When I was a kid I used to go camping with my family at this place called The Wolf’s Den. I was convinced that there was a cemetery either on the grounds or just beyond them. After all, I was seasonal friends with an albino kid who also camped there every summer, so why wouldn’t there be a cemetery. It was New England after all.
The albino kind, whose name was Ryan, and I had a lot in common. We both liked to stay in the shade while we were camping and supposed to be being all outdoors. Him, out of necessity and me because the sun made it hard for me to read Lord of the Rings for the fourth time. I just thought that we were both kind of dorky, I willfully ignored the fact that all Ryan talked about was being on the junior high basketball team and how he would be schooling those kids on the court if only it had some shade. I wanted to believe that he liked be-dorked and be-speckled me, but he was just a bored jock who was glad to have some to talk to.
I thought that there was this cemetery in the woods behind the campground for years after we stopped bringing our pop-up camper there. It had a high wall that people would practice shooting off, there were remnants of broken pottery and old bottles littering the grounds. The monuments were early 1800′s old and had the lichen growth on them to prove it. I loved and hated going there. It was quiet and peaceful but also a creepy reminder that you will be forgotten.
Turns out, that cemetery is not real. I must have had this reoccurring dream when we went camping at The Wolf’s Den that over the years my brain had turned into a real memory. I suppose as any kind whose family didn’t get them, I needed a respite and my brain made one for me. I went back as an adult and walked the grounds and the woods around it searching for the path and the wire fence that we would duck under to get to it. All I found was old growth forrest and bucolic meadows. There was no cemetery, no wall, no ceramic remnants. It really was just a dream. And I was pissed that reality just made a cliche reality.
Posted in written
Tagged dreams, lies
When an idea bubbles up, repeating in a daydream fantasy and then it seeps into your night dreams, you don’t ignore the message. You can’t ignore the message. I was trying to place it, to figure out what has jogged this sudden urge for bone, gristle and strength and exposure.
My brand new obsession of creating rigid armatures is a direct response to the shock of my father losing his mobility to the smallest of culprits. The inability see inside or really feel what is going on in our bodies, the dearth of communication between body and mind, the mystery that still exists despite all our science, has lead me to feel like extending and exposing and reinforcing the body. The shock of the mortal has shaken my search for meaning directly back to the place where it should originate from, the physical form that is so strong and so vulnerable.
This idea is still ungrounded, amorphous; awaiting nurture and work. As I go through the process of creating these pieces, I will post writings and images. Hopefully a real meaning will emerge.
Posted in art
Tagged dreams, inspiration
State Hospital Interior – Ed Kienholz, 1966
Before I left to go home, before I had to face the depression that has settled over my family, I had profuse and troubling dreams. Nights on night, I woke in a sweat. My shirt so wet I had to change it. My anxiety trying to bleed out through my pores.
One of these dreams had me in a dirty, monastic chamber with no decorations save the condensation rivulets carved into the caked dust on the walls. I was dying of AIDS, so weak I could not even turn myself from that filthy wall. So thirsty, but without the strength to drink and I was completely alone. There was only the dim hum of the oxygen machine, the only medical equipment in the room.
I woke up, shaking, wet, warm and so thankful that I could get up out of bed and quench my thirst.
It’s World AIDS Day today. I could barely think about this dream or articulate it last week, but today I want to have those who are suffering, waiting for the vaccine, for access to drugs and just hoping for some comfort in my heart and thoughts.
Posted in written
Tagged dreams, esp, lies
My cat has been unreasonably whiny since we relocated to our new and much larger place. I figured that she would get over crying for hours every morning at the door or at me in the shower, cooking, sleeping. But it’s been months and she is still crying. Ever the mournful cat, howling at the door to horrible freedom. Doesn’t she know, nothing but failed expectations lie behind that door?
What could possibly be troubling my cat? Is the shock of the new? The odor of the neighboring feline? Or something more sinister?
I’ve been troubled by dreams this week. Some full of familiar faces in strange situations. But the most troubling was a lucid dream I had about the presence Viktor. I knew that I was dreaming because I was sleeping on my back. I never sleep on my back. Ever. I could feel the cold descend on my arms and the goose hairs rise up, as Viktor settled down to “communicate” with me. Of course he wanted me to accomplish a task for him that he could not complete in life and even less so in death.
Then he moved down the bed and put pressure on my legs. The bed covers went taut and I could not move my legs. I knew I was dreaming. I knew it, despite how realistic everything in my room was down to the exact daylight.
“Look Viktor, if you want me to do anything for you, you are going to have to leave me the fuck alone while I am asleep or even just at home. I don’t want any of this ‘ghostly’ bullshit.”
The pressure released from my legs. I got up, put on my bathrobe and calmly walked out of my room.
So, could Viktor be bothering my cat in lieu of troubling me directly? I doubt the reality of that situation, but it makes more sense than the constant pain my cat seems to be in now that we are living in a veritable lap of luxury from our small Chinatown studio.
waking from a nap. i had had a strange and terrible dream. my right breast broke the membrane and part of the breast seeped down to almost create another breast. i tried to put it back in. force it back into the broken membrane and smooth it up along my ribs, but as i was doing so, the nipple split. I had two breasts. I tried to put on my bra to force the two back together, but then it split again. as i woke, in my dream state, i had four breasts. i was beginning to panic.
Posted in random
Tagged dreams, esp, written