Approximation of a dream
by Jon Rappoport
April 13, 2017
Approximation of a dream
By Jon Rappoport
“The space-time continuum is a cheap drug we took a long time ago.”
How do you describe a highly complex, shifting, electric dream you had? Here is how I describe this one:
Cause and effect: Because of the wind, because of the night and the stanchions and the shifting of the orbits, and the fires on banked hills, and the white whirls of capes and the hammering blossoms and the burning of standing orders and the automatic sentients at the gates, and the frogs in the moats announcing to the wind the coming of April and the gaggling mobs at the iron doors and the soldiers and the castle maids and the old hogs sloughing in the dusty pens, and the fading of crimson and hotel rooms flying in the breeze and the mind warping back to catch fragments it left behind and the all the postponements of regrets and mottos and popularity of broadcasters, because of the tables and the lack of connections to the light and the ideas that frisson on and on without change but simply bubble, and because of the knights of the cauldron and the rejection of asylum and the reliance on whispers in the dark and symbolic messages shooting by in the night sky and cheap perambulating forks hovering over furniture, because of levitating statues and frank flying and saboteurs and mercenary allowances and censorship eating and green forests paths winding along brooks shepherds minding their flocks, because of sand and beach and pyre and old days, worms in the soil, deserts empty quarter levels of tangerine, lightning strikes over the hovercraft, silver spires of the new city, dwarf flat highways foreshortened by breezes, gold flake, emerald, agents reacting to, and against, their own schemes and the sky can turn many colors during certain days, and who can keep track of every nuance and slight plague that infects, and because the clouds pass slowly, they romance silver and heralds make announcements which they contradict hours later, language itself undergoes fashions, it is boiled down, it expands into empty bureau speak, it flashes and disappears, and because of dreams of being lost, outdoor corridors in the rain, the search for the only friend, strangers everywhere, why, imagine a piece of sculpture in a museum, it has 107 dimensions and in one of those dimensions, time has been crawling along a surface in precise small increments but now time begins to skip ahead in longer leaps and so, to avoid a very perplexing situation, we throw a sheet over the whole sculpture and prepare to walk away, and then we realize we are in the darkness.
Fragrant roses on the table by an ancient ink well. The white pitcher of cream glowing in the morning. The phone softly humming like a river. Tuesday. Low clouds. The sun gray and brown floating.
Raphael’s curls cabled on a wire from cliffs domed with chimes.
A segment of the city made up of denizens and castoffs drifting, shacks, plywood castles, runoff pools of lilies, hacked streets, lofts, parks, abandoned highways, morning, I remembered Carol. Islands floating letters of the green sun punching reservation keys to hotels I meet her in a wide gold corridor heavy curtains hanging on the walls she leads the way into an empty room we shut the door and look out over six hundred empty chairs we’re driving up a long road to a house we break into closets and try on expensive clothes and strut in front of mirrors we jimmy into file cabinets in steel rooms and fish out glossy photos of agents we fly a rug into a Saturday night reincarnation sports book find new packs of money in our pockets and lay it all down on a new life with blood pounding in our ears.
Also wrappery of old streets, souls of paper, graves, sacraments pressed into the brains of walking robots, sandstone cliffs…
(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)
The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free emails at NoMoreFakeNews.com or OutsideTheRealityMachine.
Best enjoyed if chewed slowly. Interesting experience – I am so used to scanning through words, but such original juxtapositions stop the mind over and over in order to take it in and wait for recognition.
Imagine reading the same poem each day for two years, gradually working out possible meanings and interpretations. Is such a thing possible for a modern mind?
I like this an awful lot. Tremendous imagery.
This is the loveliest line I read in quite a while..it is a painting morphed to the word.
“Raphael’s curls cabled on a wire from cliffs domed with chimes.”
God, I love this stuff!!!
Poetry, full of imagery. You have some pretty talented dreams, Jon.
Wow! I’m speechless.