TALES OF THE
ONEIRONAUTS
A Documentation of Various Oneironic Expeditions
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TALES OF THE
ONEIRONAUTS
A Documentation of Various Oneironic Expeditions
The Oneironauts
This is my Dream Journal. These writings draw predominantly from a notebook which sleeps under my pillow- the philosophy is that my dreams will in fact leak through the pillow and onto the pages of the notebook. I intend to produce a progression of writings which not only document my dreams, but rather bring them to life...
The process is, most simply; the input of dreams via dream journal - and the eventual output of progressive surrealism via narrative form...
The art of dream exploration has become a somewhat forgotten practice. Even more so, the philosophy of dreams is a subject beyond the grasp of our waking consciousness. Oneironauts are seeking to rediscover this forgotten realm, to recover lost relics of wisdom which lay hidden amongst the catacombs of the phantasmagorical. My devotion is not only the exploration of these realms- but the documentation of my explorative expeditions within them, I endeavor to unmask the nature of dream philosophy and exploration, and thus retrieve these fantastical artifacts of the subconscious planes.
These documents are not solely from my own perspective. Although they are in fact my dreams- various other oneironauts are exploring these realms as well. Within my dreams I may take the perspective of myself or another oneironaut (someone besides myself), other times I will be merely observing the events surrounding these characters- without any physical form of my own. The writings shift from third and first person perspectives to reflect this. (Where by third person represents these more observant moments of dreams)
I created this thread predominantly as a means of recording my dreams for my own benefit- though the forum is of course a shared space, so please feel free to ask any questions if something is in need of clarification or elaboration.
The MountainsEshu and Erzulie...The Lake Temples
Erzulie crept up onto his shoulder. She could see everything from her brothers shoulders, everything seemed so marvellous at this height. She gazed upwards to where the river flowed over the lip of a mountain, where it made veils of silver and blue, she watched sheets of water as they surged downwards, and fell upon rooftops of temples below, flowing over them.
“They call those the lake temples.” Eshu said. The buildings were shrouded in a thick velvet moss, painting the structures in the most brilliant array of vivid greens, and they did not meet the water beneath them- but rather floated a considerable distance above it. There was something mystical about them, Erzulie thought. “The monks drowned during the floodings, they refused to leave. Their spirits still pray though. That’s how the temples are still floating.” Eshu sure knew a lot.
Below the temples there were herds of wild camels off in the hazy distance, marching a parade through the shallow lake- it looked as though they walked atop the lakes surface, Erzulie thought. Like some of the temple folk from the villages that she had seen when she was younger.
The Mountain Path
Eshu wandered down the mountain path, with Erzulie clinging lazily to his back. It was a habit she had sustained from childhood, when she was little. She wasn’t little anymore- even though Eshu was still much bigger than her.
They passed a number of pagan posts that marked the way- papers were nailed to them, carrying the words of various travelers which had used the path over previous centuries. Many were poems. Beautifully written- though seemingly outlandish in their nature, they described scenes and worlds so mystical that Erzulie could not even begin to imagine. The past must have been a wonderfully different place, she thought to herself.
The MountainsEshu and Erzulie...Night Coming
It had begun to darken. As sun failed, the fire flies led the way, dancing busily as they painted orange streamers across the dark blackboard of sky. Erzulie thought she would very much like to catch one. But she was tired, and the night had numbed her agile legs with its cold fingers. Perhaps one of the creatures would venture close enough for her to smother it in a cage of gentle hands. Waiting, until an orange flame whirred gracefully past her vision and landed softly on her brothers shoulder. She grasped at the flicker of light, binding it, and quickly reeled it in towards her chest. She felt it flutter and tickle at the inside of her palms. Slivers of light dripped through the gaps between her fingers and shone faintly through her fingernails.
Erzulie was still perched on Eshu’s shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around her knees to ensure her balance as she nursed the luminous insect, which seemed to had settled down. She made an opening between her fingers and peeked in. But there was no dancing flame, just darkness and a tuft of silver smoke which tangled upwards and broke apart in the air.
“They have to keep their wings moving. That’s what makes them glow. If you stop them from flying for too long, they’ll simply fade away into the night.”
The MountainsMyself...The Stone Roads
The stone roads led to tunnels which burrow deep into the mountains, they had become an important trade route for many of the villages. It stood as their only means of access, linking the mountain realms to the outer planes.
Lanterns overhung the paths, orange sparks fluttering within the confines of meshed spheric cages. Approaching the base of the mountain and peering ahead, I could see dozens more swinging from side to side, bouncing several feet above the ground as their owners shuffled through the darkness. Parties of town folk would travel together to the tunnels, I had seen other groups come through on various occasions through the night. It was safer this way- the night wouldn’t bother a sea of lanterns.
El Jazz NoirMyself...Jazz and Smoke
The sheets are stained with smoke- I’d burnt incense sometime in the late afternoon to compliment an Ornette Coleman listening. There’s something about jazz and smoke which gets me off. It’s now early morning and still dark, it’d be worthwhile to try a wild- but honestly I just couldn’t be fucked. I begin tapping my fingers…
There is nothing particularly special to note about my surroundings at this point. It’s just black. I’m wearing my jacket- my jazz jacket, I call it. It’s brown, it goes well with my brown shoes, and it matches my trilby- which is also brown. Though I can’t see this, as I said- everything is just black. With jazz on my mind, I notice that I faintly hear a tambourine. It’s a standard beat, fast shuffle feel- 4/4 time signature. It’s the kind of beat you’d find it difficult to eat a salad to. Reach into my inside pocket. There’s a lighter in there, there’s probably a whole lot of other things in there too- it’s a jazz jacket. I go for a cigarette but realise that I’ve already got one dangling from my mouth, unlit. I spark it up- the sudden flash of light fires the smoky jazz den into business- and before I can think to myself 'wait a second- I don't smoke' a fiery sax solo starts up along with the rest of the band.