UPDATE: Dreams As A Mirror Of The Self: dream

Dreams are interesting things. For millennia, mankind has attempted to interpret his dreams, to divulge their esoteric and other-worldly meaning. No doubt, our mindset, our waking thoughts, our worries, and the circumstances surrounding our lives have an influence over the unconscious manifestations in our dreams. You can learn a lot about yourself if you listen to the content. 

I always gage the quality of my sleep based on how many dreams I can remember in the morning. Some people can't remember their dreams, although I'm sure they still exert an influence on them while they're awake. Even our nightmares, particularly recurring fears and themes, are a means of getting more in touch with ourselves. Perhaps they represent an opportunity to face something that hinders you in your waking hours and challenges you to overcome your conscious fears.    

I know many expressive people who's dreams have made thier way into their poetry, painting, and music. Always reflect on your dreams in the morning to learn something from them and use them to enrich your life. They are, after all, yours.      

dream

behind these rancid eyes

hides a bag of hopes and a box of lies,

i push aside 

to find you still asleep

your eyelashes were fluttering,

a symphony of peace they spun,

just like the night before

until i woke up to find the sun

my mind was still a haze

as i erased the past few days

and found myself alone with thoughts

of someone i had never known

with her image in my head

i laid there in bed

and knew her love had still in me yet grown

yearning for that gift,

i fell silent once again,

awaiting if or when

into sleep i would drift 

as i did, she was there

and hadn’t moved a finger or a toe,

and as i crept closer,

i felt the lust in me grow

feeling her breath upon my lips,

in my head i begged, ‘a kiss’

‘a kiss for i and no one else’

‘a kiss for me’

‘for myself’

i knelt beside her breast  

and now the heart inside my chest,

the heart i held for years alone

and shared with no one else

had fallen silent hence no more,

erased the pain i had abhorred,

and beat faster,

ever faster,

far faster than before

my pulse felt shattered with delight

having found a love of which i’m sure

this loneliness in me i see will vex me no more

for now i lay my lips to hers 

and know this is no dream

her taste is sweet, her affection pure

and in that moment, i believed

but as i opened up my eyes,

the sunlight compelling me to weep,

i see 

i had never known true love 

for i had lived it in a dream 

UPDATE

My first book of poetry, Death By Active Movement, has officially released. You can order your copy by going to the link above.

#DBAM 

Stringing You Along: Corsage, Croissant, Crochet, Croquet

We've all been backstabbed by someone we thought we knew. Someone we loved who reciprocated only to snuff it out; a friend we confided in who spilled the precious beans; a risk taken only to result in failure. Sometimes it is intentional. Other times no one can rightfully be blamed. Spite and anger always seem to be the first emotion resorted to in such instances. Perhaps there is some evolutionary explanation as to why. Perhaps there is a savage benefit to spitting in the face of something that once was.

Venting is a healthy way of dealing with such intense reactions, especially if they are out of our control. Sometimes, the powers that be ordain things that cannot be shaped by our attempts to change them; when one half of a duel party refuses to alleviate the situation, the other half must depart. Providing yourself with a robust route of dispensing of your anger and spite will prove far better for the heart and mind in the long run than bottling it up or even allowing it to burst forth. 

That's why the arts are so important: Music, painting, photography, writing all provide the most successful and healthy routes of attenuation. Hatred never helped anyone - Go write a poem!  

Corsage, Croissant, Crochet, Croquet

Swallow your tongue…

Digest your own weak imaginings!

Essence I shall bung;

Oh, how I would love to cleanse your muddy footprints

From this place.  

Demystify the fossils;

Fill in the cavities with concrete,

Like the lungs you falsely filled,

While you don’t deserve to breath!

You cauterized the dagger

That now wriggles in my back,

A joystick that you grab

To lead me along

This Mobius path.  

I will take quick pleasure

In ripping it free!  

A champagne rain to bath and boil bloody mead.

I pulled you from the sand, but left you dangling from a string;

Freedom isn’t gathered with a shackle or a stitch,

It doesn’t matter if you feed or beat the bitch,

It will bite you back.  

I found myself in a bathroom stall,

I was fading painting on a peeling wall,

It was a porcelain kind of forever

In a plastic canon ball.  

I’ll throw shrapnel in the eyes of all you so fiercely guarded

And all the opportunities you so sweetly pardoned.

A figment of fiction is truth in all its vindications

And now the threat is imminent,

A valedictorian vendetta;

A glistening inscription.

Your accord has been cut,

Raped in your wedding dress,

Grinding off the malaise

As the partitions you press

To get drunk off the plaster.  

I’ll place the coin beneath your tongue before the trumpets begin to play

If that’s not proof of a foreclosed heart,

Than what more do you want me to say?

I HAVE A BOOK COMING OUT

I'm still working on the title, but it will be a collection of poetry with an overarching theme of death. I'm shooting for an April, 2013 release. Stay tuned for more details!