Sweven

HI Someone stands on a cube peak

Honest Love
Invited inside from the howling cold and knee high snow. Old school mate yearns for honest love. Set out through storms to seek out a love deeper than fancies, flings, or psychotic soul mate things masquerading as 'meant to be'.

La Raylee
Impossible hills and steep tilted tracks are no match for Sisters crowded car. Rollercoaster home. I wander streets, find a white sand path laid straight through skinny trees. City blacks out. Back to the house. Cram into the car. Escape. In a toss of snow dusted trash, a baby lifts her head, squeaks. Under her a raggedy man stirs. He is Barry or Jerry of sector 74. "Take her to warmth. Her name is La Raylee. It's also Ophelia." We take her though our car is crowded and our hearts are uncertain. Try to outrun the end that will soon come.

Stairwell Secret
A slave to the hospital again. Below the lowest floor in the stairwell lies a secret room. It is littered with cobwebbed mechanical parts, disassembled. We break often to sift through the secrets stored there, believing some treasure awaits.

Wall Crawlers
Highschool hallway. Aerobics broadcast from wall mounted televisions. Most ignore it. Some of us get sucked in. Instructor climbs a wall like spiderman. As a joke, press back against the wall. Surprise, we can crabwalk backward up to the ceiling. Others join. We wall crawlers storm through institutional halls.


Team Robot - Competition Day 1
{will figure out competition points later}

HI
Old handsaw standing on end, wobbling
Lines of light pour upward into a narrow stream

Soup Spiral
'Free food. At park.' bings the cell before shifting into a crumpled page. Find the place. Spiral stand of starving souls await their share of turkey and dumpling soup. Finally I am there. The remains are perogy dumplings spattered with turkey strands. Take my share. Stroll away.

Project
Dread the test ticking nearer. Accidentally project my music and slideshow onto the wall. It can't be closed. Shame prickles at sight of severely pixilated images. A cousin asks to study with me. She is a merciful distraction from the projected mess on the wall.

Unclean
Some doors are half there, some not there at all. Still they crowd in and make use of the stalls. Mine is a mess of crumples, pools, graffiti choked walls. Mop. Wash. Turn for sanitizer. Turn back and behold a small boy slapping about in the filth of the bowl. Clean him as well while holding back swells of vomit attempting to spew. The father flings clots of Christmas carols and toilet paper ribbons our way. Snap. 'Not my toilet... not my toddler.' Abandon the unclean.


Team Robot - Spring Competition 2025

LUCID: Secret Street

See the secret street. It steals one away from tourist traps and lofty lodgings a-glimmer. They prey on starving wallets and sweet sheeple minds. Stride the secret street up into the lull of a desolate shire. Cross into the curl of a sun bleached grin lined with faded lights screaming Come On In!

Just beyond the yaw lies an ancient way of steely playgrounds, glimmering arcades, and music yanked from distant yesterdays. An elegant swirl of gold frosted stairs leads ever upward and then we are there. Rivendellian hall of golden fires, unceasing spirits, unfaltering food.

See them now, they three. Especially he, who left this life behind. Their chatter and laughter rekindle a spark, relighting my heart where once only yawned an imploding dark and festering shriek. Try steal the scene with canon fire. A barrel too narrow can't capture all. Refocus. They have lingered on.

Upon fur topped bunks he sits and grins. Finally capture reflections of him. Now it's they three and me. Reluctantly leave the swell of the secret street. There tilts a sign that rustily screams intersection of Tragedy and Queen. Now back into the bite of the beast that chews away all worth.

Moon has fallen. Great statues shake. They groan and quake. A gargoyle sheds graven skin, growls, grows, spreads its wings. Glare into each others emptiness.

Reassure my trio, my reformed katet, "It's okay. I know how to stop it. I've dreamed this before..."

Lucidity storms.

"I'm dreaming now..."

Wake.

Happy Lucid Dreaming Day. Adding the couple of lucid encounters I had this month so far.

10th

A shifty sound. Wake! Behold gentle night and a strange shadow that shivers midst shadow. Rectangular head upon skeletal frame. Stare into the glare of too tiny eyes. Grimace at the sight of dagger lined lips. "It's a dream. Are you trying to scare me?"

Wake

Sit up. "Still dreaming." Look for the thing. It is gone. "You can't scare me," I sing to whatever will hear. "I am invincible as long as I have this..." Put out my palm. Nothing. Try three more times and finally flourishes my totem. A crystal ball enwrapped in waves of flames floats above my flattened palm.

Wake

Sit up. "I was lucid. Must write this down." Reach for my journal. "Is this still a dream..."

Wake

Sit up. "I was lucid." Reach for my journal. Scribble the shapes of my dreams.

