Thursday, December 16, 2010

A Far Away City

Outside the city of brown sandstone were caves by the edge of the road. They stood like glacier-dropped erratics. The outside of one was black and starting to become seeded with small trees. Entering a cup in the stone, I could see a wider entrance and green blinking across the light further down. Going thru some sumacs along the width I went in.

The narrow passage opened up to a large disc of a space, the shape of tortilla warming dish. The floors were all fired clay, man-man insert into the stone. There was a spiral gutter that led to a drain in the center. Ancients came here to do the washing of their holy clothes. A rare find to happen upon this. I could imagine the people stooped here, battering their colored cloths, wringing. The air felt fresh as rain starting to fall. There were air routes thru here although it was dim.

I went out by a crevice, squeezing thru. The eyes shocked to the brighter light and wider palette of colors. The blues and yellows and greens seemed super-saturated in contrast. A river ran past.

I went to the waterside grasses over the mix of rough river stone and scratchy gravel. A spray of commotion came from the water as something surfaced like a porpoise. It was a chicken with a thick rat's tail instead of its own feathers. It burst like a quail from the dark water. I pulled my camera to catch the image and as I moved forward there was a clawing up my right leg. It was a snake curling up using its teeth like grappling hooks into my jeans. I shook it off to the ground.

I returned to this city. It was in gothic shadows. People bustled with a sort of hush. I was living here. I was boarding. In the market I overheard conversations. Everyone was a dream creation except S. Everyone had magic but it was a religious government so a denial of magic. Even when something unexplained happened, it never happened. 

People with the strongest gifts believed they were mad and were contritely grieving over their delusions. There was a quiet movement of people who were tired of being denounced and skeptical of unlikely tales of the fundamentalist set. S was one I suspected and with the curiosity she looked at me with, catching some unguarded expression — when a person was dressed down in the square for saying they saw the page become animate and run and then turn back to a page — she suspected I was one of the insurgents.

One night a sealed clerestory window to my room opened and a branch of japanese maple flew around the room like a bird enchanted. It had a note attached. It flew down to my desk and tapped a branch tip for my attention and shuffled itself note-side under my nose. The next morning i set off before dawn. 

I walked thru the back lanes. A transitway was ahead. I could take the transit but seeing the movement of strangets instead went on foot, going thru a hole in chain link, thru a copse of trees with few leaves but many fine branches.  

After all the desolate hard packed soil and concrete and barely surviving grass there was an open vista past the shielding trees. 

At the river there was red coral on the flat river stone. By a dug out of shale one disattached like a pink parachute lifting, a red jellyfish puffing up over the surface, then reattaching further down the current as coral. 

I leaned over the water and another coral puffed. I got my camera and aimed at a near shore coral. My hand stung. There was a purple and white ring of a welt on my middle finger. I retreated from the water. Take no evidences of what you saw. Be. But I looked at my hand. Was not this an evidence of something?

Down the dirt road towards the green hills two travellers walking faster overtook me and i asked then about my finger. They in their dust brown robes fobbed off a convenient non-commital answer and hurried on, heads together in conversation.   

I woke and it was here and there was snow on the paved roads.

Monday, December 13, 2010


in a public bathroom with no stall doors, only open cubicles beside some toilet I realize after going that my thick roll of toilet paper is splattered.

I unroll and unroll and each sheet has a dried splotch formerly saturated by wet brownish. J. comes into the room, her reflection on the dingy mirror highlighting with her reflection how dirty and dingy the walls are are in contrast to her crisp oranges and purples.

she greets me with a perky cheer. she looks at my dilemma, sombrely nods and remarks "yes, you should be careful what eye you put up to your own". and then hands a bit of blue fleece rag to the man around the corner, shrugs as if her hands are tied, she brought one and it was for him. I continue unravelling the roll to find a clean spot.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Mom told me, in an offhand order, that she wouldn't be finished shopping in time for her to meet her guests at home so i would have to. I arrived at her house. Two dog walkers were cutting across her lawn, seemingly oblivious to each other or me. The one wirey-haired black dog kept pouncing the muzzle of the equally stumpy-legged left dog of the two on the leash of the other man. I told the dog to stop, not that it did. I saw the clothes had been taken off the line but not taken in. I looked up at the gathering rain clouds. I walked faster and and i stumbled over its leash. the had dog nipped across the path of my ankles to joust with the other dog again. A soynd in gravel behind.

A car pulled in behind. I went to grab the laundry and looked in. The house was a shambles. Did she mean me to go to fix this up or accept it and only greet the visitors, entertain until she came? The door was still propped open with the basket on my hip. I looked back. The black car door opened and a blur of a cat ran out, put on her air brakes at the sight of three dogs.

The cat's full tilt ran a zigzag as she looked for a new route. It dived for the open door and bounded stairs before hitting a low run. I could hear cat claws along the laminate flooring the scratching then a scramble and pops. I followed the cat in to see. she'd gone to the farthest reaches of the house, the bathtub on the far wall of the bathroom which was filled with yesterday's balloons and sprigs of rubber which had already caught her claws.

I started laughing too fast to breathe and leaned against the door jamb. A couple people came in behind me and i could only raise a limp arm ans point at the wide-eyed cat afraid to move with balloons to either side and on top. Straightening her tremble at having her dignity laughed at she switched posture to trapped, miserable but glowering as if she were being covered in soap bubbles but would exact a revenge.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Bus in an Ice Storm

In a bus in the freezing rain, b and I the only passengers and night getting more slippery. The rain the day before had eaten away most of the ice but as we travelled highway, suburb and city the ice thickened. We couldn't stop for intersections and neither could anyone else. An ice-encrusted truck, navy with a light blue thin stripe was in the ditch, back wheels still on the shoulder facing he direction of traffic. It's roof was rimed, the side panels gradually icing in. Our driver held middle course so we'd be less likely to hit the ditch. I urged him to pull over and he said that was the plan but he'd need a safe place where we didn't get hit and where we could control the turn.

The landscape was becoming glittering. Passing traffic lights Shon like neon from every surface. There was a gas station. Slow as he turned he slid sideways to the other lane and inches with little traction to the second of the two driveways. It was just inside the gearly empty parking lot, not in danger of colliding with anyone.

We jumped out as soon as it stopped moving. There was a phone booth near us near the road. I said I have to call my patens so they don't worry and assume we're dead. B said they likely don't have power anyway. I tottered my way to an enclosed phone booth, broke open the sheet of ice from the door. B put money in but it was jammed. We kept trying to feed it the three quarters it needed and a woman walking by in the freezing mist ducked out from under her umbrella and into the humidity of the phone booth. She said, that one won't work. There's a seven cent one in the station. She pointed with her head to the blaze of lights over the petroleum bar. B. Tried feeding another quarter in the slapped the side as he pulled the return money lever. The change fell from the bottom along with a newspaper, a glossy junk mail flyer and between them, a crumpled $50 and $20 bill. But that isn't...I said to myself. B didn't seem to notice the cash.

All good, the woman asked, her having stepped back a couple paces under her black umbrella. She gestured with her head again and moved towards the station proper. B was collecting his thoughts. I tucked the package under my arm. We began to hobble towards the bright. It was excruciatingly slow. my back was tight and feeling pressured from all the balancing.

