[dreams] short dream archive
Most recent first; going backwards in time a few months.
- He sat down with an arm around my shoulder, kissed my cheek as if a hundred times before, and said, "I have seen the shore of your dark ocean." - Wed Sep 04
- I laced my fingers with his, in the grass. Turning his hand over, on his palm, I wrote, "Yesterday, on this white canvas--" - Sun Aug 25
- Took a wee nap; had a dream about walking a capybara on a leash through the astrophysics dept. at the museum. It had a straw sunhat on. The capybara's name, by the way, was Doctor Honeydish. In case you need that later. - Wed Aug 21
- Each of us a journey across a trackless sea. A child's promise is all we can take with us.
- Curled under his arm with our mugs of tea, we each read quietly. I slept against him, woke, slept again. The rain remained. - Fri Aug 09
- Free to create its own ideal reality in dreams, my brain conjures books, hot beverages, and someone to bake bread with. #unassumingfantasies Sat Aug 10
- Tending to the wound on his shoulder: bloody, but clean. Placing the subcuticular stitches, with bare fingers and slow breath. - Thu Aug 08
- Dream surrounding the fostering and adoption of a black German Shepherd. He wasn't to be mine, as i had found him too late, but came when i called, and he laid his head in my hands with great trust. - Wed Aug 07
- He buried his hand in the treasure, and drew it out encrusted with rings. I pulled them off his fingers, one by one, and rubbed each digit. "This needs no adornment." - Sat Jul 20
- He asked if it had a name, turning the lacquered, ancient bow over in his hands, resting it across his knees. I told him, "The Angel Turns Her Back On The Shuttered Gates of Heaven. I just call it Shuttered Angel." - Mon Jul 15
- The brand on the back of my neck was a promise; an oath of protection, a sigil. He touched it gently as I stood between him and the approaching attack. - Wed Jul 10
- I beckoned, and he followed, parting the curtain of blue isinglass.
I said, "Ink spreads across paper."
He said, "Ink spreads across skin."
- Fri Jul 05
- Often have dreams about caged birds. This time: fluffy black songbird chicks and a naked chicken. Their cage kept coming apart explosively, leaving them vulnerable. - Wed Jul 03
- The cliffs of the city at night. I am descending down a long, slick stair, thousands of slate steps, to the sea. - Tue Jul 02
- The city at night; the low car, the empty, silent road. Lights slipping past. Axel's hand barely adjusting the wheel. The seven of pentacles, vibrating on the dashboard. - Mon Jul 01
- A thousand black, poisonous-looking beetles scuttled inside the canvas cage. Touching their thoraxes gently, each unfolded bright wings. He asked me to draw a catalog of their patterns. - Tue Jun 25
- Definitely too many cables and cords in the bed. Woken up by a dream where I was being taught shibori by a were-spider. - Sat Jun 01
- Dream of sitting my beloved ones before a mirror, paintbrush in hand and trays of paint scattered around, and transforming them, one after the other, into the beautiful creatures that i saw in my mind's eye, when thinking of them. - Wed May 22
- Another dream of the painting-chair: this time precise patterns, colors; my brush against skin I could smell. Woke up looking for pigments. Tue May 28
- He kissed my temple once; twice. A feather emerged from his mouth, first, and then the brown, soft wing itself: whole, still fluttering. He pressed it against my brow - bloody and warm - like a blessing, and said, "Raise them all from their branches." - Mon May 13
- I handed him the cup, still wet and soft from the wheel. It deformed gently around his fingers, and I smoothed over both clay and skin, making the impressions of his fingers part of the shape of the vessel. - Sun May 12
- Helping a friend pick an engagement ring. It was out of the blue, and he wouldn't tell me her name. "Just pick the one you like best." I chose a plain band, with the texture of a crystalline meteorite. - Wed May 08
- Headed across the city, up though abandoned concrete courtyards of giant steps. The sealed edifice church and its attendant graveyard, all of pink marble; i ran my fingers around the seam of the door, peered up at the high windows, wondering how we could get in. - Fri Apr 19
- The grey bracelet twisted around his wrist, dove bloodlessly between radius and ulna. My own shoulder itched and split as metal emerged. - Wed Apr 17
- Picking through the dark weft, thread by thread, I learned where to twist and pull to bring the quasar's scattered limbs together. - Tue Apr 16
- Carding my hands through the llama's wool, a bit of polished lapis fell at my feet. The animal mouthed my sleeve mildly. Another, and then another, fell. - Mon Apr 15
- Climbing the tree's black limbs, the fine branches became his hands: not grasping or pulling, but clasping mine, providing a place. - Sun Apr 14
- We stand, hands on one another's pulse: wrist, throat, throat, wrist. Slowly, slowly, our heartbeats become aligned. - Sun Apr 07
- Standing at the the top of the sea-cliff. On the next outcrop, i can see the low house with the walled garden, but here, only sod, the stone, and below, the dark ocean. - Sun Apr 07
- The gunmetal-sand beach on the shore of the dark ocean. The dark horse with the blaze of green scales. She lowered her head and pushed me inexorably toward the cliff-face, the narrow stair leading up and up. - Sun Apr 07
- He sat down with an arm around my shoulder, kissed my cheek as if a hundred times before, and said, "I have seen the shore of your dark ocean." - Wed Sep 04
- I laced my fingers with his, in the grass. Turning his hand over, on his palm, I wrote, "Yesterday, on this white canvas--" - Sun Aug 25
- Took a wee nap; had a dream about walking a capybara on a leash through the astrophysics dept. at the museum. It had a straw sunhat on. The capybara's name, by the way, was Doctor Honeydish. In case you need that later. - Wed Aug 21
- Each of us a journey across a trackless sea. A child's promise is all we can take with us.
