Lying on the couch listening to Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations, and though I did not notice drifting off, I got lost in an odd dream— In which my mother was my roommate. A flaky and flighty one at that, nervous-making. In which a small, featherless chicken lived in the tank with the fish. It did not swim, it walked;… Continue reading The curious effect of a parallel minor on a Sunday afternoon
When I woke I discovered my heart cast shadows longer than dreams in places where we moved as children, cured of fear, and never looked back. Sometimes when I wake I write down my dreams, or the bits I can remember. If I wake with the territory intact, I map it. The drawings are invariably simple, as… Continue reading Cartography of the subconscious
A few days ago: one of those anxiety dreams in which what you want eludes you, but all sorts of things (nice, but not what you’re looking for in the dream; trivial or material things) are coming at you easily, unbidden. It’s difficult to wake up from such a dream feeling at ease. Where does… Continue reading little stories
Fancy dreams this morning— traveling. Somewhere in the UK: an old, wood-carved and velvet house, rambling and endless. Met a racehorse in the breezeway; sport of kings and single malts neat. Took a million photos and woke up really wishing I could see them.
Curious, that what begat my happiest epoch to date was the bloody, shredding removal of a Cupid’s dart. Or, no— it was the eventual and, sad, timely falling of Damocles’ sword. At any rate, it was something dramatic and mythic, as such things are wont to be; must be, because we’re human, and we love*.… Continue reading Being stardust is dancing with gratitude— that’s what discoballs are about, and this is a love note to everything in dour Winter
Vltava River and the Charles Bridge My wounded wing has regained much of its movement, but it’s been carrying a dull ache the past few days. Could be from the cycling I did earlier in the week (leaning on it), could be barometric. Maybe it’s just the mending process. * * * Had… Continue reading A trip, a map and a flood— all fiction
A continuation from last week (unpublished); always on about words, words. Waking up from an idea or a notion of something like it was a sleep-dream; acknowledging that your perception was distorted or not informed enough, and being okay with it, it’s fine. So you adjust your perception— we do it all the time. It’s… Continue reading the way something shiny looks under water, viewed from the shore
Strange and endless dreams early this morning—cross-pollination of recent work and a Netflix binge. I was designing an image program / slideshow that was, in its entirety, regarding serial killers— when young, where lived, etc. Gruesome (both the content and the schedule), wake-in-a-sweat stuff. Why must I work in my sleep? Not RESTFUL! Followed by… Continue reading Sleep, memory
Unintentionally patriotic feet, in tertiary variations on red and blue. A friend recently asked what art I've been working on, and my answer was, sadly, none. I'm feeling a need to do something so I return to the blog—I do enjoy writing. Maybe it will spark something. Independence Day yesterday; a barbecue on a friend’s… Continue reading The fleeting nature of dreams and summer
It is time to obtain a coffee-maker equipped with the ingenious ability to be set up and programmed before sleep, as, with the arrival of autumn, dreams have returned, en masse. Little matter what time I go to bed (nor how much or little I may read before actually going to sleep)– in the morning,… Continue reading The irresistible tide of dreams
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 