Dreaming of Them
*
In the dream there were baby bluejays in my bag of potato chips. They were all covered in cheesy dust, eating the crumbs. I shook them out onto the ground and the dogs tried to eat the baby jays and I got on my hands and knees to keep the dogs away, but they'd already gotten one and were tearing it apart. Once on the ground I saw that there were little knots of baby things everywhere. Baby mice, tiny pigs, salamanders.
And dogs and birds and snakes coming in from the edges, swallowing them, ripping them apart.
Me on my knees, trying to save them.
*
Lately beer tastes really good. Wine, too.
I mean, really good.
*
posted by tearful dishwasher at 9:35 AM
7 Comments:
i tend to shy away from dream stuff, but this is ever more terrific writing and i can sure imagine it fitting in ... way out there somewhere. damn.
Shhhhh.
You know you can't drown your sorrows, right?
This reminds me of a friend who told me about her childhood pet, a German Shepherd, who found the barn cat's litter of kittens and bit off all of their heads.
Little knots of baby things.
Was this a real dream?
If so, tell me: What do you think it means?
Ok - I'm gonna step in this and say..
that life is a bag of chips and
there's a lot of blue in there
you've maybe just had word that
that the blue can be overcome by
the dog that will eat blue cheese
at your feet/knees
if you spill it
it's gone
If you hord it
your dog goes
can't help with
the clean-up.
I had this dream
about old friends
J&L, J, a geophysicist, and L a teacher(very true, I know these people)
J is caught exposing his lower half in the garage - and the dishwasher repairman happens to see, and report this.
WHAT?
i think dreams hold amazing fodder in store for us, especially if they're clipped & honed like this one is - the way you tell it is spell-binding and frightening as all hell.
I think you can drown your sorrows -- but they resurface.
I like my beer dark, like my women.
(just joking -- or laughing at myself)
dreams are a trip.
Such perfection above, I would kiss you tenderly if I could, all over your precious soul.
Hey Scott,
Wow. Haunting dream, haunting writing. Perfectly disturbing in its .... I need to create a new word, collapsed and grammatically incorrect as is appropriate for the tale, I think... 'Perfectly disturbing in its beautifulterrible. Terrible beauty is not at all right for it, and much too clean.
And this one is not going to easily shake from memory -- the desperation, the imagery, the flailing attempts to grasp and protect innocence. (Oh my gosh, the psych degrees in me are churning out things like "hmmm, and he's a cop...")
This dream/writing also reminds me of Nick Flynn's poem, "Bag of Mice," yet also is achingly, horrifically, wonderfully singular.
And the accompanying visual work, is of course stunning, arresting.
Oh, and the artwork underneath or of the title, "Driving The Plague Before Us," is absolutely one of my favorites.
You are one talented purveyor of law&order, Scott. 'Like Elliot Ness meets Willem de Kooning. *grin*
'Wishing you sweet dreams as well as more dreams with such great artistic fuel,
Sara
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