dream scene

Last night I had wildly vivid dream. Let me jump right into the eye of it, the part that is clear to me. Photographs falling, one, two, three, four on top of one another. their colors warm, almost sepia toned, with a glitz of color. Two faces, lovers I'm sure. Their faces so familiar.
Mine and yours. Our faces fill the frame against a back ground which can only be described as a world map, the vintage detail of the lines stood out to me. much like we are lying on the world, made into one flat, two dimensional surface.
The first shot floats down to it's resting place. we're fixed on each other, grinning stupidly. even in my dream state I noticed how the lighting was perfect. how the sun light kissed your  hair in the way that I knew it'd be warm to the touch, if only I could have put my finger in the center of a curl to watch it bounce like I've done on an occasion or two. My subconscious welled with pure peace as I watched almost like an outsider, this perfect dream scene.
next shot floats down. angles itself crookedly onto of the former photo. This shot, still you, still me. but we're one in a kiss. so pure. I bask in this reality. more frames fall. each unique in one way or another. then I wake. jolted by the sound of the alarm that I loathe. (why don't I ever change this tone) there I am, in a bed that seems foreign. Left to deconstruct my thoughts.

The world is always speaking to us. the dilemma lies in whether we slow down to notice.

At work, I meet man with a mustache that curls to such a fierce degree that I have to hold back my smile when I see him. He mentions that he teaches dream workshops. I inform that my lucid, vivid dreams seem to be something of my past. He says this can be remedied. Mustache man jots down a url of his website that I can assume is chalked full of his mysterious dream theories. I told him I wanted to start a dream journal. That being said. this marks my first public dream entry. (was not planned) this was initially only a post to paint an image of a dream that has burned my mind all day.

The closest I'll be to you...is it in my dreams??

I'll see you there

my new job

I'm late before I even open my eyes

coffee sounds necessary, possibly a bagel

high hopes of magic money in my account as I order my food

declined 

the sandwich artists give me my much desired food even though I paid only for brown water

I don't want your bagel charity, but I'll take it 

late

work...more like zen 

the school bus is serene 

I'm left alone with the rattles and rumbles of this yellow machine 

these roads know me well

we hug the curves and I know just where I stand in the universe

even with my eyes averted down to my most recent love affair of a book

I almost make it a game..."feel inside where you are and then look up to see if you're right"

I am

Engrossed in the adventure in my hands that's pressed between trees, my eyes burn with the promise of tears

tales of siblings is the catalyst 

The breaks whine as we make a halt at the place I used to call school 

I wipe a tear, glancing in the over sized rear view mirror to determine whether the bus driver witnessed my emotion 

safe

as the children fill their seats, my perspective morphs 

book shut along with my emotions 

these children

special needs?

I need them more than they need me 

I make animal noises for a boy in his wheel chair 

This makes him wild, limbs punching the air with joy

never have I heard such a pure laugh 

new tears

I laugh so hard I cry 

I see him

this should be me

doctor ordered.

he is the happiest 

and I know I would be too

bound by a chair or not,we still sing

we sing

we are joyful people

and I am one of them again

stubborn buckles, chair lifts and getting sneezed on

I am alive

children disappear to leave me

again with book, with my silence 

"take it easy" I demand the bus driver as my day concluded itself

he gandered at my crotch

sick man

but I can't be bothered

I'm the queen of the world 

remember me. from your hands to your feet

if my confessions of fondness could be more than just that. confessions, I would not have to present them like this.
Done
as though there is fault in me loving you
done
 to you...they should be nectar and when they are absorbed by your small sweet ears they should set you free 
silence rather for the telephone only works one way
vulnerable strings of muddled up metaphors push their way through airwaves, postage stamps, secret silence, bold confessions 
timing. 
it's probably that
different places,different experiences
likely reasons
 we slipped through this world too many years apart 
don't settle 

Everything will change

I've been shielding my soul for a bit now. As if I rely on my exquisite memory to nurture each creative burst that comes, those that I deem unworthy of letting feel the touch of paper. there is me, on the bus mentally jotting whatever just filled me such energy. I need to carry a pen with me...it's the least I can do.

 So here I am loving on my blog again. It's not that I LOVE to write a blog,it's that I love writing. better shared then kept on dusty shelf hidden in the naked pages of my journal. writing is beautiful, but not writing creates something in myself that is difficult to reason with. 