- Curled under his arm with our mugs of tea, we each read quietly. I slept against him, woke, slept again. The rain remained. - Fri Aug 09
- Free to create its own ideal reality in dreams, my brain conjures books, hot beverages, and someone to bake bread with. #unassumingfantasies Sat Aug 10
- Tending to the wound on his shoulder: bloody, but clean. Placing the subcuticular stitches, with bare fingers and slow breath. - Thu Aug 08
- Dream surrounding the fostering and adoption of a black German Shepherd. He wasn't to be mine, as i had found him too late, but came when i called, and he laid his head in my hands with great trust. - Wed Aug 07
- He buried his hand in the treasure, and drew it out encrusted with rings. I pulled them off his fingers, one by one, and rubbed each digit. "This needs no adornment." - Sat Jul 20
- He asked if it had a name, turning the lacquered, ancient bow over in his hands, resting it across his knees. I told him, "The Angel Turns Her Back On The Shuttered Gates of Heaven. I just call it Shuttered Angel." - Mon Jul 15
- The brand on the back of my neck was a promise; an oath of protection, a sigil. He touched it gently as I stood between him and the approaching attack. - Wed Jul 10
- I beckoned, and he followed, parting the curtain of blue isinglass.
I said, "Ink spreads across paper."
He said, "Ink spreads across skin."
- Fri Jul 05
- Often have dreams about caged birds. This time: fluffy black songbird chicks and a naked chicken. Their cage kept coming apart explosively, leaving them vulnerable. - Wed Jul 03
- The cliffs of the city at night. I am descending down a long, slick stair, thousands of slate steps, to the sea. - Tue Jul 02
- The city at night; the low car, the empty, silent road. Lights slipping past. Axel's hand barely adjusting the wheel. The seven of pentacles, vibrating on the dashboard. - Mon Jul 01
- A thousand black, poisonous-looking beetles scuttled inside the canvas cage. Touching their thoraxes gently, each unfolded bright wings. He asked me to draw a catalog of their patterns. - Tue Jun 25
- Definitely too many cables and cords in the bed. Woken up by a dream where I was being taught shibori by a were-spider. - Sat Jun 01
- Dream of sitting my beloved ones before a mirror, paintbrush in hand and trays of paint scattered around, and transforming them, one after the other, into the beautiful creatures that i saw in my mind's eye, when thinking of them. - Wed May 22
- Another dream of the painting-chair: this time precise patterns, colors; my brush against skin I could smell. Woke up looking for pigments. Tue May 28
- He kissed my temple once; twice. A feather emerged from his mouth, first, and then the brown, soft wing itself: whole, still fluttering. He pressed it against my brow - bloody and warm - like a blessing, and said, "Raise them all from their branches." - Mon May 13
- I handed him the cup, still wet and soft from the wheel. It deformed gently around his fingers, and I smoothed over both clay and skin, making the impressions of his fingers part of the shape of the vessel. - Sun May 12
- Helping a friend pick an engagement ring. It was out of the blue, and he wouldn't tell me her name. "Just pick the one you like best." I chose a plain band, with the texture of a crystalline meteorite. - Wed May 08
- Headed across the city, up though abandoned concrete courtyards of giant steps. The sealed edifice church and its attendant graveyard, all of pink marble; i ran my fingers around the seam of the door, peered up at the high windows, wondering how we could get in. - Fri Apr 19
- The grey bracelet twisted around his wrist, dove bloodlessly between radius and ulna. My own shoulder itched and split as metal emerged. - Wed Apr 17
- Picking through the dark weft, thread by thread, I learned where to twist and pull to bring the quasar's scattered limbs together. - Tue Apr 16
- Carding my hands through the llama's wool, a bit of polished lapis fell at my feet. The animal mouthed my sleeve mildly. Another, and then another, fell. - Mon Apr 15
- Climbing the tree's black limbs, the fine branches became his hands: not grasping or pulling, but clasping mine, providing a place. - Sun Apr 14
- We stand, hands on one another's pulse: wrist, throat, throat, wrist. Slowly, slowly, our heartbeats become aligned. - Sun Apr 07
- Standing at the the top of the sea-cliff. On the next outcrop, i can see the low house with the walled garden, but here, only sod, the stone, and below, the dark ocean. - Sun Apr 07
- The gunmetal-sand beach on the shore of the dark ocean. The dark horse with the blaze of green scales. She lowered her head and pushed me inexorably toward the cliff-face, the narrow stair leading up and up. - Sun Apr 07