You propose to me, E.

We live in a compound on a hill.  There are several houses, some large, some small.

We are already together.  You are an NBA player; your hair has some wave to it.

You have a deep Southern accent.

We’ve arranged a to-do and all the people are coming over.  I am up in the studio and the people are gathering down at the big house and the gazebo, which can not be seen from the studio.  Everyone is acting just a little strange and I notice they keep trying to keep me up in the studio.  I also noticed you were dressed all in white.

When I finally come down to join the party, I come around the corner of the big house and see the gazebo on the little hill in front of the house.  You have fairy lights coming down from the center of the gazebo, strings and strings of them, to come down to form a glowing, sparkling cocoon in the center.  You come to the edge of gazebo and take my hand and bring me into the center of the sparkling cocoon.  All the people are gathered in a festive manner around the gazebo but we are alone in the center of the sparkle.

You say, “S, I have loved you all my life and I know you know that.  But today I want to do this.”  And then you put a small ring on my finger.  I notice it is small and I get a teensy bit judgey about this but I am overwhelmed with joy and jump into your arms and circle my legs around you.  You hold me like this for a long time.  We both cry and laugh.  All the people clap.  I have thoughts that I am perhaps too heavy for you to keep holding like this but remind myself that you are strong from all the sports and you have no trouble holding me up.  We have loved each other forever.

We come out of the sparkle center and join the festivities.  Our people are like mountain people.  It’s a sophisticated redneck affair.  

John and I are in the jeep and see Kate along the road.  He tells her he is proud of her and gives her the jeep as a present.  She is so happy.  In the dream, I think I am recalling that earlier in the real-life day yesterday John has told me that he has given Kate the jeep and so have what I believe is a lucid conversation with myself in the dream about this remembering.

For what seems like a long time, I drift back and forth between lucid and dreaming and reflect on the dream and the feelings of the dream.  I know I am loved and will be forever.  I reflect on the (made-up) conversation John and I had the day before about giving Kate the jeep.

This dream is part of the “I Am Loved” dream series and as usual, the feeling of being loved lingers long after the dream.  This dream signals the return of “I Am Loved”.

All these thoughts are part of the dream and part of the waking.

I awake in full to the smell of cigarettes and one sinus emptying out onto the pillow.

Morning Dream Remnant: 4/30/12

"If you were writing this book this chapter would have gone of forever.

If you were reading this book you’d be bored to death. 

It’s time to end this chapter. IT’S TIME TO END THIS CHAPTER.”

G. is not in the rehab place.  He is saying he is in the rehab place.

He is lying.  He is always lying.

I am talking to him.  Merely talking to him perpetuates the lie.

He believes I believe him.

I never believe him, only want to believe him.

There is no difference for him.

The rehab place is not a “sober” place, per se.

There is drama there.  How can there not be?

I don’t remember any more.

Maybe I remember more.

I am sick of the details of these dumb dreams.

I need to write my goddamn book.

dream: 1/3/2012-you betray me in new ways, g.

i wait for you at the top of foxcroft, across the street.

i loiter by the mattress on the ground, amongst the magazines and garbage.  

i rummage through some papers.  i read something that lets me know you have fucked elizabeth.

elizabeth shows up with a grocery store cake and i confront her.  she is elizabeth and mary liz.  we fight; she is unrepentant and ugly.

i follow her to her house, which is stacy’s house.  there is a washer and dryer in the front room, with both machines going and laundry all around.  it does not look like stacy’s house.

there is more arguing.

dustin comes into the room. i tell him of her infidelity and hope for his support.  he says, “whatever.  she has done this before.”

i ride on a train to confront g. in rehab.  the elizabeth woman is also my daughter.

i arrive at the rehab place-a house in the suburbs, in foxcroft,  with a well manicured lawn. i am still so filled with rage and betrayal that when the woman at the door sees me and tells me there can be no visitors, she knows she has to let me in, which she does.

everyone there is happy.  greg comes up from the basement.  

greg has grown taller and thin from good health from the rehab and recovery.

he is not pleased to see me, even before he knows why i am there.

when i confront him with the betrayal, he looks me in the eyes and lies, like always.

i show him the letters, their letters, detailing their encounter.

his explanation and excuses are infuriating and insulting and he tries to walk away from me.

he says, “i have to take the train to the bakery to start my shift”.  i say, “well then i will go with you.”

i feel frantic and insane like i did so often and so take the train with him to his early morning baking shift.  greg is a cross between greg and r.

we fight.

we never get anywhere.

i wake up sweating and panting and frantic with fear anger sorrow.

Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics. You are all stardust. You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded. Because the elements, the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars. And the only way they could get into your body is if the stars were kind enough to explode. So forget Jesus. The stars died so you could be here today. — Lawrence Krauss (via allhailtheinfidel) (via ageofreason, neightkelly)

"agents of telling"

this will be the name of the story.

it will begin when the people who have done the hurting are dead and buried.

Taken with instagram

Taken with instagram

For when the children and the Mothers hear the Story.

For when the children and the Mothers hear the Story.