Inside the convenience store I asked about the phone. He gestured a thumb backwards towards the road we'd come from. I quickly said that that one was jammed and a lady had said there was another up here. He looked disgruntled and reversed the jab of his thumb. There were a few plywood cream risers against the far wall leading up to what appeared to be a PA system speaker and an antique phone mouthpiece.

Going up the steps and picking up the phone I said hello? A crackley voice said, this is the seven cent phone. There's another phone by the highway. It's jammed I said. The phone said nothing then said, alright then, what number are you trying to reach. I ticked out the number, proud I could remember it so readily, then repeated it again slower in 3 chunks so the PA phone could catch it. I heard a flipping of pages. That's the __ residence he said, naming both my parents, the house of snakes? What a peculiar way to be listed in a directory I thought to myself. Well, is it that? Prompted the phone. Oh, I'd said nothing. That's the right number I added hastily.

Dialing, the phone said. Outside the sounds were changing. A strong wind was blowing againsts the metal siding in gusts that flexed the sheets of ice off with a clatter and the sheets of metal flexed. There was pure rain now, eating away at the ice in a torrential downpour that caused a river of rushing water to be heard.

Dialing the phone said and it was ringing. 3rd ring and I woke.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

fruit tree

the tree was large, large as an orange tree in pictures I've seen. there were young ones too, shrubs seeded out from the yard along the green ditches. the fruit had the crispness of a green grape, hung in clusters like grapes, the taste much like a starfruit, but orange-colored as a ground cherry and shaped large as a pineapple. I was eating them out of hand, plucked fast as wild raspberries. perhaps it was ground cherries my brain was reaching for, having only tasted them ripe a couple times.

Monday, October 11, 2010


He shows up at my house, unexpectedly. I haven't seen him in months and he kisses my neck. You, he says. He closes his hand around my neck and we're lifted off the ground, moving backwards through this dungeon of a house in red and black, I'm moving backwards and him forward, at high speed, there is a rush, a killer kilter break-neck. The speed kicks up a strong wind and my hair flies wicked and his hand is still on my neck, though there's no pressure, he's only holding me there and we're flying backward and he kisses the base of my neck and says: "You know this will never stop. Ever. We're stuck like this."

The red and black house blurring faster faster faster my heart uneven but strangely happy, desperate horrible lurching happiness and want but when we come to rest against a red wall and everything is gentle and quiet, I'm afraid. A blur of headlights pour into the house and an entire contigent of People We Don't Want To See are outside and I won't let them in, I refuse to let them into my house to see the red and black that's everywhere, the disconcerting angles of all the walls, the things that no one should see, I protect myself and him and the house, only I'm not sure why. I feel a sense of horror and shame. I've been caught and it's been a long time coming.

I fight tooth and nail to keep the door closed. I threaten to set the house on fire. I wake relieved when I realize thatI'm in a bed, one that's not even my own and that no one is trying to see inside my house.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Short Cut

I was to give the eulogy. I hadn't worked it out, written it out, dealt with it at all. Time was ticking down until I had to deliver the address at the basilica before hundreds. I knew there'd be line ups. The former priest was well-loved. I wanted to spread the word that he was passed so that he could be properly honored. I erected a large sign, made a larger one so it was propped in front of the entire front of the store a few blocks from there, where many of his parishioners went. A white sign with primary red Arial.

Time was closing. I tried to get to the basilica, but got disoriented. Cutting across a park the snow had melted around the rocks, benches and picnic tables so there were toadstools of snow. Everything was ice-covered, the low parts water-slick.

I realized there was a knot of drunk homeless people under a tree. I decided to go another way across the park, towards the south instead of straight west. I was slipping. My hands were getting cut and bleeding from the sharp edges of the ice-snow, when I broke thru the crust to catch myself. I wasn't sure anymore which way I should go because I was past half way across. Doubling back would take longer. I realized two of the homeless people were closing in from two sides. A short, middle-aged native woman from 2 o'clock position and a large man in a dark snowmobile parka from 7 o'clock. It might not be about me but my gut says it was. The others were watching from under the tree, their loud conversations dropped, eyes raised.

I pictured the two pulling me down into a low spot beneath the high ice drifts, invisible, robbing me, raping me. I started to slip more. They met eyes across the space in front of me. She looked at him and he nodded as if, this is something we have to do. He moved towards me quickly and as quickly as he could grab my arm, he threw me over his shoulder. He held me by the back of my knees, my face hung down over his back. I reinterpreted their look at me, saw myself thru their eyes as being obviously bumbling. They had to help, not had to hurt.

He carried me out of the park to the dry sidewalk. He set me down. She was at his side. Both of their boozy breaths puffing in my face asking me if I knew where I wanted to get to and they were giving me instructions on how to get there. Her head was cocked with concern. She looked concerned still as I walked away but let me go.

Monday, September 13, 2010

the most incredible shade of purple & someone else's daughter

dream of two fragments.

1. At a hair salon getting my hair dyed (never dye my hair at a salon). they were aiming towards a black-brown (shade: ebony mocha). but they loosed my wet rinsed hair from the towel and it tumbled out in the most incredible cool bright shade of purple. almost leaning to lapis lazuli blue. loved it, beautiful and wilk, came past my shoulders.

2. A complex dream full of angst and complicated indivdual storylines. The only relevant strange, dreamt my friend W.'s daughter K. was my daughter. Didn't recognize her until I woke up. And one of the first times I've not dreamt my 'dream daughter', the child that I consistently dream who's always the same child, my child.

kittens and cats

In a funeral home, playing around the legs holding up the casket, 3 of our former cats (passed). In comes my aunt (looking 20 years younger) and releases a grey tabby, perhaps a month old, to play with the white kitten (from 18 or 19 year ago). They race around the room. The grey kitten comes and cuddles to me while the 3 others ignore me, being one languid cluster in the shadow of the coffin. The white kitten bats at the tail. Valderbar plots something inside her cocked head.

Aunt offers to trade her kitten for mine. I hesitate, reality breaking thru dream cloud and knowing it would be an unethical trade since when I wake, those cats will still be dead but this kitten that wriggles to the tummy rub I give it and that licks my hand must be alive. I take the trade and tuck the kitten into my coat for the walk thru slush streets home.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Vagrant in the Big City

I was living communally with half a dozen artist-types in NYC. One came in the dinged, dingy door past the scatter on the floor and said a quiet word to the woman in the kitchen who was pack-leader of sorts. He'd got word of a police round-up coming our way. We had to make tracks quickly, grab what we could carry, abandon the rest. We'd leave separately, some by fire escape, some by elevator, some by stairwell, scatter directions and meet elsewhere. The rapid-fire directions named sequences too fast and too many streets that I didn't know. The youngest female took me aside with earnest and hushed voice repeated the directions of where we'd meet. Although I'd nodded, I wasn't sure I could retain all that.

I grabbed what I could and stuffed it in the orange backpack. I looked back at the half empty book shelf and all I couldn't take. There was no coming back. Once police knew about us, it wouldn't be safe. I kicked myself for not carrying cash. If they knew we were here, they probably knew who we were and bank accounts wouldn't be accessible. We'd have to slip out of the city or off the radar with whatever we had on us.

Time passed and I was literally down a blind alley, completely disoriented and it was getting dark. I'd missed the time point for meeting. Now they'd be scouting a new abandoned place to crash.

