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dreamed 2008/8/31 by Wayan.
I dream I'm making long-range love:
thrust and rock a lonely pillow-sea,
trying to dart a sex-dream east to my
girl who's writing less to me;
letters wilt in drought.
I wake and start to write a bitter-
sweet dream-poem. Tap and ponder by
my dawn baywindow. Then out of my
pane, I spot a rocking man curled up
fetal in the street.
Road's a sudden curve. Cars can come
fast and blind; danger! Yet I pause
long pulses, hand above phone. The sun's
still waking my quiet street; perhaps
he'll uncurl, move on.
Eyes on my work. No motion, yet when
I look again, he's moved. Still curled,
but in the far lane now! I look
down and tend my dream. Again a flick!
Fetal on the walk.
I'm still tense. Think "I was right:
he's safe now, no need to call,
relax, relax"--but can't. No, he's
not in danger. He danger is.
Fetal on a sill
of the diner across the street. I stare,
forget my work, for my third eye howls
"Call 9-1-1 right now!" But what'll I tell
the cops? "A man's on a ledge three feet up!"
Some suicide call!
Fetal unfolds to join that diner line--
cheery omelet throng. Meekly waits a turn,
but then declines their famous eggs;
pulls and fires a gun. The dying barman sags.
Fetal turns away,
sidles through shock and is gone. Sirens mourn
as cops roar up, too late! They check
security tapes; I see the replay now.
Pointillist shots of his stringy bald pate:
Mustache sideburn face.
But his antique trim quite fails to hide
cheeks distinctive wide. O I'm
unneeded here. He'll be caught and jailed.
No, my job was earlier--and I failed.
What if I'd dialed as he curled?
Could I have dialed as he curled?
Why didn't I dial as he curled?
A NOTE YEARS LATER
- Fail to act: My dreams do urge a lot of actions. I write them diligently down, even make poems of them, but do I act? Not often.
- Curled up, fetal: today I saw Shakespeare's melodrama Pericles, Prince of Tyre. When Pericles thinks his family's dead, he curls up in mute grief. So watch out for depression! The dream warns it's deadly. Though not to myself alone--who's that barman-victim?
- Killer's odd face, sideburns: this Pericles was set in the Wild West; the men had beards, mustaches, sideburns.
- Gun, murder: a king orders Pericles killed to hush up royal incest. Later, a jealous queen orders young Marina killed. In the play both attempts fail. But here...
- Trouble in diner across street: A house not a diner, but the cops did visit--drug deals, a troubled family. But they moved out; the new tenants are nice.
- ACTION: watch out for this guy. I can't get him arrested, but if he pulls a gun I can duck.
- fear I'm losing a girl I love: literal. Emily Joy's slowly stopped answering emails.
- ACTION: Is the dream saying call her now and force things to a head? I'm afraid to push; hate it when it's done to ME. Yet in the dream, the slogan's proven true: silence = death.
Almost exactly a year after this, I had a second cafe/diner nightmare with a senseless shooting, A Date In Minsk. The same time next year I had a third such nightmare, Monkey with a Gun. The next evening, I was upstairs near a corner window in a club full of singer-songwriters, when gunshots and sirens drowned out the performers. A guy had pulled out a gun, aimed at an enemy, and killed an innocent bystander instead.
More or less by chance I caught the one-year foreshock, but didn't spot this earlier one til now--over three and a half years after the dream. So I'm a little less inclined now to explain it in terms of my personal feelings and my personal woes--not vintage 2008 at least. Not every psycho's inside you. From a high dream-window, you get a longer view.
But... even if I'd known this dream warned of a real murder to come, what could I have done? Dialed 911?
This is Dreamverse #17. Every day, a dream-poem. Even if it kills me. Or someone.
LISTS AND LINKS:
false waking -
initiative vs procrastination -
opportunities lost -
dream poems -
Dreamverses project -
the next Dreamverse: Ancient Mare-Kin Graveyard
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