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Eskimo

you walk on the edge
of the frozen abyss
you threaten to leap
into shadows of mist
you smile & you say
you created the moon
i watch your reflection
in the back of a spoon

you press your face on
the glass of the window
the chill is enchanted
by the glare of the snow
i smile when you say
you created the moon
you look at your face
in the back of a spoon

i scribble a note
when you trip & you fall
you dance in a tomb
& i freeze when you call
you smile & you say
you created the moon
your spine becomes curved
like the back of a spoon

A Fine Romance

torn paper, damp & grey
all stormy in the underworld i think of every night
wishing washes washed up waffle
kissing in the catacombs
symphony in blue
symphony in blue
this mask i wear is ever true
& slipshod shafted after all
all in all in all in all
romance for the little fool
wrote a letter
never sent it
never stamped his heart of his sleeve
ever lost in barcelona
ever lost in flowers & frigid
across the seas
across the seas
kissing in the catacombs
torn up by tornado
day in, day out
a cartoon coughed up cry of despair
it’s so unfair
symphony in blue
symphony in blue
salamander casts a look at stormy stormy seas
go to sleep on waves of chilled asunder
broke up a cracked out smackdown pillow
underneath the eiderdown
across the seas
across the seas
all snowy torn apart torn paper
drowning down the catacombs
lost within, lost without
little fool picks out a pocket
pestilence of pepper
running hot & cold & whistling dixie
again at midnight
wrote a note
never dreamt it
never forever
never again & again & again
all chatterboxed in to have & to hold
it’s so unfair
symphony in blue
flower & drum
this mouth i wear is ever dumb
drifting in the catacombs
with nothing left but
letters

The Trouble With Dreaming

I dislike most dream sequences in fiction (novels and short stories, TV shows, movies, comics, etc). I feel like very few people get them right, and that includes myself when I’ve written them in stories. Unless my own dreams are significantly different from other people’s dreams (which I doubt–I’m special, but not that special), most dream sequences are nothing like real dreams, to the point where I find them jarring and painful to read or watch.

First of all, dreams don’t begin. As they say in the movie Inception (which does get a lot about dreams right, even if the actual dream sequences never really feel like dreams to me), “You never really remember the beginning of a dream do you? You always wind up right in the middle of what’s going on.” I could never tell you when a dream of mine begins, there just seems to be stuff happening, and I’m in the middle of it. My dreams don’t usually end either, unless I wake up. They transition into other dreams or they just kind of fade away like a pop song.

Dreams aren’t weird, except they are. All too often, I read or watch a dream sequence where the dreamer is confused by the dream’s differences from reality and the dreamer is some sort of advocate for reality, like Alice’s reactions to the oddness of Wonderland. But to quote Inception again, “Well dreams, they feel real while we’re in them, right? It’s only when we wake up that we realize how things are actually strange.” Last night, I had a dream where I was a college student, involved in playing a tabletop game that used a huge, elaborate board and big polyhedral dice. I didn’t understand the rules of the game and I complained about it to the other players. But I wasn’t at all confused about being a college student at a university with a large, Gothic common room and dorm rooms that were like hospital rooms with no doors. In the dream, it all seemed perfectly natural, to the point where not knowing the rules of the game was stranger than if I’d automatically known them. And in dreams, I usually just know things and take them for granted. I know I’m a college student (even though it’s been almost 10 years since I was last in school in real life). I know which dorm room is mine. I know which study carrel is mine. I know the desktop computer in the dorm room is mine and I know the laptop in the carrel is also mine. I know which room is the common room, I know I’m playing a game (even if I don’t know all of the rules) and I know the other players, even if none of them are people I know in real life. While things may be frustrating in dreams (and they frequently are in mine), none of it seems the least bit weird…until I wake up and think back on the dream.

Dreams change constantly and they aren’t linear. In my dreams, geography is always shifting. The path I took to get from my dorm room to the common room was not the same as the path I took to get from the common room to my dorm room. The dorm room I left was not always the dorm room I went back to, but it was the same room. The game I played in the common room was a big part of the dream, but it wasn’t the only big part–lots of things happened in the dream. People in my dreams change from one person to another, sometimes while I’m talking to them. Sometimes I’m not myself in a dream, sometimes I am, sometimes I’m both myself-as-the-audience and someone else-as-the-main-character at the same time. Time will pass slowly, time will pass quickly, things will happen out of order, emotions will change instantly. And often, places that I know of in real life will be drastically different in a dream, but in the dream, I know it to be that real life place. And again, none of this seems at all weird in the dream. It is what it is…until I wake up and think back on it.

The problem I have with most fictional dream sequences is that they aren’t nearly as weird real dreams, yet they’re portrayed as weird to the dreamer (and the reader). Maybe that makes sense, in that dreams are surreal (literally), but that’s the reason true Surrealist fiction isn’t all that popular. Most people want stories that make sense, and real dreams rarely make much sense. For me, that’s what makes dreams so interesting and affecting. Having a dream sequence that is a weird, confusing situation for the dreamer that directly and obviously presents them with important story information is…well, I was going to say “unrealistic,” but stories are unrealistic by nature (because reality makes shitty stories), so that’s not it. It’s…boring. It’s a dull, trite way to impart important story information to a character and it’s a poor attempt to give a story a strange atmosphere. Basically, if your dream sequence isn’t massively stranger than the “real life” in your story, I hate your dream sequence.

(That being said, there are some dream sequences in stories that aren’t at all as weird as real dreams but I still like them in the context of the story. What can I say? I’m inconsistent–like a dream.)

The Courgette Waltz

as quick as cauliflower in
the eye of a comet before
a meeting of the parliament of shadows
moondrunk & sparkled with
the opals of a distant galaxy

dancing on a bridge of crows
my teeth in a sling
demonstrating fire
with a flowering hand in
the last important railway station

as ivory & iron making
a forest out of fur
missed by a miniscule
mistletoe in the slippery mist

before my first discovery
of mr. bumbershoot’s third house
nobody ever knew about
the parliament of shadows meeting
in secrecy

a lion in the wintry tomb
sleeping amongst the ivy
midnight white
streaking through night on
the winds of candledust seeds
as fast as a pharaoh
in the eye of a comet

Memories of Irresistible Toys

& if you think about it
the meaning of

a poem nailed to a door with
an umbrella
a sewing machine
a fire extinguisher
puppet strings & tattoo ink
loneliness & memories
mirrorballs & cattle prods

for a hint of mint
& a spot
of honey
going at it hammer & tongues
an explosion of
news & entertainment
& a pocketful of needles

& if you think about it
the meaning of

a small town nailed to a church
to burn all the witches
& drown all the lawyers
& sing sad songs to the stars

& if you think about it
it all falls into the mirrors
& your world disappears

Sonnet for Everyone

an explosion of fire-flowers bursting
through the midnight — & the glass
& the sky are dueling
with a frosty edge

vagabond stars & aging gods dance
beneath the whispering clouds
that pass in eloquence like
a squirrel on velvet

& the moon queen is my secret wife
my oldest love
my snowfall heart

in the indigo circle of dawn
the dogs are dreaming of
the rabbits of night
& there is no rain — there is
no umbrella shroud

never to be lost in the street of forests

& the moon queen is my secret love
my drunken dame
my oh so frozen heart

for now is the time
(as time can be counted)
for my cold blood
to thaw & race through my veins
like whiskey