things and other things
Dreamt. September 8, 2015.
We race across water in small swift boats, this small group of people and I. We flee some unknown thing. I let the current carry me and drift uncaring or oblivious to any danger. Others on a boat nearby alert me.
I see shadows beneath the surface – large and dark, approaching then circling under me.
I paddle with my hands and arms. Long full strokes. And try to hurry along. The water is wet. Without temperature.
2/9/15
Dreamt that I was at a lecture that took place in the living room of a house. A small gathering of people. The lecturers were Angela Davis and Audre Lorde. I was frantically trying to write a paper about what they were saying as they were speaking. They sat in chairs in front of the windows. Daytime. Sun filtered through gauze curtains. Warm.
August, 2008.
This morning dreamt that it was winter. Winter. Cold. I had to get to work. H not at home. She told me to stay with a friend so they could take care of me. But it was late. Late out. Dark. Night. Cold.
Leaving school late. Filing out of the train station. In a line going up wooden stairs. Slow moving line. I see JP from high school. He’s speaking French to a girl who’s with him. There is also a third man. I hear their French and turn to JP and say, “Mirate! Cómo hablas el francés!” Continue reading “winter dream”
Here’s some more stuff from the old notebook. No date on this one, but prolly from 2005.
Afraid of rewrites. That’s why I haven’t written about the Ornette dream that I had. What does this say about me. Sloth? Spiritualist? Afraid of rewrites either means I’m lazy and loath to make a second attempt a second version of what I wanted to say. Like I don’t have time to do that. That’s part of the discipline I lack. Discipline remember that? Editing? What the fuck? I don’t do that. I write or I don’t write. Digital. Pure. My editing is inaction. Rewrites? Never heard of it. If I didn’t get it right the first time it wasn’t supposed to happen. If I fucked up it’s done. Done. Does this make me a spiritualist. Looking for meaning in my laziness… words are sacred and what I write is special. Not to be fucked with. I have to wait for the right time and place to write something or else it comes out all wrong and it fails. Maybe. Is it all, all my words. Are they predetermined, preordained. Am I fatalism. Am I a fatalistic writer? What the fuck kind of unenlightened bullshit is that. It makes no sense. Spiritual fatalist? Lazy? I think I’m fucking lazy.
Ornette. I’ll get to that amazing dream someday. Such a beautiful dream. Free jazz and me. I can’t fuck that up.
I still do have trouble rewriting my stuff. Although, I do spend more time on it now than I did a few years ago. Rearranging things, tightening up, etc. Maybe there’s hope for me yet. I’ve also begun to change the way that I work. I decided to stop fighting my schedule and work with it. So instead of waiting for some magical writing time that never comes – especially not after work – I started to get up early and write for an hour or so before I go off to work. It seems to be working. Also that Ornette dream was pretty awesome. One of my all time favorite dreams. I still haven’t written it down.
a couple years ago i had one of those waking dream things where you dream that yr awake, but yr not. not yet. i had like double vision going on. vision inside my dream and vision of my waking self. and the two weren’t matching up. as soon as i fully woke up and calmed down from the panic and disorientation i was feeling, i wrote this down on an envelope.
i couldn’t wake up. like a picture in front of my eyes of the living room. i could feel my hands and arms moving but all i could see was me laying on the couch in the living room. occasional flashes of outlines of my hands moving. i could feel me touching me but couldn’t see the action. couldn’t sit up. woke up inside a dream of the same. terror. terror. what time/day is it? pressure on my chest. someone holding me pulling me down? how long did it take to wake myself up? many times.
this sort of thing has happened to me before. and i’m sure it’ll happen again, but this was the only time i wrote it down. so i can actually remember it. and i can still remember seeing what i saw while it was going on. it was kind of cool. ghost arms and blurred movement.