I had a dream last night that I haven’t been able to phrase at all in a poem for some reason or another. Perhaps I’m becoming more averse to writing about dreams that mean nothing. I don’t want to be one of “those” creators. Like the guy who made the LSD Dream Simulator some years back. That would be more terrifying than a sewer clown, that’s for sure.
So I’m gonna be using my journal here to describe something I dreamed about last night, throwing its interpretation to the wind for all the lovely boys and girls who tune in to Reality City.
I’m going to preface this by asking: have you ever seen the Daniel Tosh bit about describing dreams? If you haven’t, his bit is essentially about how stupid everybody sounds when they start describing their dreams. Basically all dreams are relative, and they will seldom be as impactful to someone else as they are to the person that actually “experienced” it. Get it? Cool!
Last night I dreamed that I was staying at a hostel in India. Not a hostel like the movie, but a rather alright one. The group of people staying there were actually rather nice. Good atmosphere, even if the place was a little dingy. At one point I realized a cockroach was in the building and I freaked out. It was a female, close to laying its eggs. One of the locals in the group got rid of it. As a group we went to cool places in the north part of the country near the Himalayas. Some temples. Some urban places, and just generally enjoyed the feeling of being there. In the dream was a moment of inclement weather, where rain seemed to come down like sheets of glass and shattered into water when it touched a surface. It was incredible. The dream ended there. Visiting India is on my top places to travel, right up there with New Zealand.
I don’t dream too often when I sleep. So I like to write them down somehow. I used to have a dream log way back when I had my iPhone 3. That was stolen from me when I was a junior in high school, and it was never recovered.
There’s a fellow PHS alum out there somewhere who stole those nights of never-be-memories from me. If they’re out there listening to Radio Reality City, I hope that you appreciated that phone and used it well, but I know you probably sold it off to someone who wiped it and cleared the hard drive of any of me.
I’d probably be making poems upon poems of those things now.
But instead I’m writing about identity, dying, sex, and living. Odd set of themes to put together. There’s a lot I want to say, and I am definitely building steam for some kind of blowout op piece to appear as a journal, soon. Maybe as a fully blown article someday if I’m willing to do some journalistic work.
No excerpt tonight. I’ve had an incredibly long weekend. I drove up to Bellingham and back to get some friends from the airport last night. I arrived at 10:45 PM and got home at 1:38 AM. I fell asleep and woke up 11 hours later.
Bellingham looked so gorgeous last night. It’s been snowing here this past day and a half, but it hasn’t stuck at all. Just before I reached Bellingham last night, it was evident that in the city the snow stuck. So in the darkness near midnight in Bellingham, Washington I was able to look at the city under a blanket of streetlights and white dust on everything.
I love the cold. I love the ice that coats the roads and the snow that buries soil and reflects the dim light from night time lamps. Winter is fast approaching, and right now we’re at a beautiful point.
I’ve referred to this as the Blackgull point before. Wrote the poem about it. Blackgull: where the air is so clear that a seagull under cover of darkness can call for the approaching storm of winter. Just after autumn, just before winter, like it’s own microseason. Leaves on the ground not yet swept away, and trees barren, bearing the weight of all that snow.
We’re nearly there.
This is Jake Thomas Shaw from Radio Reality City, concerned with dreams, memories, and identity. Thank you for tuning in, as always, and if you’ve liked any of what you’ve heard take a listen to https://radioreality.city!
Radio Reality City!