an excuse for dreaming

being home with the flu the past few days, i thought i'd be able to catch up on some work but ended up too sick and listless to move instead. first i lamented over the waste of time with my many pending deadlines and felt guilty for lying there...but i got the gift of watching the sky as the fog rolled over the city from the ocean and pushed out the sun, and then the colors and movement as day moved into dusk. what resulted was something i rarely allow myself: time to think. no, rather: time to dream. i forgot how much this is part of the creative process.

~

otherworld grandfather

feeble. his arm hurts. being ignored by everyone else. sharp pain of the loss and love for him, because i have a lucid knowing that he's dead already and it's only a dream. old decoration of living room in childhood: dark wood, rust-colored sofa. he is visiting our house. sitting on the corner square by the fireplace. i bring him some fruit. i say apple, plum, peach? he says all. i slice them up-- vivid. again that gutting hurt of knowing it's too late to show him my love. an urgent feeling then of knowing the dream is fleeting and wanting to see him one more time. he doesn't really see me, though. is wandering the house.

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another dream, notes

throat excised by lion. my own siphonage of blood in watered down glasses, to keep him satiated; though he claims to be my friend and protector.

explore.

~