Monday, February 1, 2010
you are a sleep, i am too sleep
your brother wrote that song? i bought an inch worm at the store that plays the very same tune. i loved it so much, i bought two. one fell behind the radiator. first half price, second one free. this one is falling apart, but you get the point. does he know about this?
Sunday, January 31, 2010
churn of the tide, Golfer's Digest last century
i wake up in a room. everything is dark. the mattress is on the floor. i turn to my left. a horrible looking something is right next to my face. it turns out to be a basket. i get up slowly and quietly - proceed with caution till i know what i'm dealing with (this often is the case). The room is dark, dungeon like. a hodge-podge of items are strewn around the floor, against the walls. rod-iron decoration. stucco panels with golden emblems. dark wood tables. a bookshelf full of middle-eastern and Indian looking chachki. I walk over to the door. there is a full-length mirror propped up against it. its border is red with gold lacy/jewely decoration. I want to look at myself but am still nervous about my surroundings. also nervous that i don't dig mirrors in dreams. it's just a creepy concept. I take a quick glance. an all black caped figure with a white line at my eye level looks back at me. grim-reaper shit. i'm a bit shaken, but i let it go. i'm distracted by a wall hanging to the right of the door. Its a brownish, gold wooden plate with a faded red border. written clearly across the middle in black is arabic text. (typically in dreams text, for me, is jumbled or nonsensical. or it's not actually there, but is perceivable. this text, though i couldn't read it because it wasn't in my language, was clear as glass. if i had a photographic memory i could write it for you.) i realize at this point this is not a dream, this is a place and a memory. i have not been here before, but it is real. i will not be able to manipulate what happens, the scene or anything, no silly protective spells, nothing. The only difference between how i feel here and waking life is i know i'm dreaming.
i push the mirror out of the way, open the door and come out.and the couple standing in the bathroom greet me warmly. there are at least two other figures moving around. i know they know me. "this is strange, and don't be concerned, but i just woke up and i don't remember my room." They look at me lovingly and with concern, but are not getting it. "like...i've never been here before. i don't remember who you two are. i dont know your names. i don't even know my name." They console me, give little advice, ask questions. Did you eat something weird? Did you hit your head? Maybe there was a gas leak... I kept trying to wheedle answers out of their diagnoses. Like where we are...what is my role in relation to you. what do i do here. I know, from the conditions of my room that i am of a different belief system, and of a different socio-economic status. I gather from the arabic writing in my room and my headscarf I am muslim. I pull and fidget with my scarf. trying to show my discomfort, trying to prove to them i am a different soul in the body of whomever this person is they're used to. I'm not delusional, i just don't know how i'm supposed to be whoever this is. Usually i'm given a set of understanding as to my role, in addition to my conscious, waking knowledge. This time i was purely me inside someone else. How do you communicate that to someone? I keep thinking back to the room (which is confusing in dreams, thinking back to something gives you a mental visual image of the place, but the dream itself is a mental image of a "place" or scenario, so it's easy to get confused as to where you are at any given point if your thoughts are disjointed/not focusing intently on the now...(this is why i think most people consider dreams nonsensical---there associations spin out of control) but i know that i was with them THINKING about the room, and didn't actually go back to the room, because the dream faded out as i was trying to get some answers)
i wake up again. my room is as it was, but a little bit more haphazard. i open the door. the everything is dark as before and the house is completely empty. my face is still covered. i keep thinking - maybe this is the fall of afghanistan -- what ever it was that happened there in the 70s or 80s i believe it was, i dont really remember. i'll read about this when i wake up. i head down the hallway and try to be very quiet. i don't believe i should have left my room. Something is wrong. the air is heavy
a ledge by the window has a stack of magazines and newspapers...all in english, american. i know that i'm not in america. this is somewhere in the middle east i know. there's something vaguely tropical about the climate maybe? the scenery is not so lush though. just hot. the house has lots of large windows (but is still very dark) and a lot of access to the outdoors (like homes in central america)
The newspaper on top is from Chicago. I try and read the date. my dream eyes are hazy, but i force them into focus using the edge of the golf magazine (if i try to hard, i wake up. i'm getting better at not forcing or thinking about things too hard. it must make me too concious/makes me wake up. sometimes (most of the time) i can get my dream back to where it was, or at least on the same train of thought, but there's always something a little bit different about it) - The date reads December 18, 1988. What happened in 88? this is a year after i was born, so I know waking me is not this person, or i'm not having some sort of "past life dream" or even a personal memory dream. I'm pretty sure i am a maid, or house keeper of some sort. there's obviously something Not Right going on, though out the window the grass is green and the sky is shining sunny blue. I try to commit the cover of the Golf magazine to memory to reference when i wake up - find the date - find the edition. I see a silhouette of a figure move past a window to the courtyard behind me through a reflection in the window. I decide to go and follow it to find out what's going on. I realize that the hostility in the air could very well be some racial tension that I'm on the ass end of...in fact i know this. I follow anyway.
I'm led to a neighboring building. Inside a room there is a meeting. I can tell i am not welcome here.
i intrude anyway. "excuse me, i don't mean to interupt, but I am having a problem i need help with." I get the feeling these people acknowledging me at all would be significant. I figure I'm expected to be and act a certain way, and to do something extreme will get there attention enough to listen to me. I'll get some sort of answers. I take the hood of my burka down and reveal my face. "Does anyone here know me that can help me." Everyone is silent. "none of you know me?" I look them each in the eye one by one to agitate a response. An elderly woman towards the front center folds her hands and fidgets.