30th

Bridge Glitch
Keep crossing the same bridge no matter which ways are taken. "Time to make our own roads," I say while scanning ditches for escape.

Orality
They greet by giving oral sex as if merely shaking hands. Not that desperate to converse, I sit. I think. I write.

Intercedings
Bewitched by northlight ribbons, brave the snow and starlit unknown. Camera will not see. Phone will not wake. Seasons shift from drifts to mud to drifts again. People need, need, need. Can not even love the lights. Always interceding.

HI
Phantom serpents of light spill and twist together into a slow spinning galactic dance.

29th

Hurdling
We train. We would race forever with fluid ease if not for the angst and angles they keep throwing at our feet.

Riddled
A sea of solemn hearts and shining eyes. Squeeze into the stadium. Stand. Salute. Give goodly tribute to they who paved our way. Champions stand, weapons raised to pierce the sun. Instead, they riddle the gathered mourners. Metal streams. Families scream. We scatter into a mansion to somewhat safety.

Rigid Waterpark
Cruise through a sun-swept stretch of day. We are carefree with glints of caution. Wait to enter the water world. Our driver offers a false mouth to wear while we are scanned. It fools facial recognition. But inside are flesh rivers of straight lines and rigid rules.

27th

What woke me? Ears strain. Heart shudders. Cast off ancient sheets. Rise. This is a long lost home. Stained by shivering shades of black and blue, it presses. Silence is pristine. The space is so soft, ominous, like a dream. But it is not. I am home. I am alone. Where are they? From bedroom to kitchen to livingroom roam on feet that wish to falter.

A scream. A blur. I'm flung to the floor. Fists slam straight into my face, "You left me! It's your fault! You left me! It's your fault!" chants a shadow puppet brother. But his words are weightless. His fists are phantoms. I laugh around his fury..."Dreaming!"

Lucid will forces the rage swept shadow to rise. Hold it high. It floats, shadow amid shadow, twisting, glitching, flailing. Brother shakes the world with a scream.

I stand. "No fighting. There are other things to do in dreams. And besides, you left us..."

He shrieks, "Your fault. Family left me. Left me. Your fault!"

"I wasn't the one abusing his wife and ki..."

"Your fault!" he screams with demon rage. A flurry of fists rips my way.

I remain untouched on several levels. Walk away? Will him away? Warp to another dream? No. He will see any retreat as weakness, an invitation to stay an haunt. I tire of being haunted. With frightening calm, reach into my brother's shadow and grip his living spine. Rip it out. Crush it to the floor. The rest of his shadow follows, drifting strings of twitching tendons. They fade into nevermore.

Still haunting the halls of my own youth, search shadows for a sign. Nothing. Now what? A reality check strengthens my light. I should exorcise this place. The final ghost to be banished will be mine. But first, the final room. Mind is shining. Heart is stone. Spirit is steel. All demons will be undone... but in this room there stand none.

Instead, upon my mother's bed, sits a mountain of of man, his flesh a gallery of bright, tribal tattoos. He speaks softly, swiftly, in tongues my mind can not unwind. Sit and listen. Ever so slowly I think I can nearly hear his truth...

26th - Lost Dreams

27th

Lot Locked
Crowded parking lot will neither allow me to move forward or back. There is no escape. In frustration I realize that there is escape, Slip out the driver window and walk away. Deal with the abandonment when the time comes


28th

Soldier Boy
He comes for us relentlessly and colored in cultures of red. Our end will come at the hands of a soul-less patriot. We flee and attempt to love the lingering moments of life we have left.

Angels or Demons?
Only grass, sky, house, apple tree, and solitary me. Sweet solitude and silence. Then a Predator sound. Rush outside. A monocle will reveal the invader. But before it is seen, a man floats down from the sagging roof. Now stand between them, an angel of the lord and a predator turned Mandalorian. We scheme to crush a dream.

Tangled Lives
Rolling knots of unkempt hair refuse to be tamed. Within the hills and valleys of tangles thrives a world of insects and snakes. Comb carefully around them to ease the uncoiling of their cosmos.

Also a set of dreams I didn't write down. Hope to be adding the a little later when they return to me.

Skyshake
Love old lyrics. Dance the storm. Learn to suffer thunderous things. When clouds collapse and sun spears shine, reclaim the world and kiss the sky. "See the lights!" she cries. Above golden hour and scraps of grey slither rainbows of northern serpent rays. "How do you say it, in your way? They shake the sky?" She asks. I answer. We both welcome the heavenly end.

I Love You
Can't comprehend the whispers. The words should be warm like a burst of sun some snow blown day. There is only a chill. He sings again, again again but still there is only chill. Finally he screams, "I love you, idiot!" I spread a mile wide moron smile, spin, and walk away. There is more warmth to be found in the wind on a winter, new moon night.