Next morning my stomach was growling. I'd slept beside dumpsters in the rain. As I walked beside a cafe I overheard two cashiers. The young guy was saying that a sandwich was part of her pay and she had to eat it. She said she was sick of them and didn't care. Cash was useful. Sandwiches not so much.

I leaned over the iron railing and offered to come by everyday and look after her sandwich, half for me and half for me to take to my son. We were pretty low on cash. She agreed. This seemed manna from heaven.

Next scene I was in a cafe in a different corner of town. I was glad to get that reliable sandwich but I'd talked to someone who said he'd give me cash for shooting pictures of the band he got in. They were to start to play after supper. My chair was in the back of the band, against the storefront window. On the other side of the band were maybe 30 chairs. Not many people had arrive by 7 when they were warming up. I shot a few pictures from an angle that showed the thickest bit of crowd past the band but it made the band all silhouettes and there was the distracting corner of one red t-shirt.

It was hot in the room and getting late. I felt myself getting groggy but kept shooting. The next I knew I woke up and the band was gone and there were only 3 or 4 people except me. The owner and P. who came over and greeted me laughing, and saying, you must be really tired. He shook my shoulder. You slept most of the time between 7 and 11. He said, here, $5 for you for the show. That was really entertaining. It was a Canadian $5. He said, if you're ever in my town or need any help, come and I'll make a place for you. I nodded, not fully with it yet and he waved merrily out the door. $5 is fine but it'd never get me to his place and it's too far to walk.

I had a mental image of all those years of diaries on the shelf that I couldn't take with me. Looked out the window. Off he went in his taxi. I supposed I should see about getting paid. And then getting to somewhere covered for another night in this rain.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


In the closing scene, I was dealing out the cards to the 3 at the table, but both sides of the cards were white and blank.

Friday, September 3, 2010

closing scene

Bright sun, saturated colors. A coloring book with transfer stickers between the coarse cheap paper pages instead of the tracing paper I expected.

One page had the outline of the body -- half-filled in, but wrong. The liver was in the head and the heart was where the lungs should be.

I considered it bad design of the book makers. If there were old style stickers and i could have fixed the child's book. But what would the child's creativity have thought? What if it weren't a child?

The soundtrack was a Haggard, Hank Williams Sr. or Jim Reeves tune. Something about heartbreak.

Monday, August 16, 2010

After the chalet meeting

I have just come from one meeting and need to go to the next.

In the elevator, glancing in the mirror I am Philip from Guiding Light circa 1985. My hands have a rash that seems ominous. I tug my cuffs lower. There are 3 elevator buttons: 9, G and 9. I'm on 9. I can't go to G, so 9th floor of basement? The door closes. It doesn't move, then slowly wobbles. When it opens I'm in a tunnel of a hospital mall with the most obvious store being Zellers down the hall. Perfect. I run for the store. I need my meds. I get absorbed in candies and pens and the selection of things. I find it wondrous that I never have to risk leaving this compound anymore. The basement has so much.

I'm back on duty as prince. We are at the top of the stone tower. The air is humid. It has just rained. The sky is blue. The king in his ornamental robes on his divan bows his exit, and most of the entourage carried him away or accompanies him to leave. I am left with a few of the guards. My arms are itching. Not again. As a back from the edge of the parapet I see my reflection as I change from red to a cartoon red potato. One of the guards notices me. He swivels, his eyes squinting. The french fry that he is asks the half dozen if they smell a...potato. They turn and see me. Telescoping scalpels pop out and they start to rush me.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

newsprint image

the previous 6 panels of the B&W comic fading. Realizing that the character had rebuked that the male comic strip character for living a dream world. In the second last panel, checking the flip open cell phone and there's a picture of an island retreat then last panel, she's in bed with the beach getaway starting to come in sketch of pixels.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

nightmare: house of mirrors

my apt in a building full of mirrors pay parking lot I couldn't find my slip the front desk kept calling to tell me to move/pay my bill that my visa had 'relinquished' the funds the elevator full of mirrors too fast painfully bright sneaking off to my car panicking finding my wallet money books phone little writing books strewn around the car keys still in the ignition can't find my ticket emily haines playing full blast 'lack of light' roaming homeless men in the garage as they shut down the lights in the garage one doesn't believe me when I say there's nothing of value in the car keeps menacing comes closercloser telling me to look at the wound on his head I feel horror won't he hits me I run into the elevator where he can't follow hallway outside my apt full of mirrors realise my keys are still in the ignition downstairs water leaks into the carpet from the ceiling a flood panic can't breathe try to call you but you won't answer someone else picks up says 'christine can't this wait?' I gasp 'yes oh yes oh oh sor-rree yes' hangup can't breathe the sound of the water dripping phone vibrates you call me back ask what's up I gasp out that I'm stuck in the hallwayabout the parking lot man the water that I'm having a panic attack that delusional that I've lost my mind can't thinkcan't breathedon't know what to do or where to go wonder if I should call 911/go to hospital I want you to take me to emergency intense crazy panicked nothing makes sense all literal storylines warp water incessant you disconnect don't respond but I can still hear you moving on the other end of the line cluttery car noises conversation w/ other peopleI can't breathe gasp ‘____ ______ ____ please please' only you won't respond I wake up my heart explodes.

Thru the Institution

In winter city streets, I was trying to take a short cut between disconnected bus routes. I cut thru an institutional building that echoed empty. I noticed lockers on the wall exceptionally big, I thought, shucked my clothes and backed into one. I sat like a hermit crab as the heat came on. Mind your wrists I thought as the red wired left and right heated up. Folded over chest to thigh I started to sweat and soaked in the heat. Eventually warm enough I wandered the halls, saw an atrium of a room with three story ceilings and masseuse tables. Next time I thought I myself. I was redressed.

I saw lockers and that they were of all sizes and mostly unused. Free little boxes. Some of various blues, some orange, some cream. I picked an extra large square blue one, at hand level, right around the wall return from the sauna box, by the large spinning machine.

Hopping thru the pillared space around the spinning machine, it looked like a cotton candy maker but it was spinning stuffed animals. I went in a classroom and had a rest, lying across a table. When I woke, I was in a photo shoot for the soccer team. We were in a kind of V and I was back left. Someone from the front with a long lens said smile, then another did, and then we were all asked to leave for the next team standing impatiently at the end of the alcove.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

conflict resolution

A community of people that I love, friends from far away and near. Every social interaction is a dance, not metaphorically but literally, we cross a hallway in metred dance, steps and dos-see-dos, cross-sectioned waltz. Elaborate bouffant hairdos and skirts with whalebone forms.

In a room with X and Y, again I fall asleep within the dream (suspect Inception is to blame for this recurrence). Pure exhaustion, unable to keep my eyes open, sun burns through the walls in blasted tiring light, there is no heat. X is trying to convince Y that I'm okay, that I'm good, harmless, but Y is suspicious. I wake to provide advice about outfits, events, make recommendations, sew on sequins, smile. Y comes around, smiles in turn, they go off to one of the millions of balls, shiny masked carnival. I retire to my room, happily, my dun coloured plain dress folded on my bed, softest of the softest cotton, my bed whitened, bleached sheets, hills of duvet.

I'm only a tinge sad to miss the party, more grateful for the softness of my invisibility, the plainness of my outfit, the wonderful anonymity, privacy, safety. Go to sleep in the dream, smiling. Smell of clean linen, spring breeze, bleach.

