weekend dreams, mornings of March first, second, and third, and fourth (respectively)

There was the dream over the weekend where I was with my adoptive mocha- skinned brother who I had never seen before this dream and we had decided to "fuck all" and eschew the manacles of work and society and go for a bike ride into a very Bob Dylanesque "North Country" milieu. For over a decade now dreams of Wisconsin and Minnesota and Canada arrive to me in a vernal topography quilted in many distinct pastures of green. My adoptive brother and myself continued to pedal our tandem bicycle-like contraption over the lushest variegated dales and northern hills of the coniferous pasture until we arrived to a Norwegian like city which could best be described as pastel Saturday-evening- post- miniature-Christmas-village- with-innocuous-train-hooting through townish like. When we arrived to this innocent hamlet we debarked off the arabesque seat of our shared bicycle and looked into a map. By his calculations was only a few miles up the road and that he would go on ahead while I spent the night in this town. He pocketed the map and continued forward, into the diaphanous nectarine planks of a streaking sun. When I arrived in town I made the acquaintance of Two voluptuous inn keepers Their bed and breakfast was an abandoned stationary locomotive-engine train car that had been refurbished into a bed and breakfast. The stationed vehicle had quite a bit of significance to the tourists who kept snapping pictures of the vessel. The inn keeper seemed to take a liking to me and I inquired if I could have a tour of the facility. She then shepherded me into the basement of the locomotive where my "bedroom" was waiting for me. The room was small and mangy, and coated in an emerald green. The bad was about four feet long and the ceiling was maybe five feet high. What looked like pointed guitar string-stalactites dripped from the top of the ceiling and scathed my flesh.

I looked into the cleavage of my hospitable Virgil when she told me that this was my room and that it was the best room in the house.


Morning of March second.

I slept entwined in the limbs of my seasonal bride The dual glens of my She woke up and allowed me to sleep for four extra hours- The magic eight ball of my skull then waded into the stage lightening of the unconscious. I found myself seated in the balcony of the Lutheran church were I was confirmed. In the front of the alter JZ Knight (below) was giving a lecture for the congregation about following the mystical chord of bliss and unity burrowed within the sleeves of our own unique skin.






During the sermon a lady in front of me in the balcony that was dressed in a long denim skirt and a skull cap rag top brazenly stood up directly in front of me and vehemently denounced everything she was saying as blasphemy. The congregation as a whole remained seated during her two minute long diatribe with the exception of a disciple who floated from below, up to balcony, hovering in the air, politely informing the ranting apostolic Christan to refrain in her histrionics, beckoning not to doubt what is unknown.

I then found a foreign coin in my hand,

round yet chiseled with triangular groves
some sort of celestial token, a currency
which I could use to mete out just how far I had come in the
psyche of this lifetime.

Later that same morning I had a dream where my lover and myself
went to burger king, ordered all sort of RAW MEAT
before leaving are package at the fast food restaurant
and going to the community college I once attended--
the college shaped like an over head parabolic ash tray
In the dream I told my nocturnal companion
that I once met the man who was the architect
of this building, which was true, only in the dream
I told her that I said to him,
"What the fuck were you thinking?"


Morning of March the third:




I found myself in my mothers garage, the same house that belonged to my
grandmother, the house where a week before in the stitched
canvas of my dream world I witnessed a Holiday celebration
with my muse. In this dream I found myself lying in a
supine position on the hood of my Unlce's vintage 64 dodge
the hood was littered with vacant cheap beer cans
like white trash confetti and I was lying next to my
former cross country coach. Mr. Ricca. In the dream

I tried to thank Coach for everything he taught me and tried to tell him that I was sorry for disappointing him senior year when I was the captain of the team and quit, devoting my senior year to scribing maudlin passages of juvenile heartaches--I tried to evince my gratitude to Coach Ricca in the dream only I couldn't--instead I asked for his e-mail so that I could send him a link to my blogg--when wrote out the e-mail the letters blurred and floated

across the sea of my unconscious periphery

There was the dream on the morning of March the fourth

where i was with my mother driving up North

to see a dear friend of mine who is leaving the country.

We stopped at a giant gorge and deeply peered into the
sylvan dells below there was a chestnut ice socket
below that looked like a wounded giant eye
a mandala, a welt into the soil of the flesh of the planet
as if staring into the orifice of the earth and
seeking for something that would one day
sprout and bloom.


Mom then pointed to a sign. Apparently this
opening was an anomaly of nature
and would be gone and in the spring,
the sign said.