_ • eyeless • _
sometimes my dreams are cinema
both are experiences--fleeting
the answers come
the answers slip away
my dreams, have you left me
out of pity or self-preservation?
silver linings on silver screens unsatisfy
my dreams, have you left me?
the big screen
source decay or waking dreams
which is closer to death?
we never learn, it seems
Pieces are all I have to give because pieces are all I can remember and pieces are all anyone ever understands anyway.
Me and a little blue motorcycle with absurdly fat tires. Where the dirt road connects to the main road. Having some kind of mechanical issues. A van of teenagers pulls up. They are slightly older than me, in the dream I am young. They ask questions, give advice, probing. Have you taken it out to the highway yet? See how fast it can go? Anyway, they're on their way to something, I should come with them. Come on, let's go. I go.
I find combat culture. Athletic culture. They have a big, sprawling ranch. They've set up long wooden blocks as a kind of obstacle course. They have mounted steel bars and they do pull-ups. They have a cage and they hold local mma competitions on weekends. They want me to be a part of things.
There are clear drug problems within the family. One father and a few of his friends overdosed while I was there. The mother was doing her best to keep it together but she was clearly panicking inside. Paramedics resuscitated him on the scene but he died in the hospital. Dad's dead by the way, he said. Stoic teenage boys. It was of the upmost importance to be cool about everything. They knew I looked up to them and they wanted it that way. There was no weakness. Not while they had people they felt responsible for.
Someone's sister comes into frame, telling someone some bad news, telling someone to take care of something. I'm still at an age where I don't feel comfortable around the opposite sex, don't feel comfortable with my own feelings. My mom's kind of loose, he says. She'll probably try to suck your dick. If you even want that. Your own mom's pretty good looking too, you know. If I'm being honest... He starts to trail off, he can tell I'm not ready for this sort of thing. Part of what's so apparent on my face is confusion. I don't ever remember him meeting my mother. Sometimes when we notice a lack of continuity while dreaming it's enough to kick in our sense of self-awareness, it allows us to recognize that the context is untrustworthy, ergo we are dreaming, and allows us a sense of control and subsequently liberation. Other times the illusion is just too powerful. The influential friend, I can't help but hang on his every word. The associations of my mother and my friend's mother and sexuality and dreaming. It was all very uncomfortable.
Sitting around on those wooden blocks like we were in a sauna, smoking. Old 80s alt rock playing, and I'm into it. I start to sing along, and they tentatively join. It's like a miracle to me. I tell them, I've seen you guys fight, I've seen my favorite mma news channels reporting on it, right here. And you've got good taste in music too. I could become something here. I could be what I've always wanted to be. I've never thought there was anyone in the world I could really relate to, anywhere, ever. And you guys are right here practically in my backyard. They laughed, softly. Here I am in confession, in revelation. They just smiled and shook their heads.
It was a little hard to not take it personally in the moment. But now I understand. Now that I'm "older," now that I'm "awake." I didn't know what I had. I didn't know what I wanted. I didn't know who I was. He could see. He saw me, needing other people just so that I could be myself. So young. Poor child.
How desperate am I for a peer group anyway?
I kind of just left my motorcycle at the end of the road, come to think of it. I think I might have even left the key in the ignition when I'd hopped in the van with you guys. I need to be getting back to it. Maybe I will take it out to the highway, see how fast it can go. That was a good idea. I could probably use some time alone.
Sometimes it's easier to work backwards. Reverse engineering. This applies to logical problem solving, creative solutions, intuition, memory...dream interpretation...
sometimes my lack of circadian rhythm
and deep wells of sleep deprivation
can be called upon, cashed in, and I can sleep
for 15 of a 24 hour stretch
and in the deep of it
in those last 5 or 6 hours
of heavy longwave R.E.M. sleep
the curtain rises
and beyond the thin veil of imagination
and through all the intoxication of illusion
and inside all my desire
I can't see a thing