Wake up in Ottawa: not smiling. Dislike when my dreams try to resolve things too cleanly, come to neat resolutions that can never happen. Dream too vividly and I wake confused.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

polar expedition

Kidnapped, held for days on boats in the polar ocean, which were forced to race against one another, full crews, through icy water full of clumped ice shards. My boat's name Apolline, kidnapper hitting its flank with the palm of his hand, like a racehorse.

Released, somehow, most people survived, the boats turned into adrenaline coursed pleasure boats. Start off point near Niagara Falls which has grown colder, merged with the polar ocean, grown shorter and more powerful. Overwhelmingly loud pounding noise of the water. Decide to re-board my boat, on a crew with uneasy friends, they're surprised I'm willing to take this trip. We had to swim to the boat, through hip level frozen water, the menace of sharks, great whites.

We're going to meet S. later, have to get directions for her, from X, who thanks me, we end up half-drifting to sleep together on the couch, his arm weighted around my shoulder, drifting into this exhausted memory of before, before I wake myself with a start from the courch, get up and walk away. He stumbles after me a little then gives up. I know it's only a dream/memory and I can't let myself fall asleep there.

To a parapet, watching the dark blue water which is laced with ice, icebergs, and white whales that puncture the surface of the water. A mother and her calf, giant white whales, not belugas but albino sperm whales, like Moby Dick. The sky is so cold and an entirely different shade of blue, pale and sudden.

Friday, July 23, 2010


Asleep 2 hours, waking from a dream of someone entering my room. He was a sketch in sepia, blocky like an extruded lego man. I saw him slip in from the dark hall and approach my bedside. his face was dark by the window, made darker by the stormy night coming in. He opened his mouth and a photo-real penis stuck out instead of a tongue. He backed away a step and unzipped his pants. Thick facial lips pursed from the fly.

Waking I realized its meaning. I slept with the door unlocked. Unconscious wants not threat so much as protect.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010


A reading in the Big City, crowds of people, swarms. Some writers that I knew not speaking to me, the readers themselves speaking out of turn, jostling, sometimes fists. Return home to D., who pulls two full bottles of booze, from a giant vending machine. I was hoping for rum but they're a Serbian strong liquour and a bottle of whisky. Don't like either, but he tries to make me drink them.


Semi-Famous Writer rings our door, blackmails us w/ a tape of what she's seen. Everything on the tape is hyper-coloured, sweats with life. It grows larger-than. He is devastated and angry, pulling apart seams. I am pragmatic, erase tape from her digital camera, acknowledge there are other copies sent somewhere, feel certainty, dread. Give her back her things: digital camera, computer, etc. I tell her it was nice to meet her. That I'm sorry. SFW becomes concerned at this point, tries to keep me from leaving, wants to help. She can't.

Go upstairs to lie down, because now I'm in a tower, with endless steps, at the top, with no roof, only the bed and this wickedly huge blue sky. A sextuplet of rainbows. I look at them and know what it means. I curl up on the bed and wait for what I know is coming.

Monday, July 19, 2010


My friend heavily pregnant, birthing babies of all different shapes and descriptors. I'm in the delivery room. Lights that flickered on/off and sometimes I'm the one pregnant and sometimes I'm just the friend and sometimes I'm the doctor and there are all these little lights everywhere tiny flames.

One fat happy pink girl who smiled in my arms. I protected her head w/ the crook of my elbow, such soft little blonde bits of hair. Her pudgy hand gripping my finger tight and her eyes beautiful blue grey and just an overwhelming feeling of softness and sadness.

Thursday, July 15, 2010


flickering set of dreams, four or five, laid out flat like on a drive-in movie screen. was primarily observing, though sometimes the film would suck me in and i'd become a participant. the first something of carnival animals, all the colours garish, set loose in jungle. a horror.

the second a romantic comedy. everything frilled pink. lace. each particle delineated into baroque frets and spikes.

the third film noir. my lips painted sharp poinsetta red. liquids of all colours in glasses. a detective holding the brim of his hat. lonesome sob under fluorescent signage. street wet with rain.

the final film abstract. scenes blurring together, lack of cohesion, everything's moving too quickly. ebbs and flows like water. I see him across a stretch of that lake of blur, and am afraid for him, want to protect. stick out my hands. wake up.

Monday, July 12, 2010


In my glass office tower, I'm waiting alone for a piece of paper to be passed to me so I can go. Sunshine comes in. I'm in no hurry. There's nothing but leisure after this and that can start early. I can see the city below, tiny ant people, and eventually I see the gliding of an arc swing my way in the skyline. It is my cherry-red hover motorcycle. It parks across the street, hovering a few yards up the light post. We've arranged the time and it won't wait long. There it goes. I'll catch another.

Released I'm walking thru a park, sunshine and grass at my feet, a crushed velvet cherry gown against the backs of my legs. I hear children's voices singing. Over the rise of hill there's a garden by a stream. A couple adults stand among the preschoolers. Their small voices, a little out of time with another but joyful, sing chorally in Chinese. I can catch parts. An adult seems to be using the flower bed as a bar of music and the part with the line of mustard-yellow flowers is the word ship. I watch for a while, catch the rhythm and carry a few sounds under my breath as I walk on.

A depot to meet up with another hover-motorcycle. I can see friends waiting. It's a three seater. One brings the craft down to street level. Another straightens the blanket in the back and makes room for me.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

in the way some dreams feel matter-of-fact normal

Nice to wake up relaxed from a leisurely lie-in dream, casual, relaxed naked chat. When more awake realized the person was Duncan, a priest, naked. ah. oh. um. hm.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Paddling One's Group Canoe

O and J and B and I were canoeing a swamp in one long canoe. We all paddled and chatted. The temperature was perfectly warm. There were no bugs. The mood was light.

There was no wind and no ripples except what we made. The only sun winks on the flat surface were where something disrupted the edge of a lily pad. Edges of reeds and duck weeds and to the sides drowned grey cedars. The middle patch of the water was narrow but we explored around a large area thru it.

At some point we were near shore and I declared that I needed to get in to register for high school before it closed. O gently humoured me and remarked on how you are probably a graduate since you were done university, last I heard. But you could go again. A private school would be a different experience and all experience is good. But, how about we all have lunch first? I know a bookstore that makes a great soup. There was general murmering of assent from the others.

With a mental grimace at green and navy plaid mini skirt mandate of the other option, I decided to go to the bookstore to eat.

At the stone inn, there were little cafe tables. By a riverstone wall was a fireplace cinder-blacked and with the set up to cook.

We sat by there at a square table. I sat at the end. Beside me was a 7- or 8-year-old redhead. He was there to meet people and mingle. The boy made small talk in a clear high voice. His eyes were clear and alert without reservations.

When he turned to me he asked what I do. I said, I write. He said it would be really good for me to show other people. Maybe send some out? I assured him that I was, I had. His look was patronizing in a kind-indulgent way. Do more, he urged me.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

in the morning a man from the heavens

As I worked at weeding the edge of my mom's empty garden, there was a helicopter noise and one came down low and a yellow kayak and a man in a wet suit, started falling towards me.

I looked down and the garden had become a tiled, soffetted ceiling around a shallow gazing pool. Still a dangerous landing for diving I thought but waving my arms would not stop them from falling.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

on the greyhound

On the greyhoound I had been sitting beside an alert, clean-cut, tall man. His hair was gelled tall. His long face with flat plains. He was folded into the seat behind the driver, 2 bags at his feet on the floor. His voice had the beginning of rasp from smoking, pronounced in someone so young but maybe it was just the quality of his voice. He had one a backpack, one a soft-sided brown briefcase. I was starting to regret that he'd continue on after where I'd get off.

