"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep,"
---William Shakespeare, "The Tempest"
---William Shakespeare, "The Tempest"
By Holly Bennet
Untitled - Casey Dudding
I’ve fallen in love with a dream, a specter, a wisp of air. I’ve fallen in love with someone who is not real. Who lives in every part of my mind and who tells me the things I want to hear and who shows me what I want to see and who is perfect. I wish I could tell you what he looks like but I can’t because he is everyone. Everywhere I look, a part of him is there. Hidden in this one’s smile, and this one’s laugh, and the way this one talks. Buried in the way someone walks, the way someone looks deliriously happy when they are talking about something they love, the way someone shoves me when I say something dumb. He is everyone and yet he is no one. Only a figment of my imagination, a friend I desperately want beside me, a ghost I wish could be brought back from the other side. I’ve fallen in love with a dream, a specter, a wisp of air.
My Dreams Are Light Years Away - Photo by Lily Inskip-Shesnicky (Lyrics are Reality by Richard Sanderson)
Mirror - Sage Spicer
She looks through me every day. Never at me, only through me. My thick, transparent expanse remains unseen to her blank eyes.
She watches the clouds go by, watches the snow fall. She lets the bustling world on my other side become a play, and the soundtrack is her teacher’s voice, stifling and monotone. She taps her pencil to the beat as she stares through me. Never at me, only through me.
She opens me when she wants to get some air, when her face is red and hot from crying, and her fingers are itching to rip through her own skin. She’s been wallpapered with her tests, quizzes, and worksheets, glued there by her parents who want her to be everything that they were and more. But her dreams don’t lie between the structured lines of her graph paper. She wants to fly with the birds, drift like the clouds.
As a mirror, I cannot say or do anything, but I can dream. I wish that I could help her. But I am only a mirror, and she never looks at me, only through me.
Hikaru and Kage - Anna Monsreal
Fleeting fur and
Bodies writhing against each other.
Yin and yang.
Flashing fangs and
Mother of ma'at.
A serpent in the shadows watching over
The keeper of ren.
Mass of muscle
A duet of
Winding themselves around
They pierce skin
Enter blood and thought.
Ōkami given to
Kitsune placed by
Stray wisps of one
Caught in the fibers of
Trapped in the membrane
The hours between ten and
Two bringing magic
Illuminated by the moon’s glare
Bringing a gateway to another world.
My edge of the world - Marija Bolic
I used to dream
I’d run so far
I’d touch the edge of the world
And I would finally
Be at peace
Now I dream
I’d run too far
Over the edge of the world
And I would fall
To a deeper sleep
The New World - Olivia Kenny
She was named Absinthe
for its aroma hung
about her like
a thick morning's mist
forest dew collects upon
her porcelain cheeks
beneath her eyes
crow call rising
from her throat
crows feet scratching
a larynx of poison oak
doe's eyes watch
heron flight, crickets
chirp in the twilight
of her dormant mind
she is the Wood,
four chambers of a
He was named Columbus
for exploration was
in his nature.
his lantern fingers
brush across the
darkness of her cheek
pricking on her pine-needle protectors
he means no harm
and yet boot marks
upset the equilibrium
of her domain
enraged, his coarse rasp,
when she clarifies
her refusal to be
he mistakes his love
to be unrequited
really she is but warning
how could one so
juvenile as he
know her wilderness?
Two lovers lost
to the churning woes
of broken glass confessions
thrown a-mast a sinking ship
She was a wilderness
incapable of laced expression
folded amongst oak leaved laurels
and the bitter winds of winter
He was a fresh soul
speaking in salt water tongues
always a new discovery
out of reach, one more heaven
to be found upon her skin
they two were hastily
forcibly, immutably interlocked
their adhesive wore off
as, too, did the silence between them
they were called,
the New World.
Dreams to be Feared - Ginger Hum
As a child, his dreams were vivid flashes of colour and action. Nothing held him back in his own head. He was a superhero, a pirate, the most powerful warlock in the world. There were no limitations to his dreams, otherwise known as his imagination, not even the barrier of wakefulness held him back. He learned then, that one can dream even when they’re awake if they try hard enough.
