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

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Through The Forest of Infinite Creativity

“I think I’ve created an environment in this forest that allows me to dream and to think. I like to work in that state musically, I’m very happy in that dream-like world…It’s a very internal type of sight, it’s a memory really…There has to be some struggle, I think, to create something of value, so there’s always that searching inwards.” - Howard Shore, composer
The spiraling staircases in the inner lining of the university campus stretch as with poor digestion in the expunging of this semester’s students. It is our final few days. My friend, bound by the head with heavy dreadlocks races down the stairs, his phone falls from his clothing. On the phone, I see his experiments with asemic manuscript art. I am relatively unimpressed yet endeared by his attempts to invigorate this little known art form that I have been so adamantly embracing.

That summer, I board a ship-bound theatre. Is this a re-telling of “Queen of the Nile”? I am unsure as to the exact play. Soon, I begin to befriend those on board the ship in the starlight sun. All are jovial and friendly as the high-spirited waters direct us further into the riverine wilderness, high above atop the luxurious craft. In one scene, there is a procession involving an African woman character as lead. Two African-American ladies on board vie for the part. The scene calls for a booming voice. I console the lady who was denied the part. She receives her secondary well and smiles to me warmly when I whisper into her ear in Spanish. “You are the best to play the African role.”

In a campfire setting, unseen by a gathering of people on the banks of the palm-encrusted river banks, I sit with a Venezuelan friend as the festivities prosper in our midst. He shows me his new guitar, an electric Oud, played also by a Sudanese artist. Quickly, I mention my knowledge of the doumbek, after which he invites me to play with him. Our music is fine and elegant to the ears, as the fire spits rejuvenated glory into the dusky damp canopies above. Shadows flit with gorgeous mystery. 
"To dream of ships, foretells honour and unexpected elevation to ranks above your mode of life...If you dream of being on a ship, you should listen to your instincts in waking life - they are powerful allies for helping you deal with everyday problems...if the voyage is calm you should go ahead with your plans."

"There is no more to say."

So I said nothing.
When no response is needed, you don’t even show a face.

“There is no room for necessity.

We are past that.
We live for ideology and we have abandoned spirit for the still death of the end.”

Feb. 19 2010
L.A. apartment

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