Maybe it's the new place. I don't know. I keep having/waking from this dream with Antithesis beside me. It's very realistic--I can feel him ad hear his breath and he's whispering things in my ears. What's up with this? It's not arousing or terrifying, it just sort of happens every night and it's wierding me out. The realism, especially. I can even feel his tongue on my ear and stuff. It's peculiar. Does anyone else have dreams like this?

Well, sometimes I wake up and before I'm fully conscious I could swear that there's someone standing by my bed, but I don't think that's what you meant.

It is, kind of. The awareness of another person.

the night my first parakeet died, i started "seeing" a man everywhere. i guess the best term for him would be the green man, as he wore a green cloak wrapped around his shoulders. and a horned skull mask. nothing else, but i never saw him below the waist. it weirded me out for a while, but every so often i can feel him breathing behind me...

I never have impressions like that. every now and then when I'm just sitting around I feel like someone has suddenly grabbed my shoulder, but I imagin that's common.

sometimes i'm pulled out of my bed by an evil force.

Sometimes earthquakes have pulled me out of bed.

there was an earthquake here in oregon about six years ago. i woke up right before it happened. it was really weird, everything was rocking. my dresser sits on four legs, and it sounded like a pony or something (this was during my horse-crazy stage). this morning the sky was positively beautiful. i was driving my sister to school at about 7 am, headed east on hwy 212. there were wispy clouds behind mount hood, and the sun was peeking through, turning the clouds pink. pretty!

Lately I've been seeing images of mended ceramics in all my dreams... You can guess what I've been up to at work lately. Perhaps it's due to the inadvertent buzz from the glue.

Probably is. I used to have earthquakes all the time at home. It's weird to be in Vermont, because there aren't any little temors at night.

I haven't been sleeping much lately; hence fewer dreams had / remembered. Isolde: sorry 'bout that. Not on purpose, I promise. I'll work on it. (hey, did I tell you that the idiots tried to "fix" my house and clean the bad vibes out? Can't remember if i posted that story or not, yet. I came home, they were all beaming like they'd done me some huge favor by standing around with candles and salt.) Do y'all believe in "magic(k)"? Pez: green man. Mesquilito? I think that's his name. um. Read "Cosmic Trigger" by R.A. Wilson, as mention in some thread around here. He gives the lowdown on the green man. He's supposedly a common phenomenon. No earthquakes lately, but there was an instastorm last night. Was walking home at about 3:30am when there was this huge flash of light from behind the Police station. We got all weirded out, 'cause it was totally clear and un-stormy, un-electrical. about 3 minutes later, there was another random flash. It didn't look at all like lightning; or it was so close that we couldn't define it visually. 30 seconds later, there's a thunder-crash sound. 15 minutes later, it was raining.

Antithesis-- I don't believe in pretentious magic spelled with a k. I believe there are things which cannot be explained via conventional means which may be put down to magic, I suppose, or irregularities. I'm not that much of a cynic. I think that "cleansing" houses and stuff is usally bullshit, as is "consecrating" objects. Real magic does not need to be brought out or emphasized, it just is.

hrm. interesting. I use the "k" as a hat-tip to any crowleyites around; he called his system "magick," some people have stuck with it. whatever.

i used to be into magick. this is when i was in my goth phase. it somewhat naturally developed out of my metal phase where i was into satan. it's funny, and kind of dumb, how musical taste has such a strong influence on personal interests considering how fickle (at least my) musical tastes can be. mostly, i treat music like a chain smoker on a short break treats cigarettes. i voraciously consume it and toss it when i'm done. there are only a handful of bands, from no particular genre that i can honestly say i love. i just get tired of things. i mean, how much psychic tv can you r e a l l y endure? was aleister crowley r e a l l y that interesting? sure, there's a certain thrill in dropping satan onto your schoolmates. there's a certain gratifying feeling of intellectual superiority in "studying" and "practicing" crowleyan philosophy and theosophy and even in feeling like you're getting more out of casteneda than just entertaining stories. but i honestly think all that shit is ultimately nothing but artsy foof. that said, i admit that i often miss feeling intellectually superior.

that's my favorite thing about working at the library. feeling so much better than everyone else. how superior I feel when some stranger comes up to me and asks me: "What class do I have today?"

i know some about the green man. the legends are connected to that of herne the hunter, the god, the lord, and gargoyles. i can definatly say that i've read quite a bit about folklore. i started with palmistry when i was 12 and went on from there. i read and reread hundreds of fairy tales. i've got books on if fairies exist and where to find them, how to see them. i read history books, on how people have treated each other over the years. but fiction. i love fiction. mark twain and "the mysterious stranger" and "a conneticut yankee in king arthur's court" francesca lia block and "i was a teenage fairy". beautiful books. i love to stroke them, gaze upon the covers and smell the pages. i pace the aisles, watching and pouncing until a book bites me. i, my friends, am a bibliophile.