My connection. I took out my bag from under the seat. he already was talking with the guy in the seat behind him. I entered a mall. There were a flurry of kiosks. There would be a route down to other kinds of transit here somewhere. A wheel squeak and a woman's heels came pushing a three-seater baby stroller. They passed on my left. The front seat had a tiny white newborn with the newborn clench fixed on the short string of a cookie-sized balloon. The next seat was a baby, presumably around 9 months. It held onto a string of a balloon 3 times as big. The 3rd seat was empty, not even diapers.

Around then I fumbled for my keys and saw it had 2 brass keys on it. Not mine. I had a flash that the man on the bus and I had our wallets out at the same time. I turned and ran back to the bus. I boarded and it was the same one. I reached over and without explanation, unzipped his briefcase. I looked up at him. He smiled uncertainly. A sort of why, it's you again but what are you doing with my bag? I smiled back, took out his wallet, which was my wallet, saw it was also black. And bailed off the bus before it could leave with me on it.

Back in the mall I realized I got my wallet but I didn't give him back his. Had I just pickpocketed the man? But he seemed to consent with that greeting smile. Or at least he didn't protest. He could have said something or followed me off?

I sighed and turned and ran back to the bus again, wondering how much time passed. Would it still be there?

A greyhouse! I boarded it. I beelined for the seat. There was no driver. People were getting settled. I reached for under a backpack and realized those feet were different. I looked up and two young men, one asian with glint of silver earring stopped in mid-smile to wonder who this was rummaging thru his stuff at his feet. The other looked at me inquiringly. I bailed again, not explaining, not anything.

I had his wallet and keys to get into his mailbox where ever he was going. I didn't even know his name.

Upon waking I realized, I realized, I have his wallet. I have his address. I can mail it to him. I can make it better. I can stay in contact. No, that'd be creepy. I can just right ym mistake. I wanted to find where I put it. Then I remembered, that was a dream. Right, I can just relax then.

Monday, June 21, 2010

breath and body

Cloudy fog of a dream, the air was thicker than normal, at least for me. Spent hours trying to catch my breath and slow things down. Everything around me was moving at twice thrice speed. Rain droplets slowing when they entered my orbit. Going to the doctor who diagnosed me with emphysema. Wasn't afraid, this didn't feel like a nighmare to me. It just was. Having to tell friends family who were difficult to catch because they kept speeding up in orbits around me and realising I couldn't tell anyone, that I'd never be able to.

Woke. Fell into another dream.

A cottage in the Muskokas with my Dad and my brother. We were taking about my tattoo, my father for some reason also had one, giant lettering across his back, v. poorly done, like a jailhouse tattoo. I show my new tattoo (the one on my shoulder) to my brother and he just asks 'why why why'. I'm surprised, it's not that big or overpowering. But when I look at myself in the mirror, the tattoo has been growing on its own. The spirals have fluorished and beyond the basic black/white tattoo. The tips of the outline is pouring out vegetative book of kells type spirals, weeds, that move when I look at the mirror, the tattoo floods my back, over my lower back, backside, upper legs. Whole sections are done in pools of black tool, as though there's an outline of a smaller woman, turning, on my body. It is incredibly beautiful and vibrant but I'm afraid.

Friday, June 18, 2010


The sensation of lacing up a pair of skates. Tightening around the ankles and the leather giving way and the little eye hooks biting into the laces. Pulling it tighter. For no clear reason, I'm floating from ice rink to ice rink, chasing some perfect flat to skate across. My friends keep trying to get me off the ice. They want me to stop skating but they don't understand how perfect and free it is, the moment of drifting across plains of ice. Endless ice. Icefields. Prairies of ice. One friend trying to rip up the skin of the ice, pulling it down in strips. I find another flat.

I loop around, leap in spirals, lean back into curves. I let the air rush through me. I'm leaning back into a spiral. There's nothing but space around me and the delicious pain of movement. Free skate. I don't ever want to stop moving. I only want to lean into the rounds at high speed. So fast you can't see me.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

the music sabbatical

My application was accepted as a bass player to do a training in France for 5 weeks with a master string player. I got word thru a stray open network on my wifi as I was driving in a largely lightless landscape. The power grid then collapsed the rest of the way. I knew I had to leave in a few days and there was no way to contact my parents to warn them that they wouldn't hear from me. For 3 days I checked but they were still in the blackout area.

There was an alley, extremely narrow, dusty with garbage blowing down it. It made its own night because the walls were so tall and the alley so long. People were talking across the alley across the upper floors. Near a fire escape there was a couple feet wide flat screen displays where porn played. It was a way zoomed in view to the level of pores of skin.

I went in a random house and found that the person living there asked me to have a tea. She was the mother of someone also accepted to the program. This assured me that the program actually existed and wasn't a practical joke. I'd tell my mother if I could contact her again but I knew she was in a coma now and that might be tricky.

I went to house in Europe before sessions started and after the guide left the room a wooden panel near the floor, there was a quiet click, a slide and then a moo and a click. I looked back and didn't see anything. I walked around the room. A semicircle decorative feature, slid open and a man's head came up on a dumb waiter. We looked at each other and he mooed at me. The door snapped shut again in a puff of white soot.

I crinkled my brow and went over to rearrange the chair. The sheet over it looked like it covered a cushion. when I arranged it, underneath was my application that I'd mislaid. I went to put the pillow from the side table onto the fern because it needed a soft thing for its leaves.

The room seemed ready so I moved towards the door and the flooring boards did a wave like a ripple back and forth like the fin of a flounder, and the division between boards became lips. There was a garble of conversation then the boards went neutral again. I watched for a moment to see if it would do it again then left the room.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

an open field - nightmare

Some kind of music festival, banners and ribbons surround. A wide crowd of people I knew, writers mostly. One in particular, a friend, kept asking me questions. I was trying to answer without letting him see my hands. The book I was holding was slippery with my blood and I kept trying to wipe off the cover, so no one would see. Another friend, someone I haven't seen in a long time, kissed me on his way by.

I fell into a sea of ribbons, the field was gone and there were only tangles of shiny silk, multi-coloured wavelings.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

an orphanage of sorts

Being hired to work at an orphanage, set in a large Gothic building. A school. Overcrowded classrooms, rows upon rows of children filling out CAT tests. Mix of lovely teachers, all of whom has different religious/cultural backgrounds. A vast library with ants coming through the floor.

My role somehow to fix/work the machines in the place. Asking about the ants, when the last time the floor was caulked/sealed, something like that, drawing complex diagrams. Trying to find J, who could fix anything, calling him on the phone w/ no answer, me staring at the guts of a washing machine.

Later helping w/ other duties. Piles of mail on the front stoop and an East Asian couple at the door looking for the nearest auto repair places. The orphanage has shifted to a daycare. More families come, leaving their children for the day. There are many pairs of identical twins, babies, mostly girls. In one set, one of the volunteers/teachers can't find one of the girls. I find her later, cooing, by the front door in one of her blankets. At this point carrying her sister, so I pick both up and they're sweet in my arms.

