Sweven

12th

Great Gathering
Thousands of fringe, feather, soft quilled leather, greet a great gathering. Entry is by bridge or by beam. Cameras can not cross. I wait... then booms thunderous hell. Room by room the gathering explodes. Screams. Smoke. Suffering. As if possessed, leap the stream. Scale the wall. Attempt rescue from above... too late. Drop from roof to roof. "I've found the man of my dreams..." a song croons over the chaos. Drop once more. Feet find concrete. Rise. "Dr. Lecter," I whisper politely to he, standing. He nods. I turn, run, but am undone by a heap of wilted, limp carrots. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh till it stings. Through destruction, death, and love struck things.

Blind and Dumb
World is blue and moonless. She is lost in the shadow of a mouse. Where is her savior when prayers are blinded silent screams? God is blind, deaf, and dumb it seems.

Night and Nephew
River, a slip of smoked glass. Hills, waves of moon kissed blooms. Fields, ribs and rows laid bare and bold. Trees, bent ent-like things a-slumber under quilts of stars. Tread slow. Tread light. Don't break the beauty of this night. Then hisses bus. Nephew weeps. He is cast out from the ride. We two alone start the long walk home. The world is insomniac screams.

13

A Muse
Film festival lacks festivity. All rejoice it's jolting end. Surge out of the shell and into a limbo hell where busses are shut and un-numbered. Trapped? In a way. But out of the way we find secret slender trails. The refused find their muse in the body of she, bloomed.

The Test
Rows of empty desks tell it is too early. Will other souls soon sit? No. NO! Damn. It is test day. Sit and start to study. Teacher arrives, lays pencil, pen, voice recorder, and book on every desk. He asks if I am ready. "Of course". A smile and lie. When he turns, I slip into the student stream outside.

Clouds & Saint
Smooth trails make boring tales. A fisherman snags our lead by using praiseful bait. Frank follows despite our protest. Clouds are pillars, steeples, roofs, pointing to earth. "The weather today," someone says, "is top heavy." It makes sense. Watch strange floating formations while waiting for the return of our saint.

Demons
He is five. His speech is glass shards grinding, unending. I first suggest, then demand, then beg for silence. He hisses. Patience is snipped. Slap the little mouth to match each little hiss. He is unfazed. Hope someone will see and be a shield or snatch the little demon away. How did we end up like this?

Bit: Standing firm, with a sense of urgency, in driveway of my grandmother's home

9th

Drive In
Stars lay close, clustered like treasure piles spilled across the sky. Ahead of their shine thin silvered clouds drift and shift, back lit by the chill of blue-ish moon. Most admire the beauty of the free night instead of the movie we drove in and paid to watch.

10th

The Play
Shapes of resurrected sounds are sculpted and set onto paper to be played. Uncertain of my usefulness, drift on the fringe of well meant murmurs.

The Roar
Shale and slippery trails lead us to The Roar. It stretches strong and wide as the horseshoe. At top, swimmers splash in mirror of idle blue. Cautious of the currents beneath the calm, slowly into pool I slip. We find Serpent's Mouth, slender cavern worn into rock, a natural waterslide. Swallowed slip to Roar's bottom. Are we disrespectful to make a playground from such power?

Unchanged
Ripped from earth's embrace, a slumbering love is risen to light. It is unbelievable, by his unchanged face, that a decade of darkness and death has been between us. A heart can not hold the weight of what it might mean.

Cas and Jor
Rush into the rampant stress. We find the two. She is still she. Her daughter has shifted. The mother plucks battered baseball cap from floor. She sews and walks, sews and talks, fixing the found into birthday gift for Sr. Depart the crush to collapse in temporary caves.

Randonautica Rivendell
Church ruins on a hill. Withered waterfall, forged by human hand, sputters foams aside it. It's brickwork base a shallow bowl slick with filth and foam. Split. Some surrender to abandoned buildings beckon. Other march marshes toward mouth of the anemic stream. Hope whispers that we will untangle it and make the trickle clean.

