World Dream Bank
add a dream -
art gallery -
dreamed 2008/10/3 by Wayan.
My sister Althea comes by to play me a new song, telling a dream of making love in a cherry bin at a roadside fruit stand. Wow, life really IS a bowl of cherries! Other listeners just said it's "nice" and found it forgettable. I think the song is sexy, funny, vivid--it's her even, drifty, dreamy singing that's the problem, so I suggest a more matter-of-fact voice, and starting with Verse 2 where the action begins, and build to the, ahem, climax. I ask her to send me the lyrics and/or a recording; I want to put this on the World Dream Bank. Just too funny.
That evening: insomnia. All that green tea at dinner, I guess. I thrash around in pillows. Get turned on, but don't come--feel strangely dehydrated despite all that tea. Oh. Low fever. Probably been losing water all day--never a sweat, just steady evaporation... Take aspirin. Still hot, achy, can't sleep.
So I get up and scan photos of Yeats and Maud Gonne, and his poem about a dream she had that they were enslaved siblings in a past life. Her dream makes as much sense as any other explanation I've seen for their bizarre loves and lives... At last, exhausted, I stagger to bed again and finally sleep.
A great library. Stone stories.
Round lightwells where we love to lean
on hardwood arcs of rail
and watch the heads swim far below:
Koi in a literate pail.
Though in dark side-rooms
reserved for briefings airless,
crime-fighting agents slinkily convene
to mutter and stare at secrets
I'm one! We track the saboteurs
who plant the little disk-bombs.
The trainees of our task-force
peruse a captured coin-trove
big as silver dollars, but blank.
Dial one up, and you can maim
a man, or crack a bank.
Worse yet: lose a disk,
and innocents think
it's change--and pick it up!
They're prey for stray
Radio waves. And really are
even our crippled samples safe?
Our lanky mentor queries
"Agents! What do you each propose?"
But during discussion, my unease
grows and grows and grows!
I fear a spy among us.
We're all spies here; I mean saboteur.
That new girl I admire--
ironic eyes and seal-sleek hair.
I think she's a secret double,
here to regain the bombs. So
I snatch them up and run! Where
can I disarm (or deny her
at least) the coins before
a phonecall blows us all to rubble?
The sky-wide lightwells lure,
but if I toss a silver shower
the folk below will snatch at change
--my treacherous largesse--
only to learn in fire and pain
explosive change is trouble.
Two blue eyes on the back lawn!
One long, pale, laned and swimmered,
one small, deep and diverless,
ideal for dousing death. A luminous
four-meter bluesunk cube.
Splash! I coin a wish:
"May all bombs bathe."
Now they're a sea-floor hoard:
drops of sky-silver wink and flirt
from cerulean bottombeach
in fishnets of ripple-light.
We jump in after, but clothes buoy,
balloon into huge air-jellyfish
tugging us back up.
Curse the bubbles, strip, tear,
rip to rags, dive bare
down till skin frog-mottles, pales.
Wrestle, wriggle like partisan eels.
How sleek she feels in fight!
Our limbs in moray knots
athrash. Yet she nor I
the trove can reach. Not
tangled tight in counterspy.
This girl's slippery, octopus hot!
I love her, skin and sin. We tongue
and fingers in, and soon
I mount my roaring seal-girl on
the terrace lawn. All gasp and moan.
She howls "I can't do this, your
boys will come and take me." I
say "I know, love. Run;
I'll stall them. Please, for me,
try not to kill anyone?
Why not ask your bosses to rob
all those bailed-out bankers next?
Sutton said "It's where the money is."
Plus you'd be folk heroes--
we all hate them too, God knows."
She laughs "Okay!" and antelopes
away. So golden-thighed. And I
suppress an urge to cry
I loved my rival spy.
I wanted more than blues with her.
I woke up wondering why, why
this dream. What to infer?
NOTES IN THE MORNING
- Various floors: spiritual planes! We meet in an class upstairs (astral plane?), wrestle in a pool of dreams (collective unconscious?), fuck on the physical plane. Which all echoes Yeats and Maud Gonne's dream-experiments, political struggles and messy sex lives...
- Explosive disks: four recent nightmares I've been unable to write as Dreamverses. Explosive material, but I don't understand their warnings. (NOTE A YEAR LATER: here's one of the four: My Mother's Closet)
- Change: a running pun in my dreams. Small change(s), buried change, accruing change... and here, explosively lethal change.
- Don't toss change down a lightwell, may harm readers: don't toss nightmares onto the net without understanding them!
- Change is unsafe in a dry library, but a pool defuses it: I'm dehydrated. Drink not think!
- Spies, lovers, political games: WB Yeats and Maud Gonne in Irish revolutionary politics.
- Attractive enemy: maybe my ex-girlfriend Cheryl (she certainly thinks so). But we broke up months ago; what current ambivalence does the dream point at?
- Sex by pool: an answer to Althea's dream-song! Life isn't a bowl of cherries, not for me: it's a pool of explosive change! Hints I'll only find love outside conventionalism.
- Hmmm. Is this an astral tryst with...
- A side of my ex I like? Am I asking this side to intercede with the side that blasted apart our friendship? Or am I...
- Befriending a side of me I thought was only a saboteur making me sick? Not sure.
- Her crime-bosses, violence for gain: maybe Cheryl's tough businesslike side, which I see as grim ruthless paranoid. But then I haven't had a lucrative job in years. Maybe I'm soft.
- Rob those bailed-out bankers: friends of mine argue "Don't bail out crashing banks." My dreams seem to go further: tax the fat cats till we regain the billions they stole.
- Sutton said: Willie Sutton, bankrobber, was supposedly asked "Why banks? They're so well defended!" and answered "That's where the money is."
- ACTIONS: Drink fluids, it soothes these sudden inflammations. And give myself time to tackle those nightmares--I've been busy and driven. Picking up small change is good, but bigger change can be... explosive.
- This is Dreamverse #32. I'm resuming after a week of illness. Cautiously. We'll see...
So we did. The next day I had a violent flare-up, the sickest I've been in months. Boom!
LISTS AND LINKS:
my sister Althea -
dream puns -
capitalism and business -
sex dreams -
creative process -
dream poetry - I've written up one of those four nightmares now:
My Mother's Closet - the
Dreamverse project - the next Dreamverse:
My Poetic License
World Dream Bank homepage - Art gallery - New stuff - Introductory sampler, best dreams, best art - On dreamwork - Books
Indexes: Subject - Author - Date - Names - Places - Art media/styles
Titles: A - B - C - D - E - F - G - H - IJ - KL - M - NO - PQ - R - Sa-Sh - Si-Sz - T - UV - WXYZ
Email: email@example.com - Catalog of art, books, CDs - Behind the Curtain: FAQs, bio, site map - Kindred sites