As a teenager, his dreams were fleeting glimpses of contact and lust. None of these dreams were formed from actual experience but that didn’t seem to stop his head from speculating and imagining. He ran his hands along the smooth lines of a man’s back and the soft curves of a woman’s body all before the age of seventeen. He learned then, that sometimes dreams weren’t nearly enough.
As an adult, he stopped dreaming all together. Something only the ordeal of adulthood could cause. He spent his days at a desk stamping papers and playing solitaire. At night he watched home renovation shows and drowned himself in coffee and hatred. He still imagined being amazing and he knew exactly what having someone else moving beneath him felt like. He learned then, that dreams didn’t matter if all you had was absolutely nothing.
As an senior, his dreams returned with a vengeance. They showed him the things he could have become instead of the old man living alone in a nursing home. During the day he flirted with nurses and argued with his chess opponents and during the night he retired to images of the smile he rejected so long ago. He learned then, that dreams gave one hope just as much as they stole that hope away.
By James Ersil
Like Me - Oriana Vizcaino-Delgaty
are your hands up high
almost as high as mine
as high as my mind
too drunk to care
I'm practically floating on air
up in the sky
with the birds
and the planes
it's kinda crazy too
but trust me you're not as crazy as me
do you dream like me
think of blood as often as me
as it drips down your wrist as fast as me
do you think like me
think of sirens and IV's like me
when the doctors rush around you as frantic as me
do you write like me
writing stories of terrible losses and wonderful causes like me
where you grip your pencil until it snaps in half like me
do you hear like me
listening to all the screams and cries
hearing them until their voices become raspy like me
do you really want to be as fucked up as me
are you sure you can handle the thoughts like me
Waves - Chloe Wilson
There were waves
Waves all around me
There was no earth
And there was no sky
Only rain, storm, and water
Water churning below
Waves higher than redwoods
Rose into the sky
Before falling back into raging white foam
and swirling blue darkness
Hovered above the chaos below
Stuck in the eye of a storm
I was powerless to stop
And I was falling
Spiraling towards the ocean below
The waves reached up to snatch me,
to whisk my breath away
And just as they licked at my toes-
I fell back onto the bed,
sheets twisted around me,
sweat dripping down my face
Taking a shuddering breath I tell myself,
it was only a dream
Only a dream, only a dream, only a dream
A mantra repeated over and over
In an attempt to convince myself it’s true
But sometimes I wonder what would happen
If I didn’t wake up in time
Woolgathering - Neve Stewart
(Indulgence in aimless thought or dreamy imagining.)
I walk the tightrope. Girl on fire walking, one foot in front of the other,
crowd holding their breath, will she fall?
Will she slip in her too tight shoes and plummet to her death? But can’t they see
I’m on fire, I’m flaming girl on the tight rope, one foot in front of the other,
burning skin, burning hair, sweat dripping down my back. I’ve always hated the circus.
But the the silence was too much. It drove
me to run away and join the circus. Run to kiss the devil and dance with death. All
smoke clouds and shots of vodka, broken mirror daydreams of laughing clowns dead
drunk at the strip club just one more round.
As the flames creep up my spine, I sigh, she has come again. She holds me
as we dance
late into the night, burning finger tips pressed against my cold skin, sending
warmth back into my heart, re-igniting the spark in my eye. We kiss.
And she sets my lips on fire, burning hands running through dead hair, she breaths
life back into me. My cold cold fingers, searching, bones pressed against her soft side.
She’s so damn soft, all flickering fire light, I’m afraid to let her go, afraid she’ll take her warmth
with her and never come back.
Circus girl, dance with me. Hold me as we dance into the moonlight, take me.
Let me kiss you. Circus girl. We’ll waltz across infinity, and drink away the stars. Dance
with me circus girl. I’ll lick away your tears, hold your bleeding heart in my hands
and never let you go.
She whispers to me, late into the night. Long after the tent has emptied. Popcorn,
soda, lost wallets and missing dreams.
Broken teeth, untied shoelaces, and there’s blood
on my lips.
Hot breath on my neck.
Burning on my tongue.
Salt water tears, and vomit in the dirt. Broken mirror, shards cutting
into my thick skin.
But tomorrow she’ll be back again, and we’ll dance, and I’ll burn.