Tree Threads
Wake. Behold the high of rust, gold, and glints of blue. It shivers neath soft northern whispers. Leaves are playing. Upon their swaying backs ride living threads. White worms, by the thousands, stretch, spiral, reach. There is no place to hide. Limbs stretch long and wide to share the bounty of their burden. Let it snow, perhaps we'll know a drift of cold salvation.

A Force
Underworld is never clear. Eternal is the dark that we must dust. A soft electric song sings through the sag of shallow veins. The Force has found me once again. Move dark mountains with but a wave. No. Not a budge. But where the fire hisses, soft and simple things obey rusty orchestrations. Snap a finger... surge of light! Soul-like shadows shapeshift. Cobwebs clot, creep like snakes. Trash dust devils surge and scrape. Stories soar on ink stained wings. One may yet master these morbid things.

What the Feck!
Discussing dreams and reality checks. Kay laughs out, "What the Feck. What the heck and what the fuck mixed. What the feck! Reality check! For those WTF moments." It should work. Rhymes have a way of worming into simple brains like mine. We test her spell. Surprise! "We're in a dream! It works!" I cheer with childlike glee. A sudden swell of clarity. And then, because no dreams were recalled during earlier wakings, a passionate declaration, "I'll remember ALL my dreams if I wake up right now!"

I woke and dreams came flooding.

Nov 6th
Hypnagogia
-Malformed face wrapped in flapping strings
-A ring from which hangs dangling eyes

Three Games
Teachers, long lost friends, long tossed family restore faith in humanity. It is rekindled through three games: one of words and wit, one of dice and seeds, one of cards and dreams.

The Fountain
She strips away the lawn and sows a tapestry of life. In its heart her self carved fountain sprays wild water whips. "I can help," I offer. She grins, "Thank you but no. This is my lesson to learn." Nod. Depart. Glance back at the mistake. Water droplets dance like jewels across the blazing blue. Shy little rainbows shimmer midst the butterflies and blooms. Leaves and limbs shimmer. Winged and wondrous sing. From a step outside, realize, mistakes might make precious things.

The Flood
From school into a surging storm. Wade through sunken streets to sinking steps. Daughters are frantic about the rise. Sons are fighting and fierce. A man butterfly-strokes down the middle of our river-street. Laughter. Crinkled petals and crusted leaves are thrown into the flow. Hope is floating. Hearts are high. We know this too shall pass.

Moonlight & Monsters
Neath a single basement window, in a slant of silver night, I sit. I ache. I write. Weep with silent, searing love. Spill a soul across a page. Worship she, so high above she walks on mithril moonlight and is spun in star frost lace. What? Whisper on a window. Little robins die. Soul is tossed aside. Scramble into night. But oh, a stomach twists. Orc heads roll and rot, overflowing window well. Dare to pick through lips, fangs, and froth to rescue fledglings from the frost.

Media-opoly
From board, to web, to wave, to page, then to social constellation. A game of a thousand rules with a hundred ways to lose and only one way to win. Debating scores raises wars.

Today is my birthday. Curl into some closet but she finds me, as mothers always do. Her smile is gold, eyes emerald sparks. She beckons. With reluctance, I obey. She has gotten me the greatest gift, she says. Peripherally, the greatest gift grins. Look away, away, away. Play blind, blubbering fool til gold is tarnished and emerald sparks sputter out. Why so cruel? Why does my bastard heart want her to hurt?

Hear the greatest gift. I ask who is watching Batman. See the greatest gift, all grins and ghoul green hair. "Hey," I say, "Aren't you that guy who was in Star Wars? Han Solo?" The greatest gift laughs mirthlessly "You're kidding me, right?" I give up the fight to hold firm the jagged stone about my soul. The wall barricading my heart falls broken. I laugh, "Yes. I'm kidding. I know you you are. But it's not my birthday..."

Familiar feeling flutters...

"I know who you are! How are you here?" Look to mother, "How are you here?" Finger slip through palm. "Yes!" Understand exactly where we stand, mid dream. Dance around the green haired gift. We laugh like an improbable mob of joker jedi. Then the greatest gift drifts away.

Back at it.

