Primarily a writing exercise, this dream journal-inspired blog is a quiet introspective sojourn into the process that we traverse in going from private dream to public art. I see our dreaming as an internalized mythmaking. As I philosophize and expressively exhibit dreams, both private and public, I encourage and delight in creative language as a way to practice experiential metaphors through a “public dreaming." Writing Theory: Creative Dream Fiction

Monday, 7 May 2012

Experiments With Conventional Dream Definition

"We believe warmth and brightness will return and renew all of the hopes of men. NO!!!"

"Let me put it this way, I don't think there's a deep concern about anything. I think there's a lot of, you know, there's sort of passing interest in things, but there's no real concern. It's doesn't mean it's a matter of conviction, again. People seem unwilling to become involved in anything. I mean, really."

Also by Arthur Lipsett, "[Free Fall] evokes a surrealist dream of our fall from grace into banality." (NFB)
It’s the Floridian humidity. The silent pavement provides a buffer zone between the sweating plants and the lowering sky. Small mammals scurry mindfully in the thick brush beside these manicured pathways. A massive dome appears on our way. The recently past dusk threw a scintillating crepuscular finitude over the incredible structure. White-mounded, of chalky substance, the mound invited us with an easily accessible entranceway. An aqueous blue light hovers in a pallid mist throughout the sporadic lighting of a tunnel system. Globular shadows bloom over the fear-cast hideaway. “The deeper we press on, the more sheltered are the animals who dwell inside,” I peer into a subterranean passage, meant for a nocturnal fox. I turn back.

The next day, in the sweltering heat, I sit languorous with café atop a balconied precipice in an inner city restaurant. The muddied roads spell social friction as two heated rough bands of youth face off. The attitude about is apathetic, as resting feet mosey in careless to the disaffected gorge of violence in our immediate vicinity. I watch restlessly, bitter with remorse as the puffed chests of the youths splinter with strangled breath under their pitiful guise of torn flesh and mangled bones.

In the café, my wayward attention darts in the direction of a radiant presence. A world-class musician empties bellies of laughter and rays of his smiling countenance in all directions, especially meeting my eyes with his. We become acquainted. Over tea, he invites me to a concert of his in the evening. The concert hall is bedecked with the stylish wonders of the epoch. The bountiful core of human opulence shines in its full magnificence as the musician, a percussionist, gently plays a twin-headed gourd with a masterful split-finger technique, similar to the way one would play a hadgini. Bursts of mountainous excitement turn the crowd inside their beatific lives to a place more common to all. 
"To dream of chasing a fox, denotes that you are engaging in doubtful speculations and risky love affairs." (iDream)

The snowball effect and the end of humanity…

Air dead.
Noxious and looming.
Distracted meds fielding stringent commentary.

Of wrong.

Misinformed delusion.
Gray-haired wisdom.
Bold boom music.
Drunk on sleep.
Feeding extreme weak binge.

Insane night.

Wheeling through migrations
Globalizing responsibility.

For no one.

Healing engrossed savages
Inviolate demise.
Undone law.


Demeaned personality
Locked unmovable
Warm concrete.

Derailed western dream.

920pm. Feb 18. 10’
L.A., caged windowed building, pesto pasta and one cigarette

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