/yesod

Category: dreams

  • the recursive old woman

    [This is directly transcribed, without changes or edits, from a journal entry dated December 6th, 1996]

    …I’m standing in front of a shelf full of journals and books in the dead man’s rooms. I take one down, finding [ILLEGIBLE] and poetry, handwritten recollections between the pages — it dawns on me that these are the rooms of my great uncle, the missionary to Burma, and that only I know he is dead.

    The guard eyes me through the front windows and I move on to the inner rooms, marveling at the collection of antiques, souvenirs, and artifacts [ILLEGIBLE] the grimy gray walls, the peeling paint, and the dusty windowpanes.

    Within the inner rooms, I come upon a woman — elderly and wholly lovely. She embraces me and slowly we back to an old bare mattress with a brass frame and headboard tarnished and lovely.

    …and then the guard is knocking at the window and shouting and I am still standing at the bookshelf, a book open before me with a picture of an alluring elderly woman open on the page.

    And I know I am dreaming, but still I set the book back upon the shelf and move once again into the inner rooms, coming to the place of the woman yet again, embracing and being embraced yet again, awakening once more at the shelf of books with the guard behind me, knocking on the window of the dead man’s rooms.

    And again, I turn to pass back into the inner chamber again,

    And again.

    Again.

    Until I wake in the dark morning.

  • uneasy sleep

    [This is directly transcribed, without changes or edits, from a journal entry dated April 11th, 1994]

    And it doesn’t get any better as the days go on.

    Wasted time and uneasy sleep. Like Macbeth, I have murdered the deep life — drowned by days, and smothered under chemical work and answering machines.

  • haunted

    [This is directly transcribed, without changes or edits, from a journal entry dated April 4th, 1994]

    Ghost dreams. Windows that won’t stay closed. Doors opening onto nothing.

    Tired and depressed, once again.

  • Mister O

    Shut up in the darkness.

    “Leave her be, O, she’s in hell.”

    I demand her release from the Shadow Cupboard.

    A final kiss for my mistress and then I turned to look for my wife — seeing only a mad, wizened, blind creature scuttling in the darkness.

    Dear God. And I thought I was in Hell.

    Awakening with a story — whole in my mind — driving it forward.

  • wedding errand

    Walking through a parking lot towards a line of children. Accosted, my money taken. Finally convincing them to let me go — “Please, I’m getting married today.”

    Amazingly — I’m released.

    But the ceremony has started and I’m late.

    Putting on a tuxedo in the great underground empire while searching for a washcloth.

    Sent on some pissant while of an errand by my wife, my own wedding starts without me.

    * * *

    My chest is continually constricted and I have blood in my eyes.

    The gray dawn has returned and my nights are only pain.

  • the blood curse

    Blood, spelling out a hastily scrawled curse or warning:

    “IF YOU CONTINUE, YOU WON’T SEE THE END.
    IF YOU WRITE IT, IT WILL NEVER BE READ.
    IF YOU TELL THE STORY, NO ON WILL LISTEN.”

    And blood scrawling away to nothing.

    A moment to pause and gasp.

    And the voice of Constantine rises within.

    “You want to fuck with me? I’ll bloody choke you, mate.”

  • the blood curse

    Blood, spelling out a hastily scrawled curse or warning:

    “IF YOU CONTINUE, YOU WON’T SEE THE END.
    IF YOU WRITE IT, IT WILL NEVER BE READ.
    IF YOU TELL THE STORY, NO ON WILL LISTEN.”

    And blood scrawling away to nothing.

    A moment to pause and gasp.

    And the voice of Constantine rises within.

    “You want to fuck with me? I’ll bloody choke you, mate.”

  • dust and bones

    Dreaming of empty houses. Rooms like vaulted graves, Corners filled with dust and bones.

  • limbo

    So I have received a dose of poison and I am slowly dying. My body is slowing down and seizing up. I can feel my muscles and joints hardening… Dying.

    As I’m going, my father is holding me and I’m crying. I’m asking him questions. “Will I go to heaven? Tell [REDACTED] I’ll miss her.”

    I can feel my body going, my vision fading. It’s all darkness.

    I’m crying and I say “Oh Daddy…”

    Then I die.

    Complete blackness.

    The next moment there is light and music. I can hear “Oscillate Wildly” by The Smiths. I look down at my feet. I’m standing on a tile floor. I look around.

    The Grim reaper strolls by and says “Welcome to Hell… er, I mean Limbo. Sorry.”

    I am in Hell. And Hell is a grocery store.

    Shelves. Produce. Boxes. Sterile Muzak.

    Instead of a shopping cart, I push a gurney. My body is stretched out on it.

    I push the gurney up and down the aisles and the dream loses form…

    [Note: Where I feel it is appropriate or relevant, I’ll include the names of people who show up in my dreams. In some cases, however, it may be prudent to redact these — as I’ve done here.]

  • the three old men

    Three old men. Drunken and cheaply dressed sit in a library and make vulgar innuendos to every girl who walks by. In the background a brass ensemble plays Cab Calloway tunes.

  • mother, father, cat

    Do demons stand still? Can you look for them in corners or out of the way places? Do demons stop long enough for you to see them? Do demons stand near us? Where do they stand?

    In the dream, my house has been transformed into a filthy hole. The kitchen is a mess, bits of food, dirty pots and pans, and crusty dishes piled everywhere.

    My mother sits on the patio and smokes cigarettes.

    My father sits in the living room, studying Talmud.

    I try to clean up the mess.

    My cat walks though my dream, his mind embraced by madness. His mouth gapes, his eyes stare, insane light shining through. His tongue flaps out between his fangs, drooling mucous and vomit. He yowls to wake the dead.

    I call to my mother to put on her glasses. I ask her “Can you see him? Can you see the cat?” She doesn’t answer. And I ask her again, and then I say “Can you see demons..?” And I go into my earlier ideas on demons. I speak and the cat yowls and in the living room my father is a dusty corpse.

    When I woke from this dream I was saying “Do demons stand still?” in a breathless gasp.

  • gitchy

    a hard couple of months

    visualizing, thin times