Friday, September 10, 2010

My strangest dream in years...

Last night I was pretty restless. Awoke suddenly before 5AM then tried to get back to bed.

That's when things got strange.

Suddenly I was in Manhattan, it was kind of rainy and my hat started to fall apart around my head. I grew annoyed, thought about going into a nearby shop to get another one but it also didn't feel like it was really my hat. Like my real hat was elsewhere.

From there I shifted back and forth in varying degrees of awareness. I knew I was dreaming but was also caught up in where I was.

I found myself inside what I assumed was my apartment, but in Manhattan and I was trying to go to sleep in the dream. I was exhausted in the dream and I grew confused. The apartment changed while I was in it. Suddenly there were big pots of flowers on the dining room table. The kitchen changed dimensions and the refrigerator was covered in a blue calico print.

It dim inside the apartment and then these people who seemed to know me started turning up. I did not recognize any of their faces so I grabbed a chair from the table ready to swing it at them.

I started shouting "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

I realized again I was dreaming. I remained inside the apartment but the rooms kept changing. It was much larger than my real apartment with additional rooms I was not using. It was like I was rediscovering this Manhattan apartment, or maybe it was a condo.

I could not grasp how I was connected to the strangers in the apartment but they seemed to know me. They were friendly enough and I didn't hit anyone with the chair.

But mostly I had the sensation of being tired and needing to sleep...

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Flame and Bone

When I was made from fire
Poured into the tender vessel of caution
That keeps my smoke from rising
Quickly did I discover that apart from crisp drizzles or falling snow
The world chilled my touched
Walking the narrow cornered gap between girders and cut stone
One learns to tuck his shoulders in or risk
Jostling a neighbor passing by rapt with want
For a clear path without the distraction
Of another man's boiling eyes
The tip of a finger
That oldest of all weapons
Grown deadlier and pristine in its invention
Gathers a mote of a cinder on its bare flesh
And turns pondering how best to scratch the impious itch
Prying open the tender seam
Where the oil of thought dews
Offering a new wick to ignite
Squirming alive as a salamander of mischief
That yearns for a taste of air it is so ready to devour
The steam of breath betrays me
Before the glint of orange spreads
In popping bright waves
Eroding the fibers feeding it
Leaving naught but ash
As my shell of quietude falls away