Dreams
Black Walls
We spent a week shivering in a damp atrium with rain dripping down the sides. We called it the Tarkovsky Box.
Train Dreams
London. Record-breaking wind swept across England yesterday, closing bridges, train lines, and attractions.
Dream Language
Ohio. Temperatures in the thirties and everything is coated grey. I woke up wondering if I would live my life any differently if I measured my age in days or hours instead of years.
So Much Noise
Sunset: 6:20pm. A first-quarter moon. A high of 72 and another humid night that feels like the wrong season.
Deer
I’m not sure if I believe in symbols or signs, but today gave me plenty to decipher.
Decay
Lately my dreams have been all garble and grime without symbolism or plot.
Vivid
A world without the color green. A man who repainted all the seashells on the beach.
Toll
Sometimes I dream about tollbooth operators, the half-glimpsed faces with cigarettes on their lips, their left hands forever clutching a quarter and a dime in change.
Babble
Each morning I wake to the imaginary babble of fully-formed news reports and television clips while skating across sleep.
Symbols
We might remember crouching on the sidewalk, frantically trying to gather the teeth falling from our mouths—not the circumstances that led us there.
Compound
Night walk to the corner bodega and I nearly forgot to wear my bandana.
Senseless
Last night I dreamt about a god who was angry because the noise of humanity prevented him from sleeping.