1 Below the surface and above
2 Waking up to dream
3 One-night stand
Below the surface and above Dream 1.2
The dream about the stick
that tended to become a snake,
I described to myself
in the most precise manner I could manage;
I then filed it.
I attended to the woman
who wanted to be beaten,
and that I had to keep avoiding;
I wrote that up and placed it
in the data file.
There were some fragments
I could not fully describe, but I did my best:
the car journey with some indistinct children –
the car’s brakes became weaker all the time
and in the end I had to go faster and faster
to avoid making an accident.
Then there was the office
where I tried to complete
my important work,
but I only had a cold frankfurter
to write with.
All these go into my oneirothece
for cross-referencing and future musing.
All these above are tainted
by my conscious mind
looking in, prodding, organising –
poor creatures in this clinical laboratory,
you will sicken and die
in this unnatural environment.
But at least I will have learned
something from you:
I am a whale
that comes to the surface occasionally
to blow my mind.
oneirothece is a word I have coined to describe the repository in which I keep dreams and visions.
Etymology: oneiron + theca
< Gk óneiro(s) = dream
An analogy is the word “apothecary” with the following meanings and etymology:
Pronunciation: [uh-poth-uh-ker-ee] –noun, plural -car⋅ies.
15 May 2008 0.3
Waking up to dream
This morning shook itself,
licked its paw
and yawned yellow glinting teeth
into the sky.
Then it rambles forward,
switching away flies,
breaking wind unconcernedly.
It feels the heat of the sun,
laps up water with feminine finesse,
then rests on its back,
open to anyone
who’d like to scratch its belly.
When the dusty smell of shadows
tells that the sun is taking a dive,
it feels its empty stomach,
sniffs the flaccid air
to trace those fleeting dreams
of flesh and blood.
22 February 2013 Dream 2.6
had been waiting
for several billion years
for its turn.
It was quite eventful;
some of the dreams were of high quality:
the one in which the conductor
in the passenger steam train,
who was me, occasionally,
helped the old man
to keep the whale inside
the brown paper bag;
a whale is large, of course, and wet;
its tail hung out of the window.
The conductor – he wasn’t me then –
but Herbert Von Karajan,
started conducting the symphony orchestra
running along outside –
they played “Pictures at an Exhibition”.
I was lightly surprised
that the saxes were not out of breath,
but soon forgot that as the night
shook my hand regretfully,
looking over its shoulder
as the sun came bustling in.
It had its turn
and will never return.