Sweven

Be a Dream
They find him, bits of battered bone and threads of scattered flesh. He is incomplete. Earth slips. Chest implodes. Words thin and wither. Within the gutted hollows of the husk I have become, are echoes. "This must be a dream. Must be a dream. Be a dream. Be a dream. Be a dream..."

Ice Palace
Her house is an iceberg in the midst of the sand. No entry. No exit. No hope. Bloodied hands punch, claw, and rip but I am unable to make a dent or get a grip on anything at all. Out of reach, through glass patches of ice, half frozen children are weeping. Sleet slips from their eyes.

Waterly
Pencils slip. Pages flip. Inspiration flows like spring swept springs. Then watercolors run wild. All artistry is defiled.

Vehicle
Tires and steering wheel disagree. Even with extra hands and webs of rope I can not claim my space, so surrender. I swerve away. Soon I bring up the rear of a family line. We plod pitted roads. Car begets quad, quad begets cardboard box cut to be a car. I carry it, this flimsy thing, that should rightly carry me. Still I carry on, and on, and on.

Sleepless
They need so much, such little souls. Steal space. Take time. Leech light. Weep, wail, bleed dry any succulence of dreams. Life... but a sleepless scream.

Reverse
Ram runs only in reverse so we rage, ass first, into rush hour rift.

Black Rock
Blackrock beckons through bush, bog, and corn stalks brown. Finally free of wandery, we drink. Canteen is a thin black tube taller, even, than I. Passers-by, envious of the abnormal flask ask me to set sale. I decline. Back to black rock trails I fly.

Neighborhood
Snowless is winter. Her kiss sharp. Her breath crisp. We, locked out, wait to get in. They, locked in, wait to get out. In balmy pockets neath slush topped puddles, the lucky ones live summer lives. Across the street slumps a man of filth and ragged surrender. Into his rusted cup I toss a coin. His head raises. He is THE Mr. Rogers. Smiling, he sings his song. Horrified, I trip away. I don't want to be his neighbor.

Detox
She arrives and cries, "Sister, help me." She is weary with the unlit way of her life. She declares, without stout dedication, to give living one more go. She needs to detox. I am no doctor. My mind screams no but my hand reaches out. Does she feel the slight tremors of my dread? She trudges to bed, stays still in the dark. It is the calm before her storm.

The Game
Extended family scattered cross a yard. Like chess pieces they move: Step pause. Step pause. Step pause. I stride normally through other oddities: Jagged fences. Maples in place of pines. Ditch evolved to river. Stone wall rises to the road. I climb. A mad cousin charges our chess locked kin. He stabs, one by one. No compassion wells for any of them. I am no savior... still I crush stabbers skull with a stone. Silence. Surviving chess pieces step pause their way to our cousin corpse.

Driven
Destination near found! He chauffeurs us around. Cars keep crossing lines. They speed then skid to shoulder. My heart could be wrong but it believes more safety abides on the roadside than on the road. But I am not released. Strap in. It is accepted, this driven destiny of mangled deformation and/or death.

Sots and Stars
Moonlight softens life's sharp edges, conceals the clutter of my soul. Night is sweet and safe. Then comes a knock. I swing wide the door. In stampedes slobbering beasts. They are my aunt and two cousins. They guzzle beer, boast drunkard deeds. I sit, un-submitting to their spirits. When finally they fumble their way away, I send no well wishes or waves. Starlight suddenly shakes my heart. Constellations are contorted. North star shines southerly. Sky is awry. How am I to right it?

So many missed opportunities for lucidity.
Upon re-reading these, I see now the tie that binds them: Some obnoxious sort of savior complex that has lost me control of my own life. From now on: Just. Say. No.
It's time to realign my north star.

Attempting my first dream journal entry.

Mud Hill Ritual
Sky sprawls starless. Trees stoop, draped in sultry dusk. We rush, Daughter and I, for sighs of light. Up a mountain of mud, toes rake earth, fingers claw clods of grass long dead. We strive. Finally... apex! We stand upon narrow ledge, worn wooden wall behind. To left and right, nations of shawl, of jingle, of smoke, sing. They punch the wall to the doom doom doom of some shadow cast heart. It will all fall apart, I know. So back to bottom I slide to watch the ritual unravel. But it does not. We do not.

Starkind
Languages spill into the night. Stars are disjointed and stand too near. Amidst them ether fires dance and streak and swerve unobserved by all but I. Fear flares. Then some peace, slippery and warm, spills within. To the speakers I go until ends the omniglot ebb and flow. Their fires fade. One spark remains. Together we weave dreams and schemes for fires yet to be. She is Mox Fulder. I show her the dancing sky fires. She sees! Stars lurch nearer. Now forms the sacred fellowship of the starkind. We are two.

These pair of dreams keep coming back to me with fond feelings despite the underlying dread in both.

My dreaming goals for today are:
1 Introduce myself
2 Read 3 lucid dreaming threads
3 Make 5 posts
4 Start my dream journal
5 Read 5 lucid dreams before bed

Reminder to me: Trying to keep regular dreams to under 100 words because I know that journaling will take more and more time as recall improves. I will write out lucid dreams in a fuller fashion as they happen. Also, I'm not sure if I should give each dream it's own post or post a nights dreams all in the same post. Will figure it out at some point, I expect.

Well, here it goes. First journal entry.