And she’ll leave me on the dance floor at midnight, running away before her Porsche turns
into a pumpkin,
And her henchmen forget her again. But she’s stopped leaving glass slippers,
and started leaving bruises. Lining my arms, and the side of my face,
puffy lips and swollen eyes. Just the way she likes me. But master tells me to get pretty
again, that no one comes to see an ugly girl walk the tightrope. That I am only
as flawless as my skin.
So I walk the tightrope. Girl on fire walking, one foot in front of the other,
crowd holding their breath, will she fall?
will she fall?
will I fall?
And they can’t see that I’m on fire.
But if no one sees the flames, will I burn?
By James Ersil
The Blood People Cometh - Mab Speelman
The blood comes and
the blood goes, drifting
with the moon and
burning with the sun
filling small mouths with thick metal,
making girls kiss girls and
boys turn away.
Little dreams of multiplication and
nightmares of subtraction
winding through my hair and
tousling my roots.
I dreamed of her body towards mine,
I dreamed of sine and sin
on whether or not you dream
of multiplication and subtraction
as I have for half a dozen years.
I down cold coffee to keep
my eyes from burning after a
sleepless night tracing my fingertips
along the gentle curves of a dream. And
I wondered why nobody's blood
pumps and spins and rolls
like mine when the moon
blooms in the belly of midnight and
the wolf people growl and
tumble beneath the bushes
clawing and scraping
to reach the wild hunt.
The little demons rumbled
under my bed and
knocked on the wood
asking me to come out and
play along the slippery riverbanks of her
thighs, shoulder, collarbones, ribcage.
To tag along the crook of her knee and
chase along the palm of her hand,
the nape of her neck.
Beezlebub asks me
to bring him a popsicle,
peach, lemon, plum, licorice,
to cool his throat and
soothe his sores.
The freezer breaths cold and
is fresh with white fruits and
the popsicle box is open and
we appreciate the cold
of the artificial peach.
the colour beige - Emily Ulde
Last night I had a dream
that I was back
in an English class from years before
with my teacher who always wore beige
Sitting on her throne, she watched
her students waste away
under her workload
She wore brown shirts underneath
with tweedy brown pants
and leather shoes with the texture of raisins
and never since that school year
have I looked at beige
the same way
it used to make me think
of hazy Sunday mornings
and sun pouring in upon the beige walls
of my best friends house
it used to make me think
of their taupe couch
where the smell of sweet hot chocolate
would waft down from the kitchen
and wake us
from where we’d slept the night
she’d sit across from me
at the breakfast table,
with her ever-changing eyes
Deep brown in shadows
but intertwined with gold,
and honey beige,
in the morning sunlight
that shone in pleasantly against my back
and made me long to curl up in its warmth
I knew she felt the same longing,
as she gazed down at her french toast sleepily
but I can hardly remember those times,
they’re overshadowed by the memories
that star my teacher, in her trademark beige
they’re overshadowed by how she’d only accept
work typed in Times New Roman 12
and printed on paper
with beige undertones
they’re overshadowed by how
I sulked when it came time
to sit in her stiff classroom chairs
and feel the beige walls close in
on us helpless students
as she cackled and watched us squirm
overshadowed so much
that the sweet memories of happy beige
are dim and burnt out
and feel no more real
than the dream I had
just last night
Untitled - Kasey Hand
I don't usually remember dreams.
I've almost forgotten this one
a few times,
but every feeling in that dream
seemed to feel
much more real
to me than moments in real life.
It was out
barefoot in the night
thinking that it might
and want to stop thinking
so much and focus
on the ground beneath.
and hear every sound
see every detail, things that weren't there before
like stars and how they disappear
go blind watching them,
but then wake up to see again.
Declined - Rowan O'Brien
Where did your depth perception go?
You lost a dimension today.
They took away the things you know.
Where did your depth perception go?
Do you gasp 11,000 miles below
Or lie inside Guernica grey?
Where did your depth perception go?
You lost a dimension today.
Nightmare - Taylor Taniguchi
A pulling sensation wrapped itself around their heart.
It dragged their love into the dark.
They clung desperately to their happy ending.
But it was unreachable.
Instead of holding onto warmth and softness, they held screams and blood.
Kissing replaced by missing
dates and late apologies.
Escalates into violent behavior.