FIRST

Cut
With a smile as greasy as the hair on his head Brother asks me to clip his curls. With a frown as knotted as the twist in my gut, I decline. Inquiry shifts to debate then to a spew of curses. Such chaos from so few sparks of words.

Orcas
Fire on the Water is where we will be. We are Orca Three. They are Orca Eight but it is late. My savior heart sacrifices a seat to sort the mess. Three departs. Eight arrives. Granted a seat on the grandest of Orcas. Horizon shimmers nigh.



SECOND

Wizard & Spiders
The white wizard battles a spider swarm. He becomes one of them or they become one of him. Can't untangle who is what. Spell thunders across the sky. We all die.



THIRD

Hypnagogia
- Books, pens, coffee cups float in formation then warp into a wicked wobble.
- A stiffened mouse peels apart like a cheese string.

The Mismatched
He shows me how to chronicle collectables. They've stories and souls of their own. Mine is a Mandalorian sealed in a Doctor Who box. Two hundred dollars for my mismatched soul? No. Mando morphs into dual lightsaber Luke. I depart, adrift in the force and flow of fandom souls.

Eleven Lies
Kissed by frost, a Doctor lies. He says he is fine but the distance in his eyes screams otherwise. Sit aside the liar. Speak for a spell. Honey warmth settles. Trees toss off their tinges. Other Doctors are glints of merriment amongst the throw. "Catch me a leaf?" Liar rasps. "Catch your own!" I grin back. He rises. We race and whirl after the flittering fringes of the fall. Who knew a liar's laughter could be beautiful. He finds footing amongst families. Now alone, dance and dream as I please neath blazing leaves.

Food Formalities
My food arrives. Sister and brother ignore the door. Subscription backs away. Out from the bathroom I fly, waving, calling, nearly falling in mid chase. Booklet of forms must be filled before any claims are made. An array of invasive questions scares sister. Not so easily frightened, I answer all. Accept the pitiful reward. We are reminded that even small gifts are great... give thanks.



FOURTH

HYPNAGOGIA
-Berries cascade, from the mouth of an Arwen entity, into her cupped hands.
-Spiral tube twists out from eternity to swallow screaming children.

Reclaimed
Sinister hearts crowd the stoop. We hide but are beheld. Call help but are unheard. Enraged by the intrusion I throw wide the door. Swear up a storm that sends the threat stuttering. But they return, overtake home, family, life. I slip through the most secret cracks of my walls. Stab the threats away. One by one. Son by son. One of our own has betrayed us. He is made an impossible puzzle. Victory is here. But now we must clear spatter and spray of reclamation's way.

Up
River twists blue and deep. Shores are steep. Trails are brutal beauty. We find a face. Climb the near sheer cliff. Half way up I slip. Drift to earth. Wait. Watch. Others leap, with mountain goat grace, all the way up the impossible face. I can not see their way. Heart grows greener with each foot that finds the top. Even Mother, heavy with vertigo, stands victorius upon the peak. She decends and offers her certificate of success. I decline. There are other ways. I must wait for root, rock, and rut to sing of new trails to find.

Slipped into an afternoon nap. Woke up with this repeating in my head:

We're.
Here.
Underneath your floor.
Give a knock on where you walk,
We'll open up the door.
We're.
Here.
Underneath your floor.
Drop on in we'll show you things
You've never seen before.

So now I am dared to knock on dream floors to see what will happen.

Two Tails
Feel the surreal familiarity of this fog, float on the fringe of a dream. From all directions at once, she struts, little mist cat of two tails. We will converse once the weight of this world makes us real. But fog lifts, we slip away, victims of the stirring day.

A glimmer of lucidity this morning, perhaps just a notch or two above hypnagogia.

Dreamed Oct 23 2024

Roam the city on a hill. Streets are a clutter of shops, shoppers, shooters, droppers. No way is out of the way. Sink from the blight into swift sweeping twilight. From dim, to dark, to dire. Retreat. Re-clamber to the crown. The world is shut. Claustrophobic press of flesh is faded. Dread desolate slabs of concrete upon which one may make home.

