Our new black-and-white cat, Aloysius, spent most of the night mewling and crawling on the bed. Given that I’m not used to this behavior, but don’t want to encourage it somehow, I resolved to stay asleep. I faded into a dream where he was on the bed, but so was a small ferret-sized red panda.
Hanging out for what seemed like hours in this rich/upscale home. It was mine, or a relative’s, or someone who liked me very much. I was at a long, luxurious dinner party, in a charming and tastefully lit loft, with a rack of fur coats on hangers. This dream must have been earlier in the night, as it set the scene for another dream.
Friends of mine — or perhaps I, myself — opened up a new storefront called “Beached”. It was in a hipstery neighborhood blending part of London, San Francisco’s Mission, LA, and Berlin’s Kreuzberg. The store was angled from the storefront, and was structured around a large communal swimming pool, with a bar, changing areas off to the side, and an upper level with a jacuzzi lounge and clothing boutique. Reecy was there as part of an opening day crew. The store proved very trendy, and was a commercial success.
Later during this day’s events I would end up going to LiquidRom, but did not manage to fully write down the dream beforehand.
Bedeviled, human,
your plight, in waking,
is to choose from the words
that even now sleep on your tongue,
and to know that tangled among them
and terribly new
is the sentence that could change your life.
Somewhere along the bumpy road of life I made a wrong turn and ended up in a metaphor, and so on that day a new and strange repository of words was born on the side of that road
and you, dear reader, ended up reading my poorly-thought-out dedication marker located just beyond the accident-scarred collision barrier of that road
and now you’re thinking about how safely you drive your own metaphors
but it’s ok — because when metaphors crash, they don’t crash like airplanes, they crash like couches
YES, THIS IS THE ACTUAL FIRST POST OF ORI.NZ
Walking outside, freshness of air is strong. I make it to a pedestrian bridge where I can see through the cables to the waters below. I’m exhilarated but also afraid — of what I’ll do. I’m keenly aware of my phone in my pocket, thinking it might be thrown.
Out among the urban streets of San Francisco, I hear a crack and watch as people on the sidewalk are engulfed in stinging white gas. It then happens to me, and I remember what I learned: to breath sad, and virtually.
Building a drawer into an existing kitchen cabinet. I discover by pulling the assembly out that by luck where I’ve placed it is very close bring securely installed. As if the sliding diagonal piece was made for it.
Ogliamelanschmertz — a word that sticks out from this dream, no remembrance of its meaning.
I’m reading a story I wrote, through car speakers, about a letter addressed to African American survivors living in the Great Dismal Swamp. The US Postal Service sends in a young Russian guy and there’s a documentary about his incredibly difficult efforts, during which I see first-person through his eyes. The expedition finds a glossy, smooth, rusted iron cookpot. It’s a splendid find, but it’s as far into the story as I got. I ask [dream] Lynae and she says honestly she doesn’t think the story has much merit.
One day this li’l #screenie
coulda illustrated for people’s kids-kids
how 2016 servitors (who weren’t even widely called that yet),
(even disparagingly),
(even ironically),
& who while relatively quite dumb,
weren’t not the cleverest blunt tools in a big ol’ messy computery-magic drawer…
[new line]
Especially since dude,
is this important information
…just this now?
do you really want me to get up again?
I mean this is my job,
whatever,
it’s cool.
#ChillStonerJobStrongAI
[new line]
But robo-brains in the future
usually don’t usually do
what you expect them to
either
[new line][ellipsis][stop recognizing speech] [horizontal rule]
HashtagSchmashtag’s Ghetto:
#codeispoetry #poetryiscode
#pagingDoctorWho #DoctorWhoCantReadTheirOwnHandwriting
#meatbrains
#mindmeeters
#metermades
#modalities
#nonOverlappingMagesteria
I Count one two thr333 sockpuppets of infinity who are making this, hah, ah, AH, cough #hashtag
#hypersigil
#iguessitsafuckinpoem
Source: Instagram photo by Orin Zebest • Oct 30, 2016 at 3:55 AM
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Ancient rituals and secret cults, stones and bones and horns and smoke, drinks, dance, death, divinity — so forever shall we be.
Well-suited for clandestine gatherings both sacred and dangerous.
Sneak into a psych ward that has Shaquille O’Neill, move into the next room over from “the old bed,” i.e. a place where something of reverence happened in the past. Too much respect to go there now. Sexed up a blonde midget girl, but somehow it’s only masturbation.
Book a reservation at a nice restaurant for whole family, get cheated by Native American banker-type who asks us a bunch of questions about being intravenous drug users. Our dinner reservation is canceled and he keeps the money. As were driving away in the car I am holding a pen and berating my family, especially my mom about “this is why I think we shouldn’t have money at all, is if we let people like that exploit it”. Guy rides by on a buffalo and I go “boooo!” No recollection whatsoever of this dream now (May 2017) and it sounds really unlike me, and most other dreams I’ve had.
Anya getting punished for screwing up…
Driving in Malta… looks like us…
Blue haired freak 20-year-old dating Gene Roddenberry…
My iPhone is bent out of shape from being in my pocket. The top right corner of the screen is covered up by the design, and the left is extended. Trying to bend it back what makes me worry I’m going to break it.