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now is the winter of our disco tent

taureanproject:ask-changeling-lyra:

A quick audio lesson on Southern Linguistics.

Press play. Trust me on this one.

An apology for posting distressing dreams

I got carried away writing about an old dream earlier, but to make up for it, I will tell the story of my dream last night. 

I was in an auditorium with some of my friends. They were nervous and I did my best to keep them calm. One by one, I watched as each took their turn on the stage in the audition. These were no ordinary auditions; they were auditions for an exclusive acapella/glee club comprised of people with superpowers. Those auditioning were dressed in barbershop quartet-style clothing (high-waisted pants, bowties, and sometimes multiple pairs of suspenders) or the traditional superhero spandex. They mostly sang medleys of boy-band songs from the 90's. The auditions were stopped early on account of a supervillan attack, thankfully all my friends had already gone.

We flew back home to another friend's house, where a party was being held. After flying around a bit, I made myself comfortable in the kitchen where there were people sitting around the table talking. I listened and took part in the conversation, enjoying the company. Someone brought out a couple of bowls of snacks and I helped myself (quite liberally) on what seemed to be reconstituted grapes. They were surprisingly delicious. Next, I grabbed a handful of freeze-dried/puffed potatoes that looked like tater tots and were covered in spices. They too, were delicious. 

I woke up salivating. 

For whatever reason, out of the families in the animal kingdom, I find birds are, by far, the hardest to keep safe in dreams. As the child of two veterinarians, animals (not surprisingly) often play critical roles in my dreams.  This hummingbird dream reminds me of a dream I had when I was really young that has stuck with me through the years. 

I was with my family at a museum. On display was one of the last surviving members of this endangered species of dolphin. It was magnificent; it was big and powerful, and had dark grey freckles across its dorsal side.

The exhibit was on the roof where the small, shallow pool was open and left the dolphin exposed to the elements. I realized the dolphin was swimming in tight circles along the edge of it's cement tank, growing increasingly agitated as the sky turned grey, indicating a storm approaching. This was a textbook example of unhealthy behavior exhibited by captive animals who were kept in environments that did not meet the animals physical or mental/emotional needs.

I tried desperately to get my parents to help - they were also distressed by the dolphin's conditions. They only told me that they didn't know anybody who could take the dolphin. I asked if there were any rescue or wildlife protection organizations that could do something. Their only answer was: no, everyone's hands are tied. In a final attempt to do something, I asked if we could just pool all our savings and buy the dolphin in order to save its life. My request was turned down. Eventually I was left alone with the dolphin on the roof of the museum, crying into the tank, wishing there was something I could do.

Just woke up from a very on-the-nose, Showtime Original Series kind of dream. I was living at my apartment on Commonwealth avenue, and I was coming home to it when a hummingbird followed me inside. I put my hand out and it landed on my finger. I gave it a little push and it was flying freely around my apartment, but my cat got a hold of it and I had to rescue it, so then I just started holding its little feet between my fingers so it wouldn’t fly off and get hurt. It didn’t seem to mind.

I took it to the front door of my apartment to let it go. It hovered in the doorway and didn’t leave and I couldn’t help but put my hand out again and, again, it landed on my finger. I thought, nobody’s going to believe this, I ought to get a photo of it.

By the time I got my phone out, a large dog had entered my apartment and had somehow gotten the hummingbird in its mouth. I got it away. It was still fine, but I started taking to holding its whole body lightly in my hand. I could feel its little heartbeat beating a thousand times a second but I remembered reading somewhere that that was normal for a hummingbird.

I wanted to send it on its way, get it away from this apartment, where it didn’t belong, where it was in danger, but now I wanted to capture it on video before it left. I found my iPad and was trying to get it in camcorder mode with one hand while clutching this tiny, fragile thing in the other while, and all the while, more cats and dogs were showing up to the apartment, as if they could sense the little bird’s presence and couldn’t wait to eat it.

Then people started coming over, the landlord, a little girl from next door, all of them asking questions and trying to help. I couldn’t trust any of them to capture the bird on video and I certainly couldn’t trust them to hold the bird and I couldn’t let it go around these animals but I also couldn’t get the stupid iPad in video mode with the camera facing the right way.

Finally, my girlfriend, Erin, came over, and I let her take the iPad so I could protect the bird. I penned all the cats and dogs inside the apartment and walked out to the front of the building. The landlord told me to make sure he and the building weren’t in the video, because it was illegal to touch a hummingbird. The little girl explained that they were endangered, and that once they smell like a human, other hummingbirds ostracize them. A family from the building next door pulled their car down their driveway. The car had a canoe on the roof and was loaded with camping supplies. The mother leaned out its window and said, “has it had a heart attack yet?”

I said let’s just forget the video, let’s just let it go and run inside so it doesn’t come back.

Erin confessed that she had just made a deal with YouTube, they were expecting footage of a hummingbird.

I noticed I hadn’t felt the heartbeat in my hand for a while.

I woke up sad and confused in a hotel room. Mostly because, when your creative anxiety dreams are that hacky, you’ve got good reason to have creative anxiety. But at least I’m dreaming again.