1 Below the surface and above

2 Waking up to dream

3 One-night stand




October 2009

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

without furniture

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 -caries.

1325–75; ME (< OF) < ML apothēcārius seller of spices and drugs, LL: shopkeeper, equiv. to L apothēc(a) shop, storehouse (< Gk apoth kē; see apo-, theca ) + -ārius -ary 



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

One-night stand


Last night

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.