Saturday, December 1, 2012

Chaos. Sleeping. Showers. Writing. Dreaming. No rules. Vivid Dreams.

Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos.Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos. Chaos.

I had a dream that there was chaos; chaos everywhere. 

In this dream I was only able to enjoy life while doing one of three things: sleeping, showering, writing. There were no rules or ramifications while engaged in any of these activities. The whole world would stop and I could not be touched by anyone, anything or any outside influences. No perceptions of problems, stress, worries, nor responsibility exist (t)here.

These three things are all I want to do in this dream. Standing under the shower for ten or twenty or ninety minutes, finally warm. I was not eating anyway, so of course I would be cold. Caffeine and nicotine can only take me so far, but here I can be warm for ever. I don't have to think about my skin, my rent, my life, my lack of such and such...

Who the fuck reads this shit anyway?
Yet to find out...
In this dream I feel a lack of permanence permeating the air. I am ever drifting, time stops and I can not feel which leg is crossed over the other. My fingers become a spider on the keyboard, a support for my neck, and wash behind my ears. I can shower anywhere, sleep anytime and write a novel a day for four decades. No matter where, I can write. Pen and ink, keyboard, sticky notes in my mind. Where does it go? Where does it wind up?

Who the fuck reads this shit anyway?

At least I am clean. Who wants to be stinky in a dream?

At least I am warm.

How is it I can be asleep for 8 hours and feel like it is forever? Why does it seem that it has only been a second since I closed my eyes? But dammit, sometimes I am awake.

In this dream I write. I write a lot, but it goes nowhere. I get attached, as though there is an umbilical cord connecting my brain to the words forming on the screen. Where they come from I do not know. Sometimes they make a lot of sense and flow, and flow, and all add up.

At least I have coffee and cigs. Nicotine. Caffeine. Delicious and dangerous. Always seem best when paired together... Good to know that my vices exist in full force even while dreaming.

I feel pulled in so many directions while sleeping and dreaming these other lives and experiences, but when I do write the focus is there.  As measured time is never referenced, tunnel vision takes on a whole new meaning since all that exists are the words on the screen.

The channel is automatic. The filter is automatic. The engagement is lacking. Lol.

There are times when I get so exhausted from a writing session I have to sleep in my dream. Or take a shower in my dream. When I do catch the playful muse, or channel my Awen, writing becomes a fanciful delight. It is swift, it flows, and the strange mathematical equations the words produce actually do have sums. These sums are full and round numbers. These sums are their own reciprocals. The fractions they equal are neither vulgar nor common. It becomes easy to break down the parts and deconstruct to reconstruct and learn.

The source of inspiration is always near. Even while dreaming it is impossible to escape the true source of influence and motivation. It is in me, it is drawn from her and it exists everywhere. I carry it close as it is but a breath away. Because it pulls and pushes so mightily, I have to ignore the Muse's bright light from time to time, but it is here; it is always.

On/off. Left/right. Black/white. Up/down. Boy/girl. Stop/go. Yes/no.

Put me back in the middle please. I want to wake up.


  1. A similar person gets inside me and writes

  2. I do enjoy communing with this person. Interesting strings of words seem to come about. They need to get out as I am but a filter.