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.