Dream #21/Cuts

Childhood neighbourhood,
Cloudy day
My cat goes wandering
As cats do

Inquisitively wide-eyed,
Gentle instinct
Leads her to a hidden shop
In the local arcade

Damp, mossy green fence
Walls the alleyway that leads to it
She trots on
Making little chirps at birds

CUT

I am sitting on my bed
When someone hands me
Her little
Head

In my mind's eye
I witness the event;
She's wandered into a Butcher's shop
Masquerading as a Vet's surgery

As it becomes harder to see
For the tears
I imagine what's happened
Visualised in distorted salt water;

Her innocent, trusting nature,
Her tiny body shaking
In the same way I've seen it tremble
On trips to the Vet's before

As he holds up her chin

And makes a slit

Accross the left side

Of her fragile neck


"It's not working, there's too much blood"


Lengthens

The cut

From

Ear to ear


CUT


I hold her head in my hands
Cover her nose and mouth
With my lips
And b-r-e-a-t-h-e.......

Slowly life begins to return
And I retrace her steps
Feeling her thoughts
Until I unite head & body again


CUT


I wake within the dream,
Sit up in bed, frantically looking for her
In the places she likes to sit,
Crying so hard that I can't see her at all


CUT


The whole thing repeats, speeded up
Except this time
When I breathe,
Blood seeps

And I know this time
There is no remedy

Dream #20/Limbo

Collecting tiny Greenfinch
Feathers, with gentle care
For the ceremony

Smoothing them
In my fingers, binding
Ends in silver thread

Choosing little glowing stones;
Icy, speckled light
Paints tiny hand-held caves

Fastening a dim,
Blushing piece of rock
To my feathers

Smells like glow-in-the-dark toys
When I was nine
Looks like it could be a dolls torch


For footsteps in the dark


I am between mountains
Floating at dusk
But only just above the ground

Something hangs in the air
Telling me something I can't pin
An echo of an echo

Suggestion of a
Distortion pedal note
Vibrating the night a little on his way out

A wisp of the heat of the day
Indigo breath
And


Gone


The time is now it seems
Flames flicker in the trees
It's only then I realise


I've left them all behind

Tatarigami

He's in the
Darkest gash

A yawning tear in everything
Where the air is vibrating pitch

Deep yet nowhere
Vast and crushing

Where destruction echos
And buildings fall

Shafts of love
Extend down

As arms of light
To play a while

But can do no more
Than hold hands

Deafening silent cries
Implode what's left

Of scrunched up paper hearts
Numb in dry ice

Asleep with open eyes
Oscillate and shimmer

All is tharn

I Wake Up Crying

Something is squirming in a large, square glass tank.

It's my bedroom, but not as I recognise it. A family's young boy has lived here in previous years, and the tank must be left from some pet he used to have. It's filled with soil and old leaves, piled in the corners. As I wonder what bugs must be living in it now, something white and tapeworm-like squirms under the dirt in the glow from my bedside lamps. I can see it only because it is up against the glass, but under the soil, like a cross section in a worm farm. My face is up against the glass.

I switch on the main light to get a better look, and with the shock of the sudden brightness, the creature wriggles violently. I realise it is much bigger than I originally thought; fleshy, pink and white.

I stagger backwards in fear and disgust, and a small snakes head appears coming out of the tank.

Someone has caught it by the head, and before I can say anything, decides to kill it.

Slit

The

Throat

S
L
O
W
L
Y
...


The snake's eyes glisten and look sad as its' life seeps out tiny drop by drop. There isn't much blood, it seems to take forever to die.

It is then we realise the story; the boy who lived here before was a horrible child, and burned his pet snake so that all but it's head remained with scales. It continued to live in hibernation here, slowly starving.




I wake up crying.







Fragments of another dream trickle back with the snake's demise.

I am watching a show on TV where two contestants must slit the throats of cattle to progress.

They can't do it properly, or quickly enough.

The camera pans from one contestant to the other, standing behind the animals in the gloomy farm stalls, holding their heads up so their necks are exposed.

Dark grey-brown animals, their faces look downy and softer than velvet.

Keeps panning.

Still not done.

Contestants laugh at their inability to perform.

Such slight, long cuts, one by one.

More panning.


I catch the look in the animals' eyes; increasing absence of something indescribably integral, drooping lids, wet.

And my heart wants to implode.

Dream #19/Dust

This house is vast
You could get lost
In its' dimly lit rooms

White metal bedposts
Children sleep here
But not soundly

A boy of four or five
Is crying
But used to the unease

A girl of six
With soft blonde hair
Knows the place all too well

Urgency and innocent faces
Blur into the ether
Dusty, shabby, thick with foreboding

Something awful, someone, entities
Some rooms worse than others
But when its bad, its indescribable

The children run weeping
To the women here at dusk
We know what's happening

But we cannot
Stop it
We try to calm their fears

Sit with them in their rooms
'See, it's not so bad,'
Though the air feels black

No, darker than black
Clouds of impenetrable
Stifling shadow filled with blood

They sit on our laps
Rubbing tear stained cheeks
Sobbing

At the thought of
Yet another night
Spent within these walls

The last of the pitiful shafts of sunlight
Are snatched away in seconds
Disintegrating in sparkling, dusty whirls

The terror builds again
It's survival
There's love here, but I'm not sure it will ever be enough

Albino Deer

Dual Bond (bullet-within-a-bullet) "creates an indescribable mess of any deer's insides"

Looking at animal images on the internet, I recently came across some pictures of Albino deer. Various hunting websites show these rare creatures on the hoods of cars, killed for trophies even though they are protected by law. Albino deer are said to be so rare that biologists estimate they occur once in every 30,000 births. Most albino fawns don't survive to adulthood.

"The hunter esitmates the deer was between four and five years old. He plans to mount the entire body somewhere in town for everyone to see. He's open to suggestions."

Don't get me wrong, I hate trophy hunting whether or not the animal is a rare breed. It just struck me as an odd idea that hunters would want to kill the creature just so that everyone can get a good look at it's dead body.

There are also some hunting videos on YouTube, I didn't last long looking at those as you can imagine, but the comments people had left were 'interesting'. This video had a white stag, but no shots were fired.

"why would you shoot something that pure ? i'm glad noone took the shot you don't see many of them why shoot it becasue it's different, boy i would hate for that different deer to be able to pull off a good shot because all humans are different maybe it would mount you in the forest ................think about it ."

"dont call it deer hunting if you are not going to shoot the god dam deer"

"You should never shoot albinos. Good chice not taking him"

"omfg shoot that"

"imagin having something like that on your wall"

"I bet you don't even have the guts to touch a gun let alone shoot one."

"this deer should be hunted just like any other deer. Why would you make a law to protect a gentically deficient deer. If anything it should be shot to remove bad genes. I agree this isn't a hunting video I was hoping to see a splash of crimson on that canvas"

"its sad to shoot a deer but a mans go to eat"

"Hunters are disgusting-I would love to get the chance to shoot them"

"go ahead and try it mother fucker ill blow your fucking head off before you get the chance"

"does he ever kill the friken thing god"

I thought it was weird that the animal was seen as 'pure'.

Dream #18

Fawn shivers sprawled on slate
Could have saved him I know
Like pets I neglected
Who still haunt my dreams making me sick

In shock
He needed a warm blanket

Other animals are no longer
For this world
A whale lies decomposing
On the beach

An operation is underway
To birth her dying children

A thousand
Panda cubs
Burst out
Into the rain

White horses
Run wild through the streets