Untie-able
Floppy shoes. Sloppy feet. Can not get anywhere. Walkers and scurry-ers surge around the boulder I become. Attempt to tighten laces but they are slippery, shifty things refusing to be knotted.

Twenty Third

Dream Webs

Wake.

World is dark drenched. Not a spark of light to guide. Leaden limbs slog. Twitch. Struggle. Surrender. A familiarity flutters, a swell of ethereal moths. Is this a dream? Or the dream before a dream? Slip sideways through webs of space...

"Dreaming... "

Allow the slip. Embrace the fall. Darkness parts. Land, lucid, in the lightless hall of my dream spun home.

"Dreaming," I announce to all. Wave a hand gently through the webs of the wall. Push through. Through. Through. Fall.

Wake.

22nd

Evergreen Girl
She is stuck in an evergreen. The tree morphs and bends, artfully evades helping hands that reach for her. "How did you get up there?" I call. "I don't know," she answers and then reality checks. Wide eyes. Wiley grin. She leaps from the crown and soars off on the wind. The rest of us lurch off upon our non lucid feet.

Giraffes Headed
From a naked lower human half sprouts two giraffe necks and heads. It staggers about. We do nothing but watch the wobbling monstrosity. There is a twisted beauty to the being but my camera is not here to capture it.

Hunting Hunters
One slumbers, sprawled across my couch. The other lumbers, rummaging my house. They are hiding. An affection grows, though I barely know these two intrusions. In the blink of the eye they are gone. I had wished to tag along this time. But then, were they not hunting me just the other day? Now, it seems, has come my hunting day.

Winchesters
With new moon eyes, scarlet grins, relentless sins, Winchesters run rabid. Finally, feet refuse to flee. Stand. Wait. Brace my soul for unholy fate. But they two tremble like a mirage. "You aren't even real," I dare. Send them off in a dust-devil dance. Now stride off to seek survivors.

Hungering
Insatiably she hungers for his touch, embrace, and taste. When he is away she licks, nibbles, and suckles on what rigid shapes she finds. It is both comical and concerning. "I'm not a nympho," she asserts, "Or maybe I am but only for him." She wishes it were otherwise. She wants back her unwedded world. He returns and her exclusive wants become unfurled.

Screamers
The world is awash in glitz and glimmer. Steel and concrete shine. Mirrored anthills rise. Cords and cables like chrome coated webs crisscross dawning skies. Lavish lords and luxurious ladies sashay through pristine ways And all is beautiful but for the beams and the voices. Everything and everyone screams... screams... screams.

Blanket Maker
An army marches. It is the color of dusty dollar bills uncrumpling against a tombstone sky. We barricade. We weaponize. We camouflage. A tank stampedes our way. Prepare for war. A line of women rises. They dare the tank to crush them down. It lurches forward. The oldest lady, in rippling threads, lays hands upon the rumbling beast. It flattens. Its green fades to copper and white. And as if it were a mere blanket, the elder folds the flattened tank and sets it lovingly aside. In this way she wins the war.

March has been pretty sketchy for dreams. But then i haven't made the proper time or space for them either.
I do need to add my lunar eclipse night dreams.

(pre eclipse)

Lunatics
The world winks black. Souls sense disaster. My lone heart mourns. I will miss this rusty moon. Shade windows. Lock doors. Search shadows on all floors. Calm babies. One sleeps west. One sleeps east. Arm myself with bouquets of blades. They glint out from between fingers. "Look at me. I'm Wolverine," attempt to jest. We are too tense. A movement on the porch. The lunatics are here. "Is someone at the door?" I whisper and slowly slink near.

Sky Strings
A slowly undulating sky is waves of blue and white. I am transfixed and attempt to decipher the shapes made by the shifting strings of shells.


(post eclipse)

Hell Run
Tires slosh and sludge through boggy field. Water stands too thick, too deep. Try to back out but our beast coughs and dies. Others roar and spin. Can not escape the mess and mud. Smoke bellows from rears. Fire flares from fronts. None will help slow with the threatening glow that flickers neath the hood. Snuff out the flame. Abandon the game. There are better hells than these.

Warped Space
We flee into the empty embrace of a new found space. We are frightened. We are free. Rejoice with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a few sock tucked bills. She chooses the largest room as her own. I choose the smallest, heart hoarding hopes of minimalist mornings. Her floor is warped. We measure and make plans for her crooked place. "Look at the windows, we can watch the eclipse from here," I mention then forget what we are fixing. The place becomes a jumble of odd tilts and obtuse angles. Can't even care as I obsess over the coming of the blood moon.