  I started a 365 photography project on Saturday. today means day three and I've had several different emotions crawling. I have more idea's stirring than I can keep quiet. To anticipate the next day's substance regardless of how I feel about today's, is golden! I have no idea what I am doing, but I know I want to be doing it. Everything else will come, if it needs to. And as far as my point and shoot is concerned, I'm secretly really happy to be kicking off this project with it. what better place to start. I will share a shot that I am proud of from yesterday, but don't feel like fixing what I should (the date). photoshop is foreign to me at this point.

Maps

Onto paper smelling ripe with time, my words will leak, hands will craft, a plane, that I'll throw your way

Read this, because it matters, more then your next burger.

"In her book, Slaughterhouse, Gail Eisnitz, chief investigator for the Humane Farming Association, interviewed dozens of slaughterhouse workers throughout the country. Every single one admitted to abusing animals or neglecting to report those who did. (103) The following are quotes from slaughterhouse workers taken from her book. (They are quite graphic and difficult to read, but we implore you to read each one. It is important to know what out dietary desires are contributing to. Surely you can endure reading it if animals have to endure suffering it):

• " I seen them take those stunners-they're about as long as a yard stick- shove it up the hog's ass...they do it with cows, too...And their ears, their eyes, down their throat...They'll be squealing and they'll just shove it right down there." (104)
• "Hog's get stressed out pretty easy. If you prod them too much they have heart attacks. If you get a hog in a chute that's had the shit prodded out of him and has a heart attack or refuses to move, you take a meat hook and hook it into his bunghole [anus]. You're dragging these hogs alive, and a lot of times the meat hook rips out of the bunghole. I've seen hams -thighs- completely ripped open. I've also seen intestines come out. If the hog collapses near the front of the chute, you shove the meat hook into his cheek and drag him forward." (105)
• "Or in their mouth. The roof of their mouth. And they're still alive." (106)
• Pigs on the kill floor have come up and nuzzled me like a puppy. Two minutes later I had to kill them-beat them to death with a pipe." (107)
• "these hogs get up to the scalding tank, hit the water and start screaming and kicking. Sometimes they thrash so much they kick water out of the tank...Sooner or later they drown. There's a rotating arm that pushes them under, no chance for them to get out. I'm not sure if they burn to death before they drown, but it takes them a couple of minutes to stop thrashing." (108)
• "Sometimes I grab it [a hog] by the ear and stick it right through the eye. I'm not just taking it's eye out, I'll go all the way to the hilt, right up through the brain, and wiggle the knife. " (109)
• " Only you don't just kill it, you go hard, push hard, blow the windpipe, make it drown in it's own blood. Spilt it's nose. A live hog would be running around the pit. It would just be looking up at me and I'd be sticking, and I would just take my knife and -cut its eye out while it was just sitting there. And this hog would just scream." (110)
• " I could tell you horror stories...about cattle getting their heads stuck under the gate guards, and the only way you can get it out is by cutting their heads off while their still alive." (111)
• " He'll kick them [hogs], fork them, use anything he can get his hands on. He's already broken three pitchforks so far this year, just jabbing them. He doesn't care if he hits its eye, head, butt. He jabs them so hard he busts the wooden handles. And he clubs them over the back." (112)
• " I've seen animals shackled, hoisted, stuck, and skinned. Too many to count, too many to remember. It's just the process that's continually there. I've seen shackled beef looking around before they've been stuck. I've seen hogs [that are supposed to be lying down] on the bleeding conveyor get up after they've been struck. I've seen hogs in the scalding tub trying to swim." (113)
• " I seen guys take broomsticks and stick it up the cows's behind, screwing them with a broom." (114)
• "I've drug cows till their bones start breaking, while they were still alive. Bringing them around the corner and they get up in the doorway, just pull them till their hide be ripped, till the blood just drip on the steel and concrete. Breaking their legs....And the cow be crying with its tongue stuck out. They pull him till his neck just pop." (115)
• "One time I took my knife-it's sharp enough-and I sliced off the end of a hog's nose, just like a piece of bologna. The hog went crazy for a few seconds. Then just sat there looking kind of stupid. So I took a handful of salt brine and ground it into his nose. Now that hog really went nuts, pushing it's nose all over the place. I still had a bunch of salt left in my hand- I was wearing a rubber glove - And I stuck the salt right up the hog's ass. The oor hog didn't know whether to shit or go blind." (116)
• " Nobody knows who's responsible for correcting animal abuse at the plant. The USDA does Zilch." (117)

Is everyone in the FDA on drugs?!

The turquoise bird

He brings me joy.