nighttime emissions and sublimated humiliation fantasies

i had a sickening dream, after i woke but before i rose. on dusty recliner with wooden arms and itchy hounds-tooth cushions, a frog slid tadpoles straight from a gash running from throat to tail. it had not been cut, it had only opened to birth them. it had always been there. on the chair a snake wriggled around with the frog. it wanted to eat them all. the frog fought and the blind babies squirmed away, but the snake ate them anyway. it was a slimy sight. i had descended from a tower, perched on a church's rust-streaked green dome, where i clutched to the surface on sticky octopus suckers with street-kids, where i had been safe. but, of course, the world ordains the things you must witness.

not to diminish the dreams i have had of you lately. no. you no longer chase me in soothing loops round escher staircases, our ability to move expanded to bounding many-storied leaps, the cartilage in our knees extra-strengthened pillows. now. oh now. you crack the bones in my wrists between your thumb and forefinger and i turn your skin to ribbons with a bowie knife. i cover you in hair, force it to grow everywhere, including the soles of your feet. you un-piece me by a pond full of sucking mud and throw my bits in to be watched over by the trees. in front of your elementary school, i walk behind you invisible, whispering the truths of your grown up self into your ear as you move to the double doors and you are so ashamed. you are hot-faced but you can't cry in social studies and language arts.

my daydreams are pure avoidance. "i am living my best life." audiences with princelings and me in a plexiglass box, lit under with LEDs, dancing to mint royale on repeat for eighteen hours, probably high, probably wearing knee socks, probably wearing a t-shirt dress with some lazy illuminati-based design (triangles no doubt, even though i've always felt better about squares), probably losing momentum, until i'm too exhausted to take home anyone who might have chanced a look. too tired to feel the hand on my face until after it's left a bright red palm print there.

wonderbread and wonderboy go for a walk in the woods...

do you know the story of the lupin lady?

also, dwelling in history: http://alitheavenger.blogspot.com/2008/08/recount-decount.html
practicing radical inclusion of past selves....hmhhmmhm oh berlin, oh my heart. one of many.

wanting a cigarette and questioning that desire--replacing it with stretching, yogastic satisfaction

thinking of-
healing?
how have i changed in the past year?
did college make me articulate?
how do i act on my radical politics?
does something matter if i can't articulate it (that is, spread a revolutionary consciousness)?

also geez-o, it's raining like a mofo on this thin-tin roof
& i'm thinking of population decline
(http://www.windward.org/private/articles/population01.htm)
hm bleak--whaddya think?

preparing to leave safan tomorrow morning,
leaving a red-purple-gold palatial shit chamber in my wake
gold seat fit for pillow princes and size queens alike
like the swimming idea of green tomato pies
like boletes, browncapped children of the forest fairies who live in the galls,
like two goats dead in four days and we wonder and we wonder,
like business plans are deep conversations, like
if you weren't raised eating expensive air then you'll never understand the difference
like whatever---

i am not a fountain! i am a jungle-jumble-menagerie-wet-furry-paperback-wonder!

last night i dreamt that my father was elected president (everyone said, "even if he doesn't do anything, it's a great sign. he's the best president we've ever had, and he doesn't have to lift a finger.") and that i was wandering from house to house looking for someone to give me shooting lessons.

also last night, after a day of wine tasting and cheese tasting in sutter creek,
maggie and i constructed a ritual for ourselves--of celebration, gratitude, making-space, becoming-present. drew from the rituals i had done with you folks, under the full moon on the beach before the jammin, at the sky factory under a sacrificed pinata, the queer interfaith ritual at the point this spring quarter, also the masquerade and wedding parties, also more small things of ritual and symbolism...
it was really good. we ate olive-garlic-rosemary-sourdough warm bread and kombocha squash and beans and rice and mustard greens and red wine, danced in the mud under a cloudy sky and screamed and howled and sat and were quiet. i imagined my chest to be like an advent calendar, full of tiny little doors, each door opening onto a field of stars and dark matter and space. i imagined opening each of the doors. we folded pieces of paper in half and wrote-drew "things we are stuck on/that control us" and "things that bring us strength, make us present" and shared some things (our papers looked totally different)--we planned to burn the former one, but decided to hold onto it to keep it conscious, think healing instead of throwing out. ("radical inclusion of past selves" has been a theme in my thoughts since az mentioned it in willits...it's a process.) i made some small commitments to myself, small daily rituals. it left me exhausted and good-feeling last night and quiet today.

drip drop
drip drop
drip drop

telling dreams (latest updates)

in conclusion, my dreams predict
that i would make a very poor newspaper salesman,
and an excellent harmonica player.

6am poetry

early morning, the 6 bus arrives and you haven't heard it yet which means you know it's 5:10am and the sun isn't out yet but that won't step the early early commuters and the late late partiers from northing on up to the loop and then to where? whatever the bus is probably empty anyway.

splitting fur

smoking sometimes in a sanguine shelter
licks of pain
and the presence of pleasure
and chiefly rabbits whose fur's notsomuch matted as stuck
like chunky spikes and the stench of your vomit
your stomach's half-cooked effluvia
like carrots on top of charmed pencil-cones and honey-tipped
bereavement, bake on high for days and days
a silent haze
stealing surely but quickly but layered
yes as in matisse but also as in beer
playing games with the foam-flecked freedom fighters
who move on diagonal when straight is too much
and jump through all hoops+garters to get to the finish
but now find themselves blind, dead and made of stone
or possibly cracked, malformed plastic
because the mold didn't hold
it wanders into alleyways and drifts past wrinkly whiskers
to speak in a desultory tone
that is
desultorily, not that we care
hush, listen:
the night is old, the sun is not up
the stones are cold, the wind is risen
the rattle of bones and the science of transit
will interweave their lessons into your dreams
and mine
and we won't even know.

