Trampoline Breath

It’s Fine, It’s Silence

Polarbearface — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 19:56:47 +0000

Long and far between the days to which I live and dream; come hither to your old soul, and drown yourself in tears, upon the banister of night. Climb slowly until you teach yourself to live and let live. Feel the passage of clarity and the space of time, nothing stays behind in this world to the next, we can argue only in the latest faded words.

Your one moment is my moment too, your fear is my fear and we are beyond the sick rock that we walk on; your claims are bare and your still stare clings to life and life only. “Oh brave fortuna” o’ brave truth, where are you sleeping at this violet night, and why do you look so soft and familiar?

“If we can get through this, you know we got our wish. We took it to the level, and we held out for more. And isn’t it a trist. The things we might have missed. Of stickin’ with the wrong too long to know what right was.
And isn’t it a shame? We have only ourselves to blame. At least thats what they tell you when you take the back door.
But it just never fit; The thought of makin’ it end. Lets leave it to the pretty boys and girls in the show.

Why do we go away?”

The days pass and winter lasts forever when you live in Texas. There is a book all about it, you’ve read it even though it’s far from being written. Each earth story makes a difference; and all the dingy colors hop around like shiftless touches, with their photosensitive poems and pink metals.

And I can only look into your eyes with a long distance stare; I’ve disarmed myself of all those sinister walks that came along inside “the deep without”. I can look at the sun, and notice that three and a half smiles hurt more than one, or that the stone entry ways of my dreams are still there, just as they were when I was a child.

I Give You: My Haunting

Polarbearface — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 04:53:47 +0000

The first one that I’ve ever had of the nature began in the US, around last October I think…and it was absolutely terrifying. I don’t know when they started here exactly…

The feeling is of nothingness and uncertainty within the element of something really wrong and extremely frightening creating only one response in your mind: Get the hell out. Inside these dreams, everything moves and nothing moves, there is suspicion everywhere and the whole house (usually they’re houses) is alive with this pulsation of negativity and anxiousness.

The walls and ground feel alive, and were you to touch them, you would feel a deep kind of fear, that doesn’t care if you’re scared or not, but just wishes to be around you and in your thoughts, eating away at your hope. Very seldom will I see a man, or woman, or life form who’s there, emitting the fear, because I don’t know if it’s a person…that’s another factor: the unidentifiable source from whence it comes from.

It feels like it must be someone, or of someone in particular, though I know not who. It could also be that I’ve accidentally wondered into the dreams of someone else, which ultimately gives me no control in the dream. But, I really don’t believe that to be the case.

Things will happen that resemble a poltergeist’s presence of sorts. Like, doors will shut, cars will look like they’re broken and destroyed and then when you blink or turn your head for a moment, it would be back to normal. Illusions. All of everything is an illusion, the sounds, tastes, and people, and everything – an illusion inside of an illusion inside of an illusion and so on in order to purposely exhaust your rationale to have more of a hold on your mind.

These dreams hold a very surreal feeling to them as though anything could happen because nothing’s stabilized; nothing at all is secure and objective. It’s like I was in this other world of encrypted chaos and fear and that there was something or someone there who was in control of it, as though I were in another person’s dreams or nightmares and they wanted me to get out or suffer the consequences.

All of the dreams of this nature are always frightening and leave me waking up in terror and confusion. The objects always in these dreams are: a house, people I don’t know or have never seen before, and the feeling to hurry and leave as soon as I’m there.

The actual feeling is so interestingly confusing and multisided; it’s everything and nothing. As soon as I’m there an alarm goes off in my mind to get out and leave no questions asked. I usually leave fairly quickly, but sometimes I end up staying in there for too long and become abnormally frightened and stuck in the illusions. The worst time was when I had to surround myself in white light because I was so terrified.

I had closed my eyes and repeated to myself over and over in my mind to be wrapped in white light and suddenly a radiance of blue and white light surrounded my being, and I was lifted out of the house and into the daylight faraway from the house and into town. I could still feel the force though, but I was in a safer position and with people that were good.

The first time I dealt with these types of dreams in that late October, I had located the source coming from a crack in the wall, or television or something in this huge and disgustingly decrepit blue house. It said something to me, but I don’t recall what and then proceeded to torment me. But I was strong then and defeated the pull of its illusions and fear. But these dreams that I’m having here are difficult and I cannot face them that way for some reason. The illusions are too great and too powerful.

They’re illusions. All of them. The entire dream is conducted on the illusionary tactics of a mastermind. The fear derived from these illusions is incredibly lonely and dark, as though one is inside of a town, alone, at night, with no light, no beam of positive hope. All is lost and all is isolated.

The houses are terribly evil. Everything is evil. That is the only word I can think of, evil. There’s nothing else but a feeling of evil inside of these houses and the light is lit low. Sometimes the houses are huge and long and mysterious, sometimes they are small and houses I know of like my old house on Trevor Hill. The houses almost feel haunted by evil and despair and one can literally feel the vibes of hate radiating from the walls, ceilings, ground and windows, creating the effect that the entire house is alive with hate and fear and loneliness.

It is a most terrifying situation to be in, and almost no one else in the dream can feel these things. It is just me.

- Dated: October 29th, 2003

Thankful Thoughtful

Polarbearface — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 18:34:32 +0000

Let’s talk about money. I don’t have any, and any that I do have goes to my addiction: electricity and gas. Gotta have hot showers these days, that’s for sure.

