Tag: Freud
A Chronicle of My Dreams #1
This dream is from earlier, but one of my best dreams:

I was a warrior about to carry out a mission in the Saharan desert and my mentor offered me a mount. He seemed to have placed food on me because the horse—in fact not at all a horse, but more like a combination of mule and dog, white and flurry and not reaching my hips—plunged into me and started licking me. It turned out that he could turn into human form—a clothed, adorable, somewhat sexless little boy when transformed. Although he was small and his hips were a soft bony triangle it seemed to make him a perfect mount. It was comfortable and he did not suffer from my weight at all despite my worries. So I was ready to go. I felt mingled fear, excitement and dread as I said to my mentor, “I never thought I would be in a life and death situation like this.” In fact I did not fear pain at all—it was established then that being attacked would not hurt—but only the possibility of nonexistence.
Glory
About the ashes we gather
eye-to-eye breathing, the nocturnal stained sheets
colorblind and strewn
messy as we marched, as in our dreams:
badge beneath tongue
summer sun drinking the shaded purple
of your beard.
It reminded us of
when your eyes were pierced, black hearts flaming
scared even the bullet as the confetti
sucked at your skin,
sucked your skin dry
Gravitated with greater than tectonic love
while
our minutes are roaring,
honey hands transmute
primeval horror of Freudian fourmis
Unleashed.
(the words dug like stars into you and
into you)
so we spend all night dancing, sipping
away dreams
black eyes bleached as we write
of Glory, as in
our dreams.