bleedingworlds (bleedingworlds) wrote,

(as mass of) dreams, fresh from the lid


house, winding paths; through forested gigantic ferried trees; a wall, brick; a gate,, wooden; garden--
Bluebeard, hiding within; to get through; 2 figures- a giant, a deformity (Mr…?)
Winding back and forth; a deal, suspended.

Leaping through a hill-cliff of ceramic corpses made out of fairground, paint-flaked elephants; to the house,
I am supposed to go to fetch something lost, misplaced, stolen

a supermarket in a huge, looming garage. shopping for food, my father-
having left everything precious- disk drive, wallet, ID- in a brown paper bag
in a basket, screaming to be stolen

Raid through city; shampoo that will deter flies; a family, raped by militants
narrow streets of sandstone cliffs

gardener, gate; he is the gatekeeper

narrow winding staircase; the deformed man looms at the corner; I avoid his guise, break into his
castle, fetch the lost item…

mali's sleepover her house
she takes my boaster and pillow. gone I wonder where they are I wake up to empty hospitality a stiff bed she enters
with a block of wood, a steel stove cookie dough frying ginger cookies by slamming some dough on top of cookies so it makes a layer. some kind of rice thing? she leaves
on top of a wall- scaling a grass hill to a window plane with curtains. calista helps me up. mali, wen hui and her are on top. at the top of the grass wall hill, window panes leading out to the open world gaping like a truth
losing my opus card, walleye, belongings on the next bar, noble to travel
Malisa's house full of clutter labyrinth rooms unstable ladders that swerve and shake in odd angles climbing up one it shudders I exit. the ladders can be used like a puzzle to cross the ceiling mazes of the house. I try it out- up a ladder, it falls fits to another level, like tetris, but with a life at stake
finally I say, "a sword always leads downwards even if you think you're ascending"
the sword ladder falls, divides an egyptian mummy on an empty stage revealing a phoenix jackal case. two birds- a screen; an illusion of movement her two aunts inside transformed into spirits holding a chicken , then blending into solids through the TV screen

finally :kitchen egg tart crusts jennifer's brothers. clustered sleepovers
(a poem)
smoke- tendrilled darkness, stasis in thought
an endless blank path gaping like a wound
wiring into the horizon swept dead upon the ground
between sea and sky an incipient snake
body slippery and like a hose around my fingertips
wound, manipulatable like a toy

tottering giant church stands at the pewter
massive grotesque body a face pulled long and heavy like jug he patrols
like a huge stain on the cross luring ladies his voice
chanting his blasphemed sermon
over the eyelids of ladies the vision
of eyeballs suspended- the cult of a fish
of Cthllu to makethem succumb

hill sunlight
hello kitty cookie jar game. a maze shooting akatamari to get the pieces into line
through a labyrinth

stadium lights mark detroit metal city climbing a tower of steel to the top
you defeat metal with steal, he says (an orphan boy) wasteland imposing I look over
at the top chandeliers- I swing onto the next one adnd the next, evenly escaping
ziploc bags and toaster ovens. Yanny pushes them over to me. it becomes a fun game we play to get closer
wristvabd kive

pony of the new.
shark swims by, of sand skin and velvet night eye. I touch it at the credits
running down rainy marsh hills with wind, searching for someone
at the beach on a hill cut off from the sea. the ground is littered with glass balls, glass eyes, marbles. a strange shell stone with glass window-eyes
and a floating goldfish beryl's little sister and mother is there
with him, warm against his shoulder. it's nice to have someone. he walks me to my hotel, to his apartment. awkward, clumsy, small touches.
john follows us

gigantic sleeping field
moonglass in eye
movies, a library
tripping across a star path light-footed
white tree

brown minotaur library book shelf
hut cart pulled by dogs. dog slips piggy backing a man to find it

school bus stops in the middle of nowhere. american roadtrip. a forsaken house-castle. stone rust red niss0tuooed' castle-chapel shrine
high ceilings, reaching to the sky, within a house
at the centre a child statue fountain with long, binding hair. his name: john Basko?
2 other rooms, both chapels. at their heart, statues of long winding hair bound in braids round stone bodies
the first: hands subtracted from body, freely moving
back to the bus, Brendan. something is wrong with him. he stretches thick and thin, his body bending like rubber
mrt train station; high ceilings, domed like a cathedral. camera in hand I try to take pictures
but people block, jostle, get in the way
Brendan: he is losing his sanity, forgetting the act of human speech. I hold him while he spasms, trying to jostle sanity into his body but
controlling his spasming body and willing it into sanity; he bends thin like rubber, flat as a piece of latex
screams, cries, formidable
the person in charge: I isolate her, tell her that we must lave
the bus leaves without us, its passengers laughing wildly (battle royale?) the hanse hase after us. I wake with a stand as the hands
rip me and I possess those hands…

natasha grappling limbs on floor body clumsy against mine
a room: blue, sunlight, wooden look-outs; balconies
sea glints sparkling over wood benches, sun-spots, cushions on the floor
clothes strewn around: evidence of a holidayer's presence. with laoshi and pao pao
Natasha, meeting her; our presences clash here and there
a game, I am late for our meeting?

with Heather in a cafe
the 2nd a tea room with darkish slate walls
carpeted wallpaper. embossed upon it are the words
from our first meeting. above, portraits with gold gilted frames. people. napoleon,kings, duchesses sparkle above us and risent greatness
"that is man," I say," he desires the seasons, even the world to bow befre him"
1st meeting:
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