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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 911
I never have sex dreams, so this was a bit of an oddity...
That the Landlord's wife had come by my place, not my place, another place, a place with different rooms, old rooms, old furniture. And she got naked in a hurry with a "don't tell my husband" and then in came a small child, maybe 10 years old, and he was looking for her or me and finally walked into a room where she was naked and trying to hide, and he sees her, and we're left hoping he doesn't talk...
...I'm at a party, with my daughter, maybe not a party, an auditorium, seats going down, dim theatre lighting - down - down, and where there should be a stage there's a wall, the aisle goes through columned entry ways and then down towards a stage that we can't see...halfway in the archway there are some girls, local, one, dressed in some sort of knit or crocheted onesie, bending over, and the knit thong is swinging aside to reveal her gaping ass, her furry twat, and I jab the daughter and tell her to look before I know what's going on, and her face is looking back through a knit ski mask, leering at me, inviting, her lips and eyes like roughly drawn gashes, mobile, sensual, ...
A short red-haired girl, now in civilian clothes, cute, fiery, I recognize, a local barista, is telling me it was her in the onesie, only she was told by the landlord's wife to knock it off, that she was trying to seduce me, and she's prettier now, less grotesque, that I can see her face...
There are parties at Ainsworth, Kaslo, and I'm supposed to be attending them all, but I'm just leaving the one in Kaslo, in the street, the sun is coming up, and I remember nothing about any of the parties, a big guy is standing beside me telling me I was drunk, I don't remember a thing...
(**Weird. I seldom have sexual dreams, the landlord's wife is pleasant, but not - to me - a sexual object, and so these are peculiar symbols for a whole lot of something else going on that I have to figure out...)
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 956
A beautiful estate in the country, high, narrow building, and I'm adding another wing, perhaps 3 stories, I'm telling the kids that my stories sold, we're set, and there's a big truck there filled with insulation to be installed and I'm suddenly possessed to check my bank account, just want to make sure I'm not running low...
Through the trees to a creek, shallow, and follow that down to where it meets another creek, and the neighbors, they've told me, I need to plant plum trees, they will overhang the creek with long, deep red fronds and guide the Kokanee salmon up my own little creek to spawn, I'm planting the seeds, gelatinous, big, red, in the creek bed along the bank, in the middle of the main creek I see some trash, an antique gas pump, and hauling it out - it's in good condition - the neighbor looks at it and says that maybe that's why the Kokanee haven't been coming up here to spawn, and I'm looking at the rocks in the creek, the pebbles, making sure they're small enough...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 900
I'm back at University (dark, dimly lit, rows of lockers, bathrooms, swimming pools hidden behind locker rooms and closed doors, an imaginary place in my dream with no real world equivalent) - with my son, he's helping me to clean up some things that I've forgotten here, and we're going to all the places I used to hang out, to the lockers, and there are papers and notebooks here, and into the parkade/student dormitory, and ask the students and get more papers, and from place to place (always inside, underground, dark) we're going and collecting my possessions, long overdue this, and all of my possessions seem to comprise only notebooks and papers...
...behind a couple of old wood doors there's a locker room, and through this a darkly lit swimming pool...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 937
It's not her house at all, not even a little bit, and I don't know why I think it is. She's not there. It must be the mess, there's a half eaten banana on the floor, one of her pets doubtless, and a bunch of half-eaten snails on the floor, dropping right there onto the wood in front of me, while I'm watching, and I'm thinking it's maybe her cat or her hedgehog, not her hedgehog, her daughters, do hedgehogs eat snails? And it's strange, it's not so messy, there's very little furniture, mostly floor, and the lighting, it's the yellow light of memory...
I go to the bathroom, small, dingy, lit in cigarette tones of yellowed nicotine, ...
Back into the living room, post-war wooden flooring, long rooms, bigger than a bungalow, not her place at all...
...back into the bathroom, it's changed, now there's a double wide chest to floor crazed porcelain urinal, still the same yellow light of childhood, memory, behind me there are a couple of doors that lead into bedrooms, one of them might be mine, old paint walls, wooden doors, I know this place from another dream...
I go out into the backyard. It must be spring or fall, the trees and grass are all still brown...There are neighbors, they're having a BBQ, a bunch of them standing around in the yard, and so I walk into it, there's all sorts of stuff there, looks like a garage sale, I poke through the stuff, trying not to poke through, not to be intrusive, it might not be a garage sale after all, mostly old 70s junk anyways, nothing good, ...
...out the back of their yard, and I'm on the banks of Kootenay Lake, only here it's a river, it's high or it's low, raging, there's an island just a dozen or so yards offshore, I want to get to it, but the lake, the river, its waves are higher than the banks, 5 feet, deep blue, green, there's no way I can swim or wade across...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
- Hits: 1014
There is a strange connectedness between the places in my dreams that is almost the same as the places in my waking, in my dreams I remember places that are not the places I've been to, I remember them differently, more through emotion, or the deformations of ripples in a pond, as if seeing the place again in wavy and broken reflections, there are pieces of these places that are the same, and I know my routes through them, walking through I remember, and remember again their place in a previous dream, a dream I won't recall when I've awoken, only the familiar, haunting sense of having been there before.
My dreams are a maze, a labyrinth, but there is a congruency, a map that can be drawn through them if you return there enough, and if I could figure it out well enough a correlation of places, a symbolscape that intertwines and weaves metaphor with memory, London-Not-London, Edmonton-Not-Edmonton, Calgary-Not-Calgary, and as of late now Nelson-Not-Nelson. I need to begin drawing these, putting them together, assembling the puzzle, and naturally I think of maps, but maps, they are static, maps to these places are fluid, they are never complete, they fit like a jigsaw only in dreaming and I can't always find my way...