A room full of teachers/volunteers looking sad. None of the children want to come read with them. Someone suggests making it like a highschool dance, twirly sparkly globe, bad fifties music. The room fills with students and they are all learning to read.

An emergency. An illuminated manuscript, a treasure, is at risk. It has been locked in a cage, like a carnival lion's cage. Someone has been working near the manuscript, tossing stencils and dyes in its vicinity, inside in the cage. Some of the guards have been removed.

Culprit turns out to be another volunteer, a man, who has been using the stencils to pattern clothing, multi-coloured brights on black linens, he is having a fashion show. The students/teachers/all attend and I'm skeptical. I'm still holding the babies. They cry when I try to give them to someone else. Though one starts to laugh when I clap my hands and make a silly face, trying to make her smile.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

wrists of steel

Awkward half-echo of a dream, where I grew apocalyptically big, so that I was standing in front of a grey many windowed skyscraper.

I split it open like a fruit. The inside of the building filled with hundreds of tall strips of gold, all the length of the skyscraper except for a few fractured bits at the top. Somehow v. important that I extract these gold lines, but could only manage the fractured bits. I needed it to perform some spell, something that would makes things irrevocably better.

A charm that required fractured gold and would somehow fix the wrong.

Dissolving into me in a darkened parking garage trying to enact the charm and being interrupted by assailants, ninja-esque, me putting my fists up to protect myself, more importantly, the charm. Woke with my wrists bent over, sore.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Revisiting that building

Not the one I mentioned. Another. I have been there for years.

It was a roadhouse once, a century home that a highway cut past and it became a boarding house with a tavern downstairs. I stopped by once but was leery. I was with someone else and wanted to leave quickly in the dream.

Next pass, it had changed hands. It became a bookstore/convenience store. The sort that sold whatever roadside might want and was a way for the owners to justify their book hoarding. Fish bait and ice cream freezers on the main floor with postcards and souvenirs from places not here and rambling maze of floors of dusty books. 4 stories of books and racks of records and CDs and closed doors to split levels where old bedrooms were partly furnished, partly even the flooring and internal walls being pulled apart.

The next dream I stopped by, a historical society had bought it, fixed it up, or started to. There was a tourism front office where there had been the old copper-keyed cash register and the ramshackle piles on shelves, some of which were items for sale, some were owners jackets and umbrellas and newspapers and lunch. Parts were opened. Internal columns were scaled back, woodwork pulled off and structural beams made metal posts for better sight lines. All new lighting. It was nearly glittering. The enclosure was the same space. The outside was spiffier but unmistakably the same red brickwork.

Some parts of the place were run by the coop for historical value, to be renovated back, skipping a century of questionable flophouse living. Part was financed by local business owners who managed to make it a sort of mall. A bit was still a book stall. One was a chic cafe, completely out of character inserted into the dark waincotting box.

This trip the main floor was toned down. It wasn't so close to the open house excitement. The tourism office was still there but getting a lived in look with turn racks of information, floor plants, coat racks. A partition wall had been put up, splitting the space in half. The paint job was darker. The lighting went for moire glass. There were large parts unoccupied, renovations stopped part way. But what was there was complete.

On the 3rd floor where the record racks formerly were was a complete dentistry office. S. was the dentist and she took me in to remove my upper right molars. Part way thru she said I needed a break and it was her lunchtime.

She accompanied me downstairs to the new cafe. It was more heritage-look now, sort of end of 1800s painted wainscotting but with outdoor cafe furniture and a buffet.

It was owned by C. She bustled to greet me. P on seeing me, either worked there as waiter or was an incidental customer and seeing me with the dentist brought me over Italian wedding soup, on the house he said.

Years of the same building and now, greeted as a known person by people I know. This feels like some kind of good shift.

Friday, May 28, 2010

being a mote

I had the sensation of being only a dot in space, no weight, no volume, no dimension, no gravity. The dream was stable for some time. It was comparable to the dream when I was a stone in a field.

Suddenly I felt a stretch and I was two points. I felt enormous with two dimensions floating among stars.

With something like a sound, gravity arrived. I knew which way north was. I had a sudden sense of being with a dispersed self. I knew I had hands and feet as radiant lines. They floated near me.

With something like sound and surprise they connected with zips to hitch hands and feet to arms and legs to the line of spine, and I felt some heavy depth stretch me down. I was falling and widening and I was plooping out width to have full arms, legs and torso and I knew myself to be about 30 feet from the ground, suspended and gaining weight by the second and falling. I could feel the contours of the shape of myself defined as it pressed into bed.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

on the 5th dream of him alive since

On loop I entered and reentered a generic mash up of a funeral parlour. It was a wake. My dad was in the casket. People murmured around. Crowds grew and shrunk. I was aware of soundscape but staring at the tan berber carpet. A figure at my shoulder leaned into my space, looked past me at the casket, chin raised. It was my dad looking at himself. 'by gore, the old knave did it, humph" and he shrugged extra wide, like it was nothing to him but was. And he shuffled off.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Travelling Directionless

In the pre-dawn dream I was walking north down Sussex and saw C who was in conversation. I started chatting with an elderly fellow as I walked with what could be a group or just a loose knot of crowd. I got engaged in conversation with the thin fellow in panama hat. His large white mustache twitched as he talked.

At some point I realized we were further south and west than I expected and started to say my goodbye at stairs going down as the mane quickened his step to help a woman take a walker down the stairs. People were behind and ahead. Way seemed block. I could say my goodbyes at the base of the stairs.

Then I didn't and we were all ushered past a restaurant dining room and lobster tank and I didn't know where we were going but I went and we were all seated in a board room in underground Parliament.

People went around the table introducing themselves and when there was a pause for me to say my name a woman's soft chilled hand went over my mouth and said "she's Pearl. Next." and hissed in my ear that I was not invited.

Some AGM-type formalities of meeting proceeded. It was a book launch, with a dozen assembled. There was a presentation of a book and a break and social time.

I got out of my bag a book and went back to the older gent and told him I realized that the book I was telling him about I had a copy of on me. He insisted he wouldn't buy it since it was my personal copy and then that he would buy it since I was so kind. Then when sales for the main book came, he pulled out his pocket liners and with a bit of mischief said he was flat out. The woman who had clamped her fingers over my mouth looked at me with icicles.

In a later dream, post-dawn, I was walking down the street with J and O and told them about what had transpired in the previous dream then they split off and I bumped into E and she told me she had a group gallery showing. Her neighbour did visual art merging clipped letters of the alphabet into a mixed materials canvas that was largely oil landscapes. But after we parted at the intersection, with snowbanks taller than our heads I realize she had told me everything about the artist of the stall beside hers and nothing about his own.

The snow blew harder in a later dream where I was stuck on a school bus with a driver who improvised the route, skipping the street I lived on. By his odometer was a reading that said it was 5:30 already and he was not yet at my house. He said he'd loop back going to Arnprior first. He wondered if there'd be kids left to pick up by the time he got there. He asked me how long it would take to get there. I named a random amount of time, an hour and a half, not knowing where Arnprior was or if we were headed that way.

Eventually my sense of direction was so muddled that I just dinged the bell to get off and a quarter mile later, he stopped. The snowbanks were twice my height. The white-out soon consumed the bus and the stretch of road. I decided to go back to the last known place and get a phone. Down a lane I decided would be too far, and too easy for me to get lost. I doubled back to the cheese factory but it was dark. Then the church and lights were on. Inside my aunt and cousin and uncle. I asked for a ride home.