They savor the good moments
and survive the frequent disasters.
A dead dream of happiness and a future
is what they try to bring to life.
But, the dream is an empty shell
of broken promises. They’re in hell.
Sleepwalking - Jackson
My life has become nothing but a constant
daydream, a fantasy that I am forced
to sleepwalk through
again & again & again.
My memories turn to shades of grey, like
vintage photographs, nothing more than the
slush of my subconscious.
I desperately try to make sense of it all,
to separate my memories from my dreams,
but it always comes back to that same grey layer,
fogging up my mind.
I ate all the ice cream that was hiding in the back of the fridge,
the same ice cream that my brother had saved for himself.
He opened the freezer, discovered the empty tub, and yelled at me until
I could physically see his anger, gushing out of every pore.
I played tetherball with my sister in the pouring rain but
the ball kept slipping from my wet palms. She stuck her tongue out in
concentration, and with a slam, smashed the ball around the pole, making the
string coil around the metal like a snake. When we left to go dry off,
there was a perfect circle of mud, from where we stomped and destroyed the grass.
My grandmother sang in her nightgown, sitting on her beaten up rocking chair,
the old wood creaked with age, and her voice did as well
“My Bonnie lies over the ocean
my Bonnie lies over the sea,
My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
O bring back my Bonnie to me.”
My best friend and I charged through a corn field, the one near my house.
The stalks stood tall between us, making it feel like we were walking with giants.
We reached somewhere in the middle of the farm, feeling completely alone
even though we were in the middle of the city. Suddenly, she stopped dead,
turned to me and asked: “Do you believe in God?”
A witch held me by my collar, her tree trunk face inches away from mine
It appeared as though I was playing the part of Hansel that night.
Her teeth shone a dull green, her nose so long it just grazed mine.
“You’ll make a delicious meal!,” she cackled
and then proceeded to tear my throat out.
Nothing really makes sense anymore,
the puzzle pieces just don’t seem to fit together the way they should.
My brain can no longer decipher if what I remember is true.
Dream or memory?
Memory or dream?
And unfortunately for me, wakefulness offers no clarity.
Oneirology - Lucy Boyd
does not follow the usual themes:
or falling, failing a test or forgetting
This is not a fantasy
nor a crumb
from your day––anxiety
carried over, carried away.
The day’s residue. Everything
is normal––at least it seems to be.
So mundane is the normalcy
that you don’t hear the silence, see
the clock’s wrong time.
Now peer out the window, rise to a lilac sky.
You won’t know that this false awakening isn’t real
till you open your eyes:
Paradise - Hayley Spenst
When I could take no more, I vanished from sight.
Into the dark of night, I took flight.
I left pressure, stress, and anxiety behind.
Everything that tied me to this Earth no longer mine.
I dared to hope and plead and pray,
That I could live out my days this way.
If I ran until my knees burst with agony,
Until my breath was behind me distantly.
I could reach the speck ever so far ahead,
Where the constant fear and pain would finally end.
A place I could sing and dance without critique.
Learn without reminder my grades are not elite.
A place I can fly without my wings being clipped.
Where I can run free of fear I'll being tripped.
I truly long to reach this place in my dreams, this wondrous land;
But alas, I’m stuck here where my complexion is constantly scanned.
Where girls must tend to their appearance, but only to an extent.
Where people prefer fame and riches over moments well spent.
Where the only acts accounted are not for love but hate.
Where we have worry upon worry pilled on our plate.
Atlas, the poor fellow, I hear him and his desperate cries,
Because although my burden’s invisible, it's the weight of the sky.
What I would give to be able to truly live and have a free spirit.
To reach the place where happiness is free and there’s no limit.
Sadly I must return to my home in the human race,
Even though it can be truly a horrid and terrifying place.
Perhaps I will reach this place that holds a distance of ice,
Until then, I shall close my eyes and dream of paradise.
WHO IS SPOTLIGHT?
This month's Spotlight theme is 'DREAM.' From aspirations, to memories, to the actual dreams that the lovely people who've submitted cared to share with us. We wanted our readers this month to have a chance to slip into a world of dreams, where reality doesn't always have to quite match up. Our wonderful team consists of Holly Bennett, Lucy Boyd, Phuong Nguyen, and James Ersil. We really hope that you enjoy reading Spotlight just as much as we enjoyed curating it!
