dreamstate writing 11 May 2018

During much of this morning’s dream I was worming my way through the hallways and staircases of a vast series of interlocking, cliff-mounted structures. Sometimes I was alone, and sometimes hordes of other people crowded into the structures’ rooms, making it hard for me to move around. I was trying to get from one disc golf tee-box to another, but these were spaced far apart from one another and the layout of the place was confusing, causing me to climb many stairs and squeeze down many tunnels built into and through the homes of the people living there. Each time I threw my discs, they sailed out of view. Although I knew were they had landed, I had a difficult time figuring out how to get there through the maze of interlocking buildings.

At one point, I was standing at the top of a staircase conferring with some of the people judging the event (or who were at least doing something officious). Turning around, I found the stairs behind me so impossibly packed with people that my only recourse for descending to the floor below was to jump out over the side of the railing and hand-carry myself on the outside edges of the individual steps to the floor below. As I reached the bottom my legs brushed against the stockinged feet of a lass resting with two other women on a couch. She immediately stripped her socks off whilst giving me evil looks, to which I responded (as I was walking out a nearby door) by mocking her concern for her striped and colorful socks, saying something like “My legs aren’t that dirty.”

Later in the dream sequences, I was in an alpine city built onto level ground that was covered with a few inches of slushy snow. Despite the presence of frozen precipitation I knew the city was on Bali, the Island of the Gods, somewhere high up the side of one of its towering volcanoes. The city was party ruined, many of its sparsely-placed high-rise buildings damaged or collapsed, but its streets were packed with cars, buses, and people attending to business. Twice whilst in the city I stepped up into a burnt-out single-family home in which stood a representation of my deceased father, an older man with grey hair but strong arms and big hands who embraced me in a great hug and asked why I was groaning in pain and weeping loudly. (After the second time meeting the older man I indeed lay awake in bed crying, hugging myself about the chest, and basking in the memory of those who have died before me.) Falling back asleep, I found myself sitting in the slushy snow talking to a bypassing woman wearing a tan overcoat, who had stopped to admonish me to seek a drier place to sit lest I catch the sniffles.

The thick wool socks I was wearing, though they like the rest of me sat in mounds of cold wet, were nonetheless bone dry, which to my dream-consciousness seemed slightly odd.

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

haiku 2 Mar 2018

Flurries in springtime
Tender shoots encased in snow
Nature’s fond of tricks

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

haiku 15 Dec 2017

Frozen, biting wind
Snowdrifts gathered here and there
Warmth beckons, inside

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

dreamstate writing 23 April 2017 - wristwatch of cheap

I had pulled over on the side of a packed dirt road that rose out of a valley in which lay a lake. Earlier in the dream I had stolen a tank from an underground facility. On my way out, a wall-mounted camera had swiveled to take a picture of the vehicle as it emerged. The tank looked like an updated M4 Sherman with a set of advanced, modern treads. Its turret housing was studded with sensors, and it was painted in NATO snow camouflage, large mottled specks of blue, black, and white.

For some reason I had exited the tank and was over by a copse of trees near the edge of the dirt road - to pee perhaps. In a heap of brown leaves I saw a curled-up patch of fur, a bar-coded collar, and a pair of alert feline ears. I made the rapid whistling sounds necessary to get any cat’s attention, whereupon the animal lifted its head and turned its face toward me. It was wearing a disposable dust mask of maroon color under a metal muzzle affixed firmly with an adjustable leather strap to its head. The muzzle covered its entire nose and mouth and was made of an oval of scratched steel with some sort of alphanumerics stamped onto it.

The beast stood up, its tail flicking upward in the manner of a curious and approachable feline. It started walking my way, and I cast mine eyes about for a food or water dish, concerned that with the muzzle on its face the cat could neither eat nor drink. Just before the dream changed radically I noticed a tarnished, worn wristwatch of cheap gold strapped to one of the cat’s forelimbs, again over a patch of maroon cloth.

americanifesto / JPR / whorphan / 場黑麥