Saturday, May 15, 2010


Hub and I were staying at a bed and breakfast of sorts. It was a palatial rectangular box, a pale green stucco estate with small white windows on a golf course-sized setting. As we found our way thru the tall corridors, we discovered, most of the house was closed off. The rooms were formal-sterile, tall beds, stale air, a lot of lace and pale colours.

There was something of a dining room buffet. The lady of the house was ensconced in a deep chair at the edge of the formal dark woods of cafe dining tables. With a waiter and crystal and linens, she aimed to turn what remained into something self-sustaining. There were little canapes in the hall and a lot of echo.

We seemed to be the only guests for something set up for dozens for breakfast. She assured us others would come. She explained she was divorced years ago and banned her husband from seeing their 3 kids. Shortly after their divorce she sent them away to private school. She preferred not to have the place to herself for economic reasons only.

I wandered to the grounds which has low swells of hills but were being covered in dandelions. There was a long red wooden bridge over what looked from a distance to be a dry man-made lake. Coming closer, it's bottom was flagstones with little ecosystems between the cracks and a thin veil of water in the deeper parts. Turtles and frogs and rocks were scattered over it. The shoreline was naturalized, or gone to nature. Dandelions grew out of the water taller than on land.

disturbing (content advisory)

I never saw his face. my gaze was down as I sat across the booth from friend A and this guy who was trying to chat her up, pick her up. She cooled from minimal response to ignoring as he talked and he started gesturing on her arm. She pulled back and he kept punctuating with back of fingers rubs down her biceps. I was monitoring and could feel my gut twist. She seemed sure he'd just go away.

She didn't leave but neither would he for lack of response then he turned her in the bench seat and put his arms around her. She started twisting and elbowing him and he grabbed more strongly and pulled her to floor under the table, her back on his front, trying to pull up her shirt. His finger started digging into her stomach. She started fighting back more strongly, grunting and and struggling. I stood and started kicking his head. I kicked until blood was splattering. I kicked until he started to release his grip but his head was a sack of red pulp and she was panting and pulling herself off him.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

the curious incident of the puppy at midday

I was visiting the new puppy at R's place. It fit in a palm, so new that it had fuzz not hair. The belly was pink with black freckles. As I was kneeling, oohing and ahhing and adoring the thing which was wriggling on the living room couch, the doorbell rang. The entryway and door was on the the other side of overstuffed ottomans and burgundy lazy boy chairs but I could see the exchange from the couch.

R came downstairs and answered the door. It was N who presented R with a padded envelope. R made some sort of ah, fabulous, thanks for remembering and said he'd tuck that away in his office immediately and hurried off. N opened his mouth to protest but R was already disappearing into the room on the opposite side of the entryway.

N turned called out and explained he was just dropping that package off en route to a meeting and he really didn't have time to stay. A muffled reply came. R asked him to wait a sec. R was in library across the way, asking him to wait because there was one small matter that would only take a moment in a second.

With R having bustled off, I waved at N past the armchairs and occasional tables of the fairly stuffed room. I lifted the puppy and pointed to it. N noticed then and stepped fully into the foyer, closed the door behind him and came to see me and the pup. He crouched down and started to say something in puppy-talk-tones and scratched the puppy's back and ears and the pup rolled onto its back. And peed. A sure straight stream straight onto N's dress shirt. N's face was a mixture of horror, bewilderment and laughter. He froze. I laughed.

He got flustered. He explained he was on his way to a client and I said it wasn't a problem. I showed him the way to the kitchen as he fussed. I asked him to stay put and got a towel and started blotting water onto the pee on his stomach. I was again kneeling and blotting. N's back was to the second door of the walk-thru kitchen.

R bustled in and froze and began blushing and vehemently apologizing for interrupting as he backed out. N's crinkled brow turned red and we both started saying no, no, that's not what it looked like. I started laughing. I laughed so hard I woke myself up laughing.

Monday, May 10, 2010

too much photoshopping in the day

Every time I looked at A directly he'd freeze. As I looked away, he'd slide out from behind that freeze frame of himself and start in motion. When I glanced back he'd freeze again.

Soon there were a dozen, a dozen and a half copies of A around the foyer in various mid-walking positions.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Clay Reading Clay

The room in NYC in winter hybridized with a neighbour's living room from early 80s contained 5 people in center at the couches, a few more in the periphery.

Wish I could recall all. The poem was read, long lines perhaps 4 stanzas long, extending into real time of dream.

After a silence a male unfamiliar voice from behind my right puffed. "Too simple."

The person beside the reader said, "let me read it" and he took the reading copy and pulled the 3 red clay tablet sculptures and said, "sure but it reads across the columns too" and pointed to the knobs and limpets and coils and read each with a word horizontally across the two columns. He stopped definitively.

The person who critiqued nodded approvingly.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Beasties of the Field

Walking down my father's old lane with a camera and zoom lens I try to follow ants spilling out of the hill. Whenever I get the focus on some, they are dusty hippos in the grass. In the distance, ants.

Among them is a yellow crab spider with one injured limb. It tries to run from the camera and scrambles, flips over the mouth of a rusted cowbell but as it swings, a larger spider within it strikes and stings it. A patch of purple develops on the yellow as it lies fallen. It is not retrieved. K is over my right shoulder and has seen it all, and as she touches the killed spider the purple patch transfers to her. She shrugs it off. Little ole bite for big ole me. No problem. She laughs and goes in the house.

House III

It was a blustery winter day and I was walking south up the street. It was largely a white out. I was knocking on door after door and those that answered, slammed it in my face. I didn't know where I was, only that I was cold and I had sold no eggs. I had a wire basket of eggs that were freezing. As I climbed the next porch, I realized it was O's home and the warm light poured from the door. I asked if he would like some eggs.

We looked down at my wire basket and it had become a birdcage with 3 eggs rolling around at the feet of the rooster. I looked up at him and wondered if he could tell a chicken from a rooster. We looked at each other and after a pause he said, "I'll take a dozen".

I whined, "but I only have 3." He answered "I'll wait." and pulled my shoulder to bring me in. I sat down the cage and he ordered that I sit on the ottoman and read him Purdy until we're ready. "Where?" I asked, trying to scan the ceiling high shelves. He sat in the armchair and pointed. I thought to myself, but that's Tomas Transtromer. "Nope, it's Purdy. Read." he said. And I started to read aloud.

Then there was time lapse and it was spring melt running down the street and sunshine sparkling in it and my hand was on the door, opening it with an empty cage.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

House II

In the house below I know to watch my footing on that half step that runs the width of the room. I sat and watched a movie with O when suddenly the globe fixture over us exploded, imploded and I had shards of glass all in the side of my face, neck, shoulder. O was aghast. He pulled me out of the sofa and up to the light of the screen door then told me to stay put.

I stayed. J came to the door, knocking as she entered and was shocked at the blood and asked where's O? He reentered the room presently having dug out BBQ prong and proceeded to pluck glass from me. Look J, he said, got one and held up a long shard. She did a facepalm and wanted to know why he thought he could fix this.

They began to bicker. I excused myself to a bathroom that in that dream was where the kitchen closet was. I shook the glass from the front of my shirt and from the front and back as I shook, not only broken glass but arm's width pottery. some fell intact, some robin's egg blue broke as it fell, interspersed with premortared brick that fell among the pots, some falling loose, some building little part walls at my feet.