I think I'm finally becomming a Sorabjised. And no, no one fucked me up the ass. I had a dream with lots of people from the boards in it. I don't think it was sexual (sorry, no offence Patrick). We were all standing around waiting for something to happen together and it didn't, so we came back to my place. I have an aboriginal painting in my house and Mark sat down in front of it and said he could see music notes in it. I was handing out drinks and food, but then Antigone said something which made everyone leave. There was more, but I can't remember it and I've spent all day wishing I could. Especially whatever Agatha and Mavis were talking about. Of course, I have the flu (for those of you who haven't been informed...I'm dying), so it could just be a fever-induced delirium. In fact, so could this post. Nah. Not from me.

What did I do, mention my penis?

generally people use magick to differentiate from magic - being parlor tricks and professional slight-of-hand type illusion. i believe in magick for reasons i no longer explain to people. jesus did, too. Matthew 21:21 - And Jesus answered them, "Truly, I say to you, if you have faith and never doubt, you will not only do what has been done to the fig tree, but even if you say to this mountain, 'Be taken up and cast into the sea,' it will be done.

jesus was the best magician

i'd say moses did a pretty good job at it, too.

http://www.tommunism.com/flash/nailjesus/index.html

that was hilarious.

i believe in the Majik Mart...........blow pops, weiners turning round and round.....the air condition is always full balst in the Majik Mart. cat, you are a full tilt sorabjite when you have the sex dream....i play a key role, so no offense taken.....THEN and ONLY then will you embrace this place ...its inevitable that if i keep mentioning sex one way or another to you, the powers of suggestiosn will take the lead

you can be full tilt if you let me tap your bowel, too. hint, hint.

I'm sure this will make me sound like a total poser, then, but I really like *some* of what Crowley and Castaneda had to say. I'm not sure how to explain. alot of it just made sense. I don't ever attempt to "practice magick" or "cast spells" or any of that crap, 'cause I think it's crap. But I dig on the philosophy. Oh, and Joseph Campbell, too. You, Pez, are a rocker. I always end up with too many books; I don't have lots of space, and only one bookshelf, so they're piled in stacks in my closet and in the bathroom. I actually really like reference books. 'specially obscure or mostly useless ones. like the Encyclopaedia of Arthurian Legend, I have this book called "the wit's thesaurus," which claims to be the ultimate reference books. Bullshit. hungry. gotta go.

? moby is taking over knrk studio! he's there now! omigawd. sorry. i once found a copy (two volumes, hard cloth bound) of le morte d'arthur printed in the '40s for $8. don't be stupid. of course i bought it. but it's seriously hard to read, because the language is older than shakespeare and there's no explanations this time. i try and find odd little things to do. for months i wrote my diary in the greek alphabet, another time i began to do coiled wire scuptures. right now it's finding more ways to publish my poetry, even if there will only be one copy in that form, ever. i think it would be neat to own and run a fully functional step-back-in-time-a-hundred-years-or-so farm. crafts run in the family. one grandmother paints and writes. the other knits and sews. one of my aunts used to teach art classes and made all sorts of weavings. i should probably go close some windows. there's a breeze moving through the house and i can hear my maps trying to fly off the walls.

Don't blow away pez!

i won't. the wind is my mother. in a figurative sense. flying is my dream. once i made a pair of cardboard wings that i colored with crayons. my logic was that if i looked like a bird, i could fly like a bird. when i was little, i wanted to fly planes. but i'm too nearsighted for that.

God the boards have got boring in the last week. Dull. Dull. Dull.

Yeah, really. Casteneda is crap. Really and truly. Crap. Anyway. I met someone today who does art installations. He was going to tour with Moby. Him and this installation he did. It sounded really cool. Both the installation and Moby. Anyway.

