dead dreams

When we are awake, our brains produce beta waves. As we drift into the first stages of sleep delta and theta waves run through our drowsy heads. Then, as we begin to dream, our brains revert back to producing beta waves, the very same waves we experience during waking life. To me, this is a profound understanding of the significance of our dreams. Somehow, we are alive in being comatose. We are awake in our minds despite our paralyzed shells. Our dreams are towers of the subconscious.

I revealed to a friend the other day my cache of high anxiety involving death. I showed her this poem I had written in result of the death-stress weighing upon me. (I have edited the poem from its orginal version into what is shown below; the original was drab.).I think the poem still fails to be a "good" one and is rather a sorry acquisition, but the poem itself is not what matters here. What matters is what happened after I wrote it. I wrote this poem about the Big Exit and my fears associated with it and then I dreamt of maggots. The maggot dream is what is really important. Well, here is the poem...

"VALDIS"

My head is caught in the claw of death
and beaten by the barbed-wire grip-

the black fear of the white horse.
The End, with all her aches and moans, abstracts.

I am strung up,

harrowed, cramped, and racked

by her routine voulge.

I can't fight her in the murder-hole.

She is coming
and her closed book keeps cold paranoia.

The spell has been cast upon every rat, priest, and mother.

I pine for my mother,

clean and canonized,

not to expire.

I fear her bright whites turning grey,

her empyrean eyes but a dry decay.

-----------------------------------------

And so, after I wrote this, I dreamt of maggots.

MAGGOTS, people, maggots. Don't you get it? This was my dream! This was my somehow conscious sub-conscious. The maggots aren't even maggots, they're something else. Something bigger and braver than I could see in waking life. The beta waves... the death-stress in waking life... the beta waves... the maggots of the dream arena. This is the metaphor, the interpretation, the metonymous relevance flowering in the sleep kingdom where the dreams are real. Don't you see? It's the maggots. That's what is important.

MAGGOTS
"To see maggots in your dream, represents your anxieties about death."

I think it is so strange that we could completely disregard anything as "just a dream". What about the maggots?

(photo: alwayscarryalightbulb.tumblr.com)

I can be sometimes dismal.

There was a girl who wept for you, but you did not see. There was a man with bright white eyes, but you did not see him running to you, running right to you. I walked by where they were laughing. I saw them throwing stones and making jokes about me. You did not see them running toward me with their hands tied. I met a girl . She had died, oh, one day because she couldn't say that right words to the kingdom. Then she flew away like a white dove in the sky. Oh me, oh my. I didn't see her yesterday when i went down to the church to make amends with myself. I didn't see her walking by yesterday. Yesterday was the right day, but today i feel like i could die for any given reason (existentially, i don't mind).

Hidden (Decadent Scum)

i don't know but you came to me. dressed in black. revelries. and i ran away to the back alley where he came from. he went out. sympathy for my inconveniences. and i ride off into the night like a phoenix out of fire light. how do i let her know? she's going to go where they keep them hidden. oh you were all i needed. you had me, so... so what? "light my candles in a daze"... i don't know i just got swept away.

(image: kills.tv)

deadpan

i have used up all these words, here and there, and now they've become exhausted. they are weak. they have no use. i feel blank - like an empty bottle, or a pale virgin . i feel down, down, down, cambering where there is nowhere, sinking... slaving to the pretensions, those lofty expectations, hot and foaming in my mouth. suddenly i'm some rabid dog, the sick lamb, wearing the white veil. that was my craft. now, i am here. flat and watery, a waste of anything. deadpan and drowsy waiting for this featherbrain to change into sharp math.