Beginning I’m a Slow Drifter

eye

I, the Language of Dreams, photograph by Michelle Tennison

What will you find if you write down the dialogue of your dreams?

The following are  excerpts from my own dreams, copied verbatim upon awakening. At the time I was experimenting with writing poetry during hypnogogic states. It has been said that such dreamspeak has something in common with schizophrenic language and can be meaningful in an abstruse way. It can also be quite comical.

Below you will find snippets from a pedantic conversation about sculpture (which at the time seemed quite erudite), proverbial wisdom, and surrealist poetry:

Upon viewing art in a museum setting:  “That’s a beautiful booger named gunshot.”

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Walk to the lake on your many-toed journey.

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dolls roll down in village trees

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kisses salt until the sea salt that led the sea

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beginning I’m a slow drifter

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beauty of 
the sunshine weight
of butterfly 8

The Secret Life of Words

All the Things You Said

All the Things You Said,    digital art collage by Josephine R. Unglaub

Is it possible that words themselves have a kind of life force or inherent energetic signature that has been forgotten?  According to Maurice Nadeau in The History of Surrealism, Andre Breton attached extreme importance to word games because “they showed that words had their own lives, that they were creators of energy, and that they could henceforth command thought.” (Breton’s words in italics).

What is conversation?
          Elephants outfitted for battle

Question Michelle Tennison,  Answer Mark Harris (2016)

At the End of the World, All the Unrequited Love Stored in the Flowers

 

Theologian II

Theologian II,
Sabine Miller, Oriental lily petals and pulp with citrus juice and graphite pencil on watercolor paper. Tinted and brightened.  2016

Opening of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot,

as sung by wildflowers:

Let us go then, you and I,
When the lily is spread out against the sky
Like a ghost orchid etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless asters in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with fresh bluebells:
Poppies that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the cosmos come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

 

Source: Collected Poems 1909-1962 (1963), adaptation by Michelle Tennison