The Deer Is The Point.

Joyce.

I am characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtapositions.
A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements.
Bizarre; Fantastic; Grotesque.
In my threshold of consciousness,
when I come upon my visions of half-sleep,
voices yell, and voices whisper,
they speak my name again and again.

Their disturbance is not invited,
and their presence is feared.

They may be benevolent or malicious.
Of the malicious type?
I can feel the tension as they stare
with intent that force silence and cowardliness.

It's happened to me,
it'll happen to you.

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Tripping eyes and flooded lungs… Sunday, May 3, 2009 12:50 PM

ripping eyes and flooded lungs…

Sunday, May 3, 2009 12:50 PM

Northern Downpour sends it’s love.

I dreamt of Heaven this morning.
I sat in a, what seemed like a field, but it consisted of only grass.
The grass had turned this gray-green color, and in my lap I was looking at a book.
On the pages, photos (or illustrations, I’m not sure which…) showed how the field had once looked.
In all it’s flowery, green filled glory.
As I looked at it, I spoke aloud and I prayed,
God, Please make this field look as it once did.
I want to see it’s beauty
I want to smell the fragrance of the flowers.

My eyes stayed open, and a warm light came from behind me.
I watched as the book light up, and the grass around me turned an intense green.
I turned around quickly and saw a square shaped …portal?
Sort of like a door frame, but inside of it was a huge yellow light and the rest of the field.
I lunged forward and asked, “Is this Heaven?”
I stuck my arm through and the portal turned to it’s side.
I felt as if I were sticking my arm through the “looking glass”.
Nothing happened though.
No amazing comfort, no feeling of security.
No angels singing.
Nothing.

Then I woke up.
A bit frightened.
My arm still tingled from the forearm down.

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