for the good life is out there somewhere, so stay on my arm you little charmer

from my journal at 7:30am today, or 8pm on monday 4 u, 

dunno if it will be interesting at all

what IS interesting, is that it is RAINING

not as hard as it did i'm sure during winknight's stay in summer 05, but wow i was soaked earlier walking to and from dance. i haven't seen a rain like this in... who knows. certainly not in washington nor in pune so far. so june or july in chicago. it's wonderful except that the water on the street is full of ambiguous matter.

ok ok.

i'm at home [in hyde park] talking to justin on gmail, skype, phone or something. he is at the baohaus, i have to go soon [to india? somewhere permanent, so there is an urgency] but i want to see justin before i leave but i project that he is reluctant or doesn't think it is important [or like seeing me when i'm about to leave would just open up new wounds or something so it's better not to see each other at all... a familiar train of thought for me]. i go there and find my vest/package, sand, no rock, cigarette wrapper from cigs i bought in bombay. justin is kinda sorta in the other room[i originally typed 'kinda aorta'!].. i don't think i actually physically see him. [second or third dream where this happens! i havent seen justin in weeks]. i go through give away boxes of clothes and take a striped shirt from ali. 

SWITCH

i'm wrapping electrical chords around irons, playing "like a virgin" by madonna, britney, and christina [remember that vma performance where they kissed and it was scandalous?]. then scene change to wearing wobbly high heels (like from the kingfisher swimsuit calendar model reality tv show) at a dilapidated opera house. amulya mandava is claiming something about rewriting/organizing some great music masterpiece of orchestral music by a composer i don't like but i can't remember who, now. the stairs are difficult. i hear someone say "it won 2 tonys". when we get to the lobby i'm with granny, granddad, and mom. the opera-food-place is baking $3 cookies and granny remarks that they're finally baking their own, and needs to throw something out. 

SWITCH

in a mildly dilapidated grand building [the opera house after being abandoned in 50 years? which reminds me of the train station in bombay... marble floors and nice stairs, but dirt and funny smells everywhere]. i'm finding anastasia and ali, they're in class or something. i'm doing something with blue ink. it's raining and coming through the roof. i pee while walking down the grand-ish stairs [same scene as walking down stairs in opera house, only no high heels and i'm with a&a] . i'm not wearing pants. there might be more. a&a are nonchalant, not interested in me.

then? the interview with the nice couple, how they met. through craigslist. a cute ad. they have fun! they do such n such! then i see he has a computer. on the side of the building. it is big, about 3 feet tall-- looks like "tsunami dream" comp of my dad's. outside, still colonial bombay architecture, 

THEN do i go to the part where i am part of a murder scheme? i waylay someone (the target?) by reading something to them, and then a guy down the street shoots them. i move on and question the ethics of what i just did. maybe that person was hannah because i also dreamt that i read a long sentence from a yellow paper that was my high school transcript with multiple clauses, conflicting imagery, weird vocab, also claiming that india was in africa. hannah said "what does that even mean?" ad we're like yeah wtf i dunno. 

also at some point i'm stretching in some kind of gym class and my legs look more like granny's and a little diamond-like shaped (like harlequin babies) and some dude shares that he used to know a kid who had it who could never poop. but that when he was a kid his poops were too watery. maybe the kid with weird skin died? or had some other strange ending. 

============

that's the end of my journal entry. wow it was boring, but i was so excited writing it this morning. i can pretty much clearly identify where all of these images situations and feelings come from in my conscious life, so in a way, i thought that sharing this with you all lets you know how my unconscious is processing the stuff i'm seeing thinking feeling and talking about. instead of writing those things down directly. home, love, place, bodily discomfort, language, death, buildings, art, where the fuck i am/am i.

a thousand miles wrapped up in blankets

i slept so late today, droppeddripped into a dreamworld that wouldn't let me go.
at first i was at a relative's house with my sister. there were a lot of people ("relatives") i'd never seen before and the ones with recognizable faces also seemed like strangers. i think i watched porn with someone who claimed to be my cousin.
then we were in this hotelplace and we had to prepare a defense. we got into this court-like place and i was woefully unprepared, had forgotten all of my pieces of paper. i had a hard time stating my name. the purpose of the "trial" was unclear (it could have been a conference) but my sister and i were called upon to Do Something. luckily instead of a defense we turned off the lights and did a performance. i think we won.
back to the hotel, now in the suburbs in the middle of nowhere: i stole some runts and other candy from a grocery store with an unguarded back door (silly silly) and shared with my sister and some other dreamfriends i had met earlier that night. (one, for instance, had long long brown hair and a big black hat and wore all black.) we ate them in the hotel.
later becci and i were hanging out in the garden and i think i dreamt of trellises that grew high high and huge huge collard greens sprouts, racing the sunflowers towards the sky.

anyway i had like 13 hours of adventures in dreamworld. i wish dreams weren't so compelling. sort of. or just that i could wake up in the morning...this "rainforest" sound produced by my cellphone kept creeping into my dream and was very unwelcome.

also i am excited for leli's return!

I have a dream

I dream of open aggression without any passivity at all.
I dream of spit and fart.
I sail upon the unspent charge of revelry, cavalry.

In a tick, like a blooming time-rose, a spindly swish will wipe away polite. How can I be so sure, you ask?
I guess it's just a dream.

the plan

Welcome to a new era, my fellow sea creature, nautiluses and catfish alike. In our travels and travails, family and friends far away are still a must, and contact must be kept. Let us share in our revelries so that we may dwell in each others dreams.