Centre cracks a sneer. Slip between its lips, past cobweb arcades, soul-less store fronts, yawning caves that once shone seductive songs. Bag wrapped bodies clog the innards of this slow dying beast. Asleep? Dead? A body bag woman rises and races. I flee. At stair top we stand face to face. She begs for change or coffee. "I think I gave you change already," I inform. She smiles, "Yes, I think you did." We part, she back to bag rows and I through emergency exit scream.

Stumble out onto a simmering shore of blush and blues. The world is warm and awash in succulent unsettlery. To the right lies a lake sleek and sheer. A many tiered waterfall twinkles awake. Snatches of past life songs twinkle awake within. To the left, cross lazy sands, are souls of several earthen shades beautiful beyond the spell of bastard words. Behind stands a cave, a gaping cavity of glittering stone and gentle swells. From supple waves young men rise, only so high as to reveal their eyes, silver with ravenous glints. Oh to be their sustenance.

Right left stands he of moonlit skin and star frost eye. He asks where we are and how we arrived. I know neither. Finger through palm. Pinch of the nose. Mild surprise. "We're dreaming." No lust for control. Curiosity grows. Where this ride will guide us?

Ships swarm the horizon. Train of giant boxes slop into the water. They are a wall meant to sever earth from ocean, a drifting genocide. Warriors rise. Storms of arrows fly. They but slice softly into sea. And then...
Stillness...
Silence...
Surrender.

The wall surges closer.

I must do something yet nothing. Nudge Moonman. "Use your white savior powers to help," I jest, just a test. With a swift, "Okay," Moon leaps from the cliff, walks across water, faces the floating wall. As blocks swing close he sinks straight down. Rise again as each threat passes. He climbs a boat and calls, "Send explosives." Intentions for dynamite in his hand bestows upon him only a gas can. He christens the boat. "I need a light!"

Finger through the palm strengthens resolve. "Jump onto my hand!" I call to Moon. In a silly show of perspective forced, his feet find my hand. He lands, a tiny creature crouching in my palm. Pass him to the nearest warrior.

Now rises my warrior. How long has it been? Dance an ancient ritual, step, stomp, punch, spin, over and over and over again. Scream from the depths of my innermost hell. Streams of golden plasma spray from fingertips to swallow each ship. Each explodes, one after another, in fantastic plumes of flame and shadow. And then, quite simply, the swarm and their bobbing threat are gone. Turn to the earthen warriors. They are gone. Look for the light of Moon man. He is gone. I stand sole in this still simmering dawn.

"It's done, I suppose," I sigh to the morn. But there is still some stuff to this dream. Launch and laugh from a ledge, pristine. Slip from the sky. Spin so the spine leads the plummet into the next whatever that will have me.

Am I WILD?

A world of warped shadow and feeble matter falls in and out of focus. Fingers are spider legs. "Dreaming." Stumble on no feet. Mumble through madness. Stability escapes me. Struggle to soar. The darkness pulls me down and down and down.

Yon the crush of defeat and the gnarled arms of naked trees... the stars are singing. Singing! Their voices like the tinkle of thin ice on breathing shores. They dance, cluster, and call to me. The world sighs brighter but only a bit. Focus on the lights, the celestial sights that beckon me to their heavenly embrace. Nothing feet push up. Set off from shadow, Set sight on the stars. With blissful speed I spin and swerve into eternity. "We're lucid," I sing to everything and to nothing. And because I am WILD, I freefall, fire and ice through the twinkling heart of darkness.

Pharmascene
Beats blast. Patrons dance. Fluorescents flicker in time. This is a pharmacy, not a dance club. I am the only soul irritated by this apothecary party. When transactions are complete, finally feel a festive pull. Dive fully into the dance.

Graduation
Presentation complete. Gifted safety pins for our shoes, we disperse. Cousin Angel's unzipped lips cast unhinged spells. She is lost. Cousin Darla and her only son invite me to the beach. Strangers find it in their hearts to help. Beach is found. Lot is a confusion of cars. Cavort through chaos. My safety pin is sacrificed to see the beach.