It’s fucking cold in Austin. And I’m tired of waking up with ice on my dreams. I guess that’s why God invented girls to snuggle with. I mean fire…The town I left behind was burned to the ground.

If anyone does make it past the end of man’s inevitable self-destruction, it will be the future-space-woman. Wandering space, using her talents to get through the solar system. She will be able to tackle all obstacles and be able to fight murderous alien lifeforms. So if fire, I mean Space Snuggles can do it, so can you.

Sometimes that support you need, is just around the corner. The corner of freedom and liberty and the pursuit of happiness, at the expense of all three. And sometimes, just sometimes, the support is right in front of you, wearing a long memory and holding a cup of .45 ACP shells.

In the desert nothing can stop you from reaching your dreams. I plan on going to the desert soon. I’ve “really” never been, but the arid landscapes attract me so. It would be an ideal place to start a novel. It would make me happy.

Sometimes it’s better to say goodbye to birds that come knocking on your windows in the barren darkness. And other times, you invite them in, give them a name, and call them your roundabout friend. They come back, and they ain’t so bad as when you first met.

I can’t explain it, it’s the way I am.

Polarbearface — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 20:35:18 +0000

The new year is here. “Let’s go to the lake.” Nothing has exactly changed much, the gas prices went up. It’s slightly cold, the air is modern, aggressive. 2009 was such a strange year, rife with shadows and long tear drops over love and loss. I had hoped to not lose anyone so soon…but it happened and death has taken yet again.

The other night: there was a bluemoon. I got hacked to pieces by a machete, and the sparks caught my knuckles as they fell one by one into the fire. I thought I was going to die. I met some friends, we had a firecracker and it blew up, but not before we settled within the champagne; the watery guitar washing through the grape-colored space between millions of conversations.

When we got home, I fell asleep on the bed. My head was all full of winding roads, ticket punchers wearing gray 3-piece suits, a book of birds, and plastic pain. For a mere moment, the side of me that is Night, took over. I was scared and the white reverb in my chest sunk deeper into the abyss. The glow of my thoughts was black and cold, yet secretly smoldering, just warm enough to keep company. I walked back into the fire, and it mysteriously consumed me until I wept. It wasn’t until the bones in my neck cracked and turned, that I realized how majestic the cold orange of dawn could truly be.

I woke up on new year’s morning and touched the body next to mine, it was quite warm and very unconscious. Sitting up, I became attracted to the sounds coming from the kitchen. The cats were moving around, looking for something. The dog was outside, crying in the splinters of an early sunrise. The crystalline drops of dust were just barely settling on the antique keys of a broken piano. I let the dog in and she moved past me clicking upon the wooden floor and into the bedroom, where her master lie, sleeping off the grim darkness.

I wandered the house looking for those ridiculous poetry magnets that belonged solely on the cold squares of refrigerators. But I couldn’t find them. The mossy memories of sleep were being shoved off onto my real-life thoughts, my conscious thoughts. They layered in a nice pattern and in no way disfigured the tendrils of other thoughts coming to and fro in the early morning quietude.

As the time slowly locked onto their world, they woke up. We had brunch and recounted the night before. I caught myself dishing out apologies for whatever reason, we do after all, adorable things to each other in these such short lifetimes of experience. It was a fine afternoon, nonetheless. Throughout the rest of the day, we watched films. It was probably at this time, that the funeral arrangements were being made, while I lay upon the couch wishing for what I could not have.

Her final moments were among many of those sacred privities unknown to the living…I can only try to imagine the fright and the flight, if such things truly exist. Alas, there she is, somewhere in the colossal ether of a billion twinkling galaxies, swimming amongst the rest of our futures, singing through the dark glass that separates our reality from theirs. The cold and jagged claws of gravity can do no more harm to her…

And it’s good, it’s all going to be ok from now on.

Dream Foam

Polarbearface — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 22:54:49 +0000

There’s a sense of loss that invades my daily psychic existence. It pervades my entirety, fulfilling the dreams of the long distance runner in me. I’ve run away before. I’ve cuddled with the cold, hidden in trees, lived in the darkness of a fall night. I’ve made friends with the electronic hum of street lights, and have even exchanged stories with the oceanic language of freeways and highways.

The blue ceilings, the cracked green and brown stems. Oh brave human — your soul is only steam. I believe you, color. Because, it’s not without folly that I encourage the firm grip on the purple film surrounding reality. Like a muggy, misty morning in the bowels of an outer Houston suburb, you will find a seething potential that bleeds into your own.

I’m under the impression that it ends the same way for everyone. I don’t know this for a fact, but I am willing to play with the idea. Once under the guise of a mysterious dream journey, I felt the systematic shutdown of each body compartment, from the feet up, taking hold me. I came to on a dusty kitchen floor, the metal rails screeching like dying light from the elevated subway outside.

Things like ideas of “life” take this weird, fantasy turn, where although the night is itself balmy and glowing, there exists still, this underlying unconscious unknown future that appears to be pitted against all singing creatures of the night. A true sound-party is taking place, and the fact that it too must come to an end, bothers the observers exclusively, as the singers couldn’t care less if the sun even existed.

So always, will the sun always rise, which will mean that it will always be morning. Always and Never, my two favorite pastimes. The moon, acts upon itself, and has nothing to do with gravity or psychopathic positions. It is made of cookie dough, and fresh milk. Always and forever do not question my authority on this matter.