She steps outside with me. I give her a similar schpeal i gave the couple in home home earlier. She spats some crap about understading the stress i must be going through given what's happening, it must be post-traumatic stress syndrome or something. I take the whole burka off to reveal myself in my entirety. trying to do something the person who i am wouldnt' do. trying to show that i am not her in here. The woman looks at me with concern, but i think she's getting it. or at least she wants to believe me. There was obviously something greater than me going on. I guess now that i think about it i should have been more concerned with trying to figure out what was happening that made everyone so tense. But i didn't want to overstep the boundries of the individual whose body i was seeing through. (stripping her down to her skibbies OBVIOUSLY didn't compromise any of her morals...silly me) I didn't want to get her hurt or worse killed. like i said, this wasn't a dream, it was an occupation.
i push the mirror out of the way, open the door and come out.and the couple standing in the bathroom greet me warmly. there are at least two other figures moving around. i know they know me. "this is strange, and don't be concerned, but i just woke up and i don't remember my room." They look at me lovingly and with concern, but are not getting it. "like...i've never been here before. i don't remember who you two are. i dont know your names. i don't even know my name." They console me, give little advice, ask questions. Did you eat something weird? Did you hit your head? Maybe there was a gas leak... I kept trying to wheedle answers out of their diagnoses. Like where we are...what is my role in relation to you. what do i do here. I know, from the conditions of my room that i am of a different belief system, and of a different socio-economic status. I gather from the arabic writing in my room and my headscarf I am muslim. I pull and fidget with my scarf. trying to show my discomfort, trying to prove to them i am a different soul in the body of whomever this person is they're used to. I'm not delusional, i just don't know how i'm supposed to be whoever this is. Usually i'm given a set of understanding as to my role, in addition to my conscious, waking knowledge. This time i was purely me inside someone else. How do you communicate that to someone? I keep thinking back to the room (which is confusing in dreams, thinking back to something gives you a mental visual image of the place, but the dream itself is a mental image of a "place" or scenario, so it's easy to get confused as to where you are at any given point if your thoughts are disjointed/not focusing intently on the now...(this is why i think most people consider dreams nonsensical---there associations spin out of control) but i know that i was with them THINKING about the room, and didn't actually go back to the room, because the dream faded out as i was trying to get some answers)
i wake up again. my room is as it was, but a little bit more haphazard. i open the door. the everything is dark as before and the house is completely empty. my face is still covered. i keep thinking - maybe this is the fall of afghanistan -- what ever it was that happened there in the 70s or 80s i believe it was, i dont really remember. i'll read about this when i wake up. i head down the hallway and try to be very quiet. i don't believe i should have left my room. Something is wrong. the air is heavy
a ledge by the window has a stack of magazines and newspapers...all in english, american. i know that i'm not in america. this is somewhere in the middle east i know. there's something vaguely tropical about the climate maybe? the scenery is not so lush though. just hot. the house has lots of large windows (but is still very dark) and a lot of access to the outdoors (like homes in central america)
The newspaper on top is from Chicago. I try and read the date. my dream eyes are hazy, but i force them into focus using the edge of the golf magazine (if i try to hard, i wake up. i'm getting better at not forcing or thinking about things too hard. it must make me too concious/makes me wake up. sometimes (most of the time) i can get my dream back to where it was, or at least on the same train of thought, but there's always something a little bit different about it) - The date reads December 18, 1988. What happened in 88? this is a year after i was born, so I know waking me is not this person, or i'm not having some sort of "past life dream" or even a personal memory dream. I'm pretty sure i am a maid, or house keeper of some sort. there's obviously something Not Right going on, though out the window the grass is green and the sky is shining sunny blue. I try to commit the cover of the Golf magazine to memory to reference when i wake up - find the date - find the edition. I see a silhouette of a figure move past a window to the courtyard behind me through a reflection in the window. I decide to go and follow it to find out what's going on. I realize that the hostility in the air could very well be some racial tension that I'm on the ass end of...in fact i know this. I follow anyway.
I'm led to a neighboring building. Inside a room there is a meeting. I can tell i am not welcome here.
i intrude anyway. "excuse me, i don't mean to interupt, but I am having a problem i need help with." I get the feeling these people acknowledging me at all would be significant. I figure I'm expected to be and act a certain way, and to do something extreme will get there attention enough to listen to me. I'll get some sort of answers. I take the hood of my burka down and reveal my face. "Does anyone here know me that can help me." Everyone is silent. "none of you know me?" I look them each in the eye one by one to agitate a response. An elderly woman towards the front center folds her hands and fidgets.
She steps outside with me. I give her a similar schpeal i gave the couple in home home earlier. She spats some crap about understading the stress i must be going through given what's happening, it must be post-traumatic stress syndrome or something. I take the whole burka off to reveal myself in my entirety. trying to do something the person who i am wouldnt' do. trying to show that i am not her in here. The woman looks at me with concern, but i think she's getting it. or at least she wants to believe me. There was obviously something greater than me going on. I guess now that i think about it i should have been more concerned with trying to figure out what was happening that made everyone so tense. But i didn't want to overstep the boundries of the individual whose body i was seeing through. (stripping her down to her skibbies OBVIOUSLY didn't compromise any of her morals...silly me) I didn't want to get her hurt or worse killed. like i said, this wasn't a dream, it was an occupation.
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