House in Dreams

house from dream
This is a house I've been to a dozen times over 2 or 3 years. It's a dream creation. It is the House of T and O. Often only T is home but sometimes both.

The snowbank I note with the x was where I dreamed I was, in headfirst, up to my knees in snow. I turned into my spotted juvenile seagull and went searching for help for myself. South down the street a block I could see T coming and I began to caw and circle above my feet. T said, why, that's Pearl's coat there and he hauled me out by the ankles. He skidded me along the sidewalk, pushing me ahead of him. I was solid as a board and clunked me up the stairs, took me to the old Queen Anne's chair in the bedroom but I was frozen. He propped me against the wall over it so I would melt into it. He and O conferred in the dark corner of the doorway to the main room. The bedroom was light. I was wrapped in a blanket. O fetched warm things: hot water bottle, foot bath and soup and I could tell they were still there but I was too cold still to move or speak. I began to feel heat as I awoke.

Saturday, May 1, 2010


I was sent to pick up some papers. I have to sign by proxy at a car rental place way down a highway out of town. When I arrived a big Texan man was the manager and asked me if I had a job. I said no. He said, want one? I said yes. He said, you're hired. I said ok and went to his stables to look after his horses. One was born I thought dead. It was curled in the straw gutter without skin. Big rancher told me it was normal. Uncommon but normal. It was a preemie. It would grow skin, just wait. When I came back in a few days it was bigger, had no hair but had a skin coating, eyelids and could move.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Touring Amish Country

I am with a tour bus when we begin touring a Mennonite village. It is is a combination of a Iroquois longhouse and a bairn/mow with stalls of loose hay.

In the open space in the middle sun streaks down. There is chiaroscuro light. White bleachers are set up and a podium for the conductor. Rehearsals are on for the choir. Everyone in black robes with foppish purple bows at the necks take their position.

The rehearsal, it is explained, was arranged on a solar calendar schedule. On the lunar calendar they have a cycle of days of vows of silence. This would be one of these days. Since each is a rule and neither can be broken, both carry forward and they stand in formation, practicing the worship by mouthing the words without a sound.

Some of the tour group watches for a while. Some start to scatter off with cameras. S and B are are there. Most are dream creations. Later we fade out and watch the Mennonite Constabulary in dress uniform. The police are inspected by the tour group as it files thru the office.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Up, Up but Not Away

Frequently at night for more than a decade I'd enter a dream on a trampoline in my parent's sunny back yard, and each time I'd land I'd bounce higher until I level with the house windows, then roof, then over the roof, higher than trees and I'd start to feel vertigo but I couldn't stop bouncing.

Eventually I learned that if I tilted my forearms a particular way I could control flight and fly along hydro wires. Sometimes my control was wonky and I couldn't go down and got vertigo.

When I got good, when I was alone in a room, in any kind of dream, I'd get a break from characters or excuse myself and be alone and rotate my forearms outwards and be able to lift and drift along the ceilings.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Old Dream of Head Ghost (2008)

A sort of bobble-head movement of J's cardboard cutout face was on a sort of curlicue mediterranean blue stylized dragon, as if a coat of arms lion further stylized and animated.

I was at the base of the stairwell of the Carleton. This phantabeast kept poofing into existence, dissolving when it bit, poofing back and dragging cold burning cuts down my calves as I was led blind up the stairs of the tavern.

It was a creature of another dimension, like a Fudog but once grounded at the height above ground, grounded by flesh and blood I was out of reach but in cold fright that I couldn't speak.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Dissolving Planes

In the National Library I knew something was coming over me. I could feel my senses scatter. I was in a crowd but was losing that orientation and knew I needed an ambulance. I told R but heard my words come out in a scramble. I saw the world fracture and float. There were planes of motion and movement. I knew people as a concept to exist but couldn't put any of these colors and shapes into a person. I heard voices but couldn't make it back into language. I looked at my hand and felt it likely was mine but couldn't see how it attached to my shoulder or torso. I felt myself being pushed and with relief found there was a solidity of cube shape under me. There was a sound that I could isolate as having common features if I concentrated hard but couldn't make sense of the sounds. It got louder so must be closer. There was a clustering of black planes and it was louder when shapes got nearer. Other shapes and sounds were further. I reached for it and what I decided was my right hand attached to it and the hand of mine had solidity and so did the shape of knee I held. Everything else was jarring of disconnected sound and motion.

Friday, April 16, 2010

Chief Inspector

I was the chief inspection officer of all those who adopted My Little Ponies, the life sized ones. I toured back roads with my clipboard and made sure they had adequate fences, unmouldy hay and clean, fresh water because they needed to be treated humanely even if they weren't real.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Greatest of Ease

I dove into the pool and shot out the far end of the pool and arc like a porpoise breaking surface. I was still in flight when I woke.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Rec Room

The dream as set at my parent's house and the doorway to my old room except it opened to an auditorium, a whole wing. in one corner was a rec room set up. Inside were S, S2 and J, and a dream creation aboriginal male. We were watching movies on a wall screen. It was late at night, early a.m. I heard my mom talking and coming closer. I opened the door to go out and cut her off before she came in. S2 declared that he needed to pee and zipped past me and cut off my dad on the way to the washroom. Mom said, you have a boy in your room?? I said, no it's S2. Mom starts to lecture and S2 comes back past with popcorn. Mom dream dissolves and I reenter my room.

When I return there's no furniture and S and J are high fiving. I look up and the two black leather sofas and chair have been attached to the ceiling.

All are looking proud of themselves and toasting. S points out that they have made all the arm rests magnetized so the chip bowls stay attached. He lifted one up and attached it to the arm rest. There's a pile of chips on the floor under it.

It fades to black.

In a black box theatre

When E arrived late, K had a crescent of an audience around him, murmuring. He was grinning and was pulling up the back of his shirt to show off the scratch marks that E had left on him. Behind him I could see her watch the scene, the press of her lips, laugh suppressed, her indulgent smile.

When he looked up he startled to see she was there. He reddened differently, self-conscious, and held out an arm to greet her. She entered his side embrace. They nuzzled heads and she whispered something to him and glanced at me. She was passing on what I related to her earlier. He chuckled. They both looked at me. They left the company present.

A few dreams later, she sent me an email. I looked at it an original Mac screen. It read only "thnx" with a winkie.

Monday, April 12, 2010


B and I took a cruise to Cuba. On docking the tour guide took us to a high hill (in imitation to the temptation of Christ) and declared "all this landscape could be yours". We looked across the island, all its micrososm as in Robinson Crusoe, the rivers twisting, the sand dunes, the grassy knolls, the ski hills, the snow banks, the beaches with people dozing, the villages in the bosom of hills.

We didn't respond.

Then went shopping down into the town marketplace, crowded as a suq, pots and pans and woven fabrics, spices and tables of wares, and in the crowd of people were people hawking little manilla envelopes of hair, calling out names of who they had. One was labelled as Stuart Ross' so I bought it and ate it like cotton candy.

I went and found the ruins of my high school, part of it bombed out, part intact. Upstairs my teacher was still up there working on paperwork. Then she transformed into a blonde lady I dream-recognized from stage musicals from aboard ship and from the posters outside the galley. Except as I discovered then, she had 4 breasts in a horizontal row. The magic of stage had hid that.