Mouthful
Called to a prominent meeting of minds. Words can not be wound by a tongue caked with gum. Pull. Stretch. Peel. Scrape. The mass is an unending mess of stretching strands. It rips free, finally. Greeted by a fleshy mass of tongue locking glop. It is alive! Kick it to the ditch. After it all, attend the assembly in silence, still.

Lofty
Unprepared for what the teacher whips us with, two are banished to the roof. My companion, a seeming sleek 50s model, sits, smiles, studies. I amble past pillars and benches bare. Our teacher! He is John Rhys-Davies, slick in suit yet somehow still stout and angular as a son of Gloin. "They will see us!" he yells. Shoved to stones. Crushed by a shield of flesh and bone. Can't breathe. And then... all is well. Sit for a spell. 50's beauty and I soak in the sanctity of lofty lessons.

Re-membered
Bare as the day I was born, relish the rush of steam and shower. What games were played? Can not recall. My team mates names? Can not recall. It does not matter. I am one. I am now. Sing and savor this hissing stall. Too soon comes a curious reality. Pants can not fit. Enormously endowed with a member of mammoth proportions, I panic. Half naked, trapped, distorted. Wish only for the safe and shielding shambles of my home.

(Sept 23)
Remnants of scholars trickle softly through shadow swept halls. Bodies brush past one another but thoughts soar through scattered elsewheres. Trials are documented and cast upon white washed walls for all to see in the heart of a great hall. A friend finds me. Sits close. Closer. Lean on my shoulder. Slip under my arm. I am too weary to care but drape her in what comfort that my half embrace can give.

Occurred Sept 22

Endless halls hold me captive at this gathering of dreamers. When finally I find my place it is too late. Ten's lecture is complete. A gloom hangs in the air, as thick and sticky as humid breath. Dreamers depart, stooped, depressed. Ten holds place, smile on his face. I ask him to tell his talk. He will not. Instead he blurts a list of words. "What?" He blurts again. "Oh..." The words are groups of animals. An eyebrow arches, asks if I catch his drift. I nod. Ten stands taller, grin slides wider, "What do you call a group of lucid dreamers?" "I don't know, what DO you call a group of lucid dreamers?" I ask, probing for the punchline. Ten lets loose laughter, "I thought YOU knew. Oh well. You'll figure it out." A preen, a pivot, he darts down the hall.

Hope for a familiar face. Find none. Settle in a circle of languid dreamers. They whisper in secretive spurts. I ask the message of Ten's talk. Eyes roll. Voices recoil. This glacial space is shortly spoiled by stomps and shouts on high. Up the stairs I fly. There stands Eleven, eyes of lightning, voice of thunder, before a table piled with toys. "YOU BROKE THE DEAL!" He screams and slaps toys to the floor. Young and old flinch. Within me flares an insane reflex, "What the HELL is going on here?" Eleven's tempest turns my way. "All I asked for payment was a Kylo Ren with sound effect lightsaber. THAT'S IT. THEY BROKE THE FUCKING DEAL... THOSE FUCKING SACKS OF..." I stand tall. Become a wall. "THEN LEAVE!" I match his thunder, "GO!" A preen, a pivot, he pounds down the hall.

Ten pops in, "Star Wars fans... I tell ya..." and pops out again.

Follow after Ten but find Eleven retreating into... a TARIDS? "What the..." Force a finger through my palm. Soft surge of relief. "I'm dreaming." Grin grows as bold as my lucid soul. "I'M DREAMING!" I yell to the TARDIS. Blue doors burst open. Out steps a mutant of a man, part Daemon, part Aragorn, all fury. His grin is a crack in time. His eyes burn Mordorian black. Weapons raised, one gun, one sword, he calls my name. Can not indulge in lucidity. Flee to warn the luminary of the shadow in our heart.

Bit of recall which may be associated to the above:
I recall being in the midst of orcs.

Such a long write up for such a fleeting glimmer of lucidity.
PS Happy Hobbit Day. Didn't make it to Bilbo's party last night. Tonight is another story.