I used to talk to the moon as if it were a mother figure. But then, I was a screwed up little kid. (who wasn't?) Publishing poetry: Do you live in a city large enough for graffiti to be a possibility? A friend of mine used to get paid to do "graffiti" style murals in good taste on buildings, so that "taggers" would leave it alone. Don't know if the philosophy was sound... I always wondered whether he was running a racket. Pez, where are you? I keep forgetting. The PNBA (Pacific Northwest Bookseller's Association) annual expo and bookfair is going on right now in Portland. I REALLY wanted to go, but the boss pre-empted me, and sent herself, instead. She wouldn't let me go to bumbershoot, either. Hrmpht. I'll probably get to head down to the next Bay Area show, though. You trying to SELL the poetry, or just get it on paper and out to the world? Write poems on butcher paper in huge fat letters and hang it from City Hall. go to the beach. write your words in the sand. Do a spoken word presentation at your local coffee house(s). hand out chapbooks or photocopies of your work while you're there. Send me poetry?

i've had work published in two school publications, one of which i came up with the main title and the cover. my other "publication" is a poetry journal i concocted for creative writing. *warning* it isn't in book form. i glued poetry to objects you might buy at a grocery store, and put them in a paper bag. the title is WORDS OFF THE SHELVES: POETRY FROM THE STORE. one poem was about self-sacrifice and the confusion surrounding it...this i glued to a plastic-wrapped package of dark red yarn. to date, i have 253 archived poems, not counting translations.

I'm checking my email and not seeing anything... *taps foot* The grocery can idea is neat, though. You should put words on products, then smuggle the products back into the store and put them on the shelves. Guerilla writing. I had a dream last night about two old girlfriends, both named Erin. Only one didn't look like the Erin she was supposed to represent. In the dream, I was on a trip with an Indian (not native American) girl named Kelsey. (I don't know anyone named Kelsey. totally made-up person, a rarity for me.) We were taking Amtrak all over California. I remember that we started down in San Luis Obispo, then went up to Chico, where I grew up. Two of my old friends from High school were there, these Indian genius kids named Gautam and Gaurav. I gave them both big hugs, and started to talk, and as soon as I did, they both turned towards Kelsey, as if she were talking to them, and I sort of floated past them. Next scene: Kelsey and I in a hotel room. I have to get up and leave the room to do something, but I ask her to give me head as I'm walking past her; I notice she's making a collage on the floor, but she stops, unzips my fly and goes to. I remember thinking "wow. this is weird. Kels and I have always just been friends." Then she chokes, but she's alright, and I walk away after making sure that she's physically safe. In the dream, there's no emotions attached to any of this. I leave, and *next scene: It's a misty street at night, cobblestone, like I've always imagined the setting from "Sounds of Silence" by Paul Simon. a good, mysterious setting. It's back in San Luis Obispo, though. I walk down the street, and see a bar through the thick fog. everything is grey, stone or concrete or mist, except for the bright, polished wood of this bar; the doors and windows look straight out of a catalog, cherry stained, waxed. I stared at the wood, then entered through swinging doors, like in an old western-style bar. In a booth, far in the back, are the two ex-girlfriends named Erin. In real life, they've never met, and live hundreds, if not thousands, of miles apart. Here, they're chatting and laughing like old friends, and there's a third girl at the table, who I don't recognize. She seems to be really in charge, radiating this authority and knowledge. She's wearing dark green, almost camo, and has short, sandy hair, almost butch but not quite. I'm feeling good, glad to see these two girls, they both rock, even though I'm surprised to see them and sorta nervous, 'cause neither really likes me. I wander up, crouch in between their seats, and say "hi." I expect an "oh my god! Tom!" Instead, they just look at me like they don't know me from Adam. I get up, look at them both again, then turn around and walk out. As I go, I hear them saying "who WAS that guy?" "I don't know, but I swear I recognized him from somewhere." The mysterious 3rd woman just watches me this whole time, sorta smirking. end.

my name is kelsey. just so you know.

Sadly, I don't remember my dreams anymore. I usually wake up at like 4:00 am after having one and say to myself, I've got to remember that dream. But alas, when I wake up, poof, gone. Maybe I should keep a notebook next to my bed. Naah, too much trouble. When I was younger and more foolish, I used to set my alarm every morning at 4:30 so I could wake up and realize that I still had an hour and a half to sleep. Stupid, but kinda makes sense in a weird way since sleep is so intangible and you're not aware of it while you're doing, so you can't really enjoy the experience.

BABBA-B003Y!!!

KIZZ R00LE3!!

one of my poems, posted as "kiss my ostrich" i'd love to post my entire collection on the internet, but to have it the way i'd like it, i'd need to know html. :sigh: i want to produce poetry videos. sort of like music videos. an ex-boyfriend of mine was named erin (real spelling)!

Pez: Flash. Macromedia. That's what you want for poetry videos. I remember my dreams by telling them to myself and writing them down in a dream journal. Sometimes I forget and am reminded in the middle of telling some story that I can't remember the origion of...

that's a good idea.

It's a cool program. If I had any of my stuff up, I'd show you some rudimentary flash stuff. Check out one of my friend's sites

wow. that's cool. if i ever put my "archive" online, i'll definatly have to use animation. images and words go together. i'm experimenting with physical objects. i'd love to have taste poems. maybe that's why i read cookbooks.