The Dream Team
Dream Journal - Pascale Malenfant
These are a few legitimate edited excerpts from a dream journal I kept from the beginning of April to May of 2009, an exercise my psychiatrist suggested to help me deal with my Tourette's syndrome.
I had the dream I was riding on a horse through a forest. I’ve had it a lot before. Everything is always in black and white. I look up and see a castle in the distance. I pass by skeletons with nothing but a few strands of hair on their head and fingernails stuck with blood onto the tips of their fingers. I feel a slight tugging on the back of my head. As I turn around, I see a skeleton pulling hair from my head and I scream. This normally lasts only 5 seconds.
This made me feel: Terrified.
I saw my great grandmother last night. I didn’t think I knew her face that well, since I had only seen her for five minutes a few days before she died and in her casket at the funeral. She was very nice to me. She said that I didn’t resemble my mom at all, which is okay because she didn’t want me to. She said that she was sorry she couldn’t give us our part of the will. When I woke up, I could’ve sworn my mouth tasted like smoke.
This made me feel: Nice.
*Note: I did not find out until later that my mother and her sisters had legally not been able to claim their share of their grandmother’s will because their mother had died before she had. The only explanation I have for knowing this and having it projected in my dream is having potentially overheard it mentioned in a conversation between my parents.
I had a dream that a murderer was in my house. I was running around, trying to hide. It wasn’t my house, though. There were way too many hallways and doors, and none of them went outside. Each one had a window that looked like it was an exit, but it never was. I somehow knew my family was dead. I heard something behind me and didn’t want to turn around. I did, but I never saw the person’s face. When I woke up, I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes and I saw a twisted face, smiling. I heard a scream. When I could move again, I knew it wasn’t my scream because no one came to check on me.
This made me feel: Alone.
I kept waking up during the night. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t escape the dream I was having. I was at Red Camp, but no one was there. I had the BB gun in my hands, but every time I shot I would miss. I don’t remember what it was, but something was choking me. It still let me reload the gun every time it was empty, though. It kept cutting my legs with a knife, but I never bled. Somehow while it was doing all of that, it was pulling my hair too. All I saw was the ceiling. When I woke up, I realized I had left the light on and the ceiling I had been staring at was my own. I woke up with red marks on my arms and neck, and my pillow was covered in my hair. My eyebrows had a lot of hair missing, too.
This made me feel: Tired.
After describing my conscious-sleep experiences and allowing my psychiatrist to read the journal, she told me to immediately stop recording my dreams, and asked my parents if it would be alright if I was put on sleeping medications. She told my parents (who later told me) that I had been experiencing an extreme case of sleep paralysis, which was rare but a potential side-effect of recording dreams. I didn’t go to see her after that, and haven’t been to a psychiatrist since.
Aches - Holly Bennett
Awake --or so I thought.
A mechanic roar chipped away at my ears
And dug into my brain until I cried.
Colours streaked across my bedroom ceiling.
Countless torturous brush strokes,
Crammed with images of things long forgotten.
Hell, a place I had thought to be void of colour,
Had taken up residence in my mind.
Head imploding, my consciousness shifted.
Eventually the chaos faded,
Except for that wretched noise.
Early in the morning I awoke to the whirring
Sound of a portable fan.
Summer’s hot air being blown about my room,
Safe to say that fan never came near me again.
By Marija Bolic
Ode to Cookies - Amy Li
She sits by the window
Her cheek caressing her palm
Sleepy dark eyelashes speckled
With drops of sunlight
As the tiniest shade of a smile
Tugs at the corners of her mouth.
It paints a romantic scene,
As if she were day dreaming about
Perfectly sculpted men
With dark hair and eyes
Hiding behind long lashes.
Yet she is not.
Instead, she dreams of an
Aromatic fragrance that engulfs the room,
Emanating from the depths of heaven.
She inhales deeply, letting the sweet scent
Seduce her nose and linger in her lungs.
She licks her lips, anticipating that first bite,
The crunch as she sinks her teeth in,
Unleashing the warm silky chocolate hidden in the soft gooey middle.
She can almost taste the explosion of a most luscious savour
Inside her mouth,
Leaving her senses