Mental Meanderings

Stuck in my own
philosophical
ontological paradox.

What is in your head?
How do I share that which is in my own head?
All this social programming
keeps us
from reaching inside ourselves and into each other,
to stroke those waveform thoughts which make us unique.

It's semi-lucid, an arabesque of meaning and summation.
There is no
road map
to these stars
within our heads,
a great inky sheet strewn with sparkling diamonds.

And within each a burst of colors and light!
How can we share this?
Touch,
explore,
feel
with all our senses these little
dream-windows
into a grander scale of universe?

And here I ramble on in impotent language
writhing like a clutch of newborn garter snakes in spring
moving towards intangible heat.

Stillness comes at times, but more so
is the liquid movement
of life
in a sea of green and gold and azure.

Everyday swimming
in the glittering sea of living things,
infused with the sweet scents and pheromones
of urges
and desires
and dreams.

Todays Mission: Failed

Take note: spring rolls are neither samosas nor burritos. Also I need a more elegant way preparing Chinese vermicelli. Using scissors was a bit embarrassing.

Moon Bright

(Feb 2008 pic)

Full Moon today. My dreams were troubled last night. Losing my teeth again. Ugh. I dislike that theme immensely, but interestingly enough it's happened so often in the dream world that I recognize it as something familiar there. One common thing lately is my family's presence there. I do not dream about them often, and now almost every night for a week. Maybe it's my anticipation of seeing them for Easter.

Bloom

The Magnolias are opening, and even the rain cannot dampen their spirits, though some of their petals may brown. Their scent is heavenly.

Wars across boundaries of time and space.

I have been high and low. Right now I am feeling pretty low. Really lonely. Anyways.

4/1:
I am in Europe moving between borders. There is a Man and myself and a lady friend, we are trying to avoid being shot or bombed while looking for food and water. The people are poor and wear tattered grays and browns. I am of some mixed race, they keep calling me the "Mexican." We hide out in a safe house, little more than walls and a few windows. There is one wooden table, and a hand crank turntable/phonograph. Soldiers arrive. We can't escape before they storm inside. A couple of us climb out a bathroom window, but its too late. In some kind of time warping event, mechanical soldiers, (torsos and treads) run us down.

There are more advanced and streamlined soldiers too. Those that were created to fight the previous incarnations of genetically modified supersoldiers gone rogue. There is one of these men in particular that cannot be stopped. He crouches in the deep pine forest, then jumps through dimensions and time streams to confront the consortium of overlords that plays with lives like a game. In their bubble like command center they feel invincible. But it is end game for them.

To Rule a Kingdom, To Rule a Child

Last night I dreamed I was an emperor. The kingdom was foggy, bleak black and green. My child was a princess that did not wish to marry, and I was a strict man compelled by the duties of my position and the weight of my ancestors.

Ex Libris

How do I explain my strange love affair with books? I'm not alone. Having moved several times recently my shelves are a hodge-podge of genres. Moliere, Candide, Cervantes next to Nausicaa and Jimmy Corrigan. There is love poetry and photography, droll fictions and the mad writings of beat poets and St. Augustine and Gregory of Tour's History of the Franks, graphic novels and biographies of Russian empresses. Don't forget all the modern apocalyptic prophecies, drug-addled honey tongued eloquence, and a beautiful myriad of crop circles and extra terrestrial channelings.

I am inspired by their presence, by their content. Within them lie whole worlds and generations of ideas and speculations and dreams and values. It is a strange fractured record we keep of ourselves. I hold onto all of these, many of which I've read in full and just as many I keep for the ideas they represent or for the occasional glance and skimming of inspiration. I love so many of them, but how do I part with them?