room, the walls and such, and the light from outside on the way, became very skewed and sharply contrasted. I was unsure whether or not I could or was moving, as relative relations to my surrounds were completely indescribable. The colors seemed urgent (red, white, black). I woke up and could not sleep for a while, had to put on the radio to hear another voice. It was 7:13 AM and the sun would not be up for a while still.

For the record (does this thing constitute a record of some kind?), I have not abandoned this blog. And no, nobody accused me of doing so, and sure, I am feeling just a bit defensive for no clear reason today, so what?

I figured I would put up a new link off to the right for you avid readers. MiPOesias is an online poetry magazine I’ve been browsing through occasionally over the last few months. The issue guest-edited by Gabriel Gudding (which has a theme of “weird” poems) is what drew me to it initially. I saw Gabriel read at the University of Illinois when I was an undergrad. I remember him reading the draft of a poem about fisting a dolphin’s blowhole. Fucking A! It seems to me like he’d be a qualified judge for weird poetry and, from time to time in that issue, good poetry.

What I’m listening to: Tom Waits, Starving in the Belly of a Whale. How appropriate.

I had a dream about a crow-headed man two nights ago. He entered my house, which I remember having the general feel of the house in A Scanner Darkly, and told me he was going to eat me soon, but to hang out with him for a while first. I don’t think he was lonely, but he might have been. He must have been. Why else would he have wanted to hang out? He displayed no emotion. I tried to get away at some point.