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Galley Slave

Dreamed 2008/11/27 by Wayan; Dreamverse #47

INTRODUCTION

Here's an example of an odd, neglected type of dream described by Havelock Ellis, a contemporary of Freud. He thought many dreams explore multiple meanings of a word or phrase (or aspects of an idea or image) that's never actually seen or heard in the dream: implied puns. And the dreamworker's job is to catch it.

THE DREAM

Drumming stumbles off the lawn, relentless--
echoes in the gloom. And this a writing class!
I gave three shorts for feedback. But past that beat,
I can't hear classmates' words, can only grope
for agitated stance or voice. I hope to agitate!

My first two tales? Indifference. But my third upset!
Its shipwrecked narrator resounds like drums--
near the door, my friend Ed stands to confess
what? The drummers drown him. Did he really say
"I was kidnapped once on Crete"?

Our bone-beard teacher hands me a scribbled sheet
of comments illegible now in gloom,
but for later gnaw, I stash. Private, query him
"Did Ed say shipwrecked or kidnapped?"
"Both! As a teen, Ed was on a Greek ferry that sank.

He washed up on a beach in Crete. The men
who found him called him salvage, like a crate!
Kept him months, washing tavern dishes. Thrice
he fled, told the cops--and they took him back."
Whoa. 3000 years, and still Circe, Lotos-men,

and taverna Cyclopes try Edysseus to pen!
Explains the mystery of Ed. He's always been
Touchy with cops, and volatile, I knew.
Law's just prisonguards to him--
injustice in wine-deep blue.

Sketch of a dream by Wayan: my friend Ed is forced to wash dishes on Crete.
Sketch of a dream by Wayan: my old music classmate Marie with her guitar. In the dream she's a brunette. Perched on the next desk: Marie. A few years back
we both took advanced music. Small, neat,
brilliant as a cat. Blonde then, now brunette--
surprising, but ink looks good on her. Back then
I was so shy--considered her above me--but now

over the drums we talk free. She smiles "In that class
you seemed indifferent, ringed in a smoke-glass
wall. But some of us eventually figured out that's
not true; shy but not indifferent at all."
Wait, the girls in class talked about me? I feel

heartened--they cared! I blush, upset
that I came across as cold, when I adore
Marie so much--hell, longed so long for her.
I say "Well, I grew up still more isolated,
abused by elders and batteréd,

than ever Ed. Whenever I raised that wall
'twas courtesy: can't push ugly me on you.
And even moments with you, well...
it's too good to be true. Hell,
overwhelming. I feel shy still."

Marie! From balls to soul, I feel again her pull,
though confessing my dark childhood will
likely lighthouse her off. But to me she's frank
so I owe Marie the facts, not tact.
I woke sure only of this: "Tell truth exact."

NOTES IN THE MORNING

LISTS AND LINKS: ships - slavery - bars, taverns, clubs - cops - healing from abuse - Crete - music and musicians - perseverance and mastery - puns - romantic advice - career advice - more writing-class dreams: frank advice in Writing Class, cops and craziness in The Bell Curve, psychic prediction in Hot Pot Cat Lot - the Dreamverse project - the next Dreamverse: Ferrygoat

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