- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 181
Still sick, fever, chills, congestion, general exhaustion. I've decided head & chest flu, sans vomiting or diarrhea, aching muscles, stiffness, back...
Not the worst I've been by a long shot, but the dreams!!
I can't even describe them. Beyond the pale of description, no visuals, merely cryptic glimpses into places beyond the reach of imagery, words, sensory experience, that would make me think that I've crossed into another dimension, I can make no sense of them, eldritch horrors, indescribably abstract spaces off of the map of human experience, no imagery, people, sense, sheets a knot of sweat made into a rope that I must climb to wake up, find something to drink, go back to bed...
It will pass, but man-oh-man...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 167
Everywhere they're pitching this stuff, advertising, at the stores, it's all you can get, there's nothing else...
And I'm in a room trying to explain to a group of men - business men, from the looks of it, their age, their suits, don't they know what this stuff is? Did none of them ever see the movie with Charleton Heston? I mean, I never did but I know the gist of it...
They didn't, don't know, don't care....and I wonder if anyone will remember the taste of fresh fruit and vegetables...
***
Next dream, waiting on a ferry. Not the local ferry, one I've never been on, half hour crossing each way, I'm waiting both for my daughter and I have a date, prospects, not sure how this is going to work out, the pains of being a single father...
The Ferry arrives and I see someone on the shore, she's looking to the ferry as well although I suspect she's waiting for me, looking out, looking exactly as she did so long ago and she is not - not at all, who I was expecting...
****
Strange dreams, The second, the person - well, exactly that person, but why her? And no place in it I recognized, not home, not the ferry, strange dreams indeed...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 153
Last night, restless, in and out of sleep, the same dream continuing of Vampyres, falling back into it after every waking. I have never been so lucky with a pleasant sex dream...
That I'm charged with protecting a lithe, attractive older blonde (40's ish?) from a Vampyre...it's hunting us, her, I know her, she's a close personal friend (that I've never met in real life, don't know, but in the dream)...a post-apocalyptic landscape, this Vampyre wants her to bear his child, continue the race...
We're hiding and tattooing crosses on one another with oblique lines through them, Byzantine, yet still he hunts us and his numbers are growing...
...a tower of earth, an excavator falling against it, nudging it, I'm on it, friend operating it, I'm telling her to be careful not to knock it over, the holes on either side drop into oblivions...
...or in a room, doors all sealed against the threat outside, only now, there's not one Vampyre, they are legion...
(wake, rinse, repeat)
Now, looking at a museum of vampyres, all of whom are sealed in dioramas visible only through little portholes and periscopes, look into one and you see the skeleton of a fetus, a beaver, any manner of creature, when you look through the next porthole it has changed it's aspect, now it's teeth have grown into golden fangs and it's staring at you with luminous eyes...
And we're trying to escape but their numbers are growing and I can see no end to this...
(disconcerting, puzzling, although I have some ideas...)
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 357
A dream, largely forgotten, that I'm going through a pile of boxes, long, thin, pulling out packing paper and finding nothing.
Maybe I'm at the thrift shop?
Only in one box I find a sterling silver cleaning rod for my flute. And I'm thinking how useful is this, how beautiful, given how seldom I play but still I should have this, it's my unquenchable taste for fancy things.
(... Probably related to the fact I have to clean my apartment for the annual inspection, under a week to go, my flute, open upon my radiator, not played since last I played with it, littered with picture frames, untouched canvases, paper mache projects begun, paper shredded, folded, cut, but never completed...today should be the day to get a start on all of this...)
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 347
That I am at a hotel, resort, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. That someone I don't know has a child and she is off to some sort of bogus awards ceremony, there is another kid there as well...I don't know anyone here.
Someone brings me a diet coke, they must have shaken it because when I open it it fizzes and gets all over the carpet, more than was in the can, but I don't care...
I'm busy, making notes, I have a notepad but some of the pages have dark pictures & ink on them, my notes, they disappear into the ink, illegible, and then in places they are visible, writing into the darkness...
It doesn't matter. I'll make out what I was writing later.
I'm obsessed, I'm trying to remember a book I wanted to read, or maybe I had read a long time ago, a slim book, beautifully written, about two people. And I'm making notes of the title, I'd been unable to find it back then, but now, in the age of the internet, I should be able to find it, there would be no reason why I could not...only I can't remember the title and am trying to guess as to the plot, the events, and these notes are my attempts to recapture, remember it...I'm not having a lot of luck...
This resort in the middle of nowhere, mountains maybe, trees, it's getting dark outside.
It's time for the awards ceremony and I'm left with the child I don't know and so I concede, promise that we'll go as well, I'll be the good parent to this unknown waif, and we head outside to walk up to the building where it will be held.
South of us, great tornadoes are churning up the landscape, black funnels across a dark sky sweeping across the landscape...
Turning to watch I at first think it's a movie, then realize it's not, it's happening...
And turning back to the direction we're walking I see hundreds of tiny tornadoes, windstorms, whirlwinds making their way south through the rain, amongst us, beside the road, and as they get closer I see them briefly in color, they're the innumerable spirits of the dead, talking and walking, when they are close they faintly glimmer in color, I can see a Hawaiian Shirt, when they move away they again turn grey and disappear into the rain.
I'm filming this with my phone, incredulous...
Hastening up to the rest of the group to show them, ask breathlessly if they've seen what I have, the group now ignoring me, I turn and see to the side of the road an older kindly Mexican lady, she's sitting at a table, calling me over, only she can see me, and I understand but I'm not ready, I have to find that book...
(This dream woke me, disturbed me. It's exactly the dream I'd expect to have to prepare me for crossing over, and reminds me to get my affairs in order. The tornadoes, I'd spent the day watching F5 videos on YouTube - the storm warnings over Oklahoma, the Mexican Lady, perhaps from Malcolm Lowry's "Dark as the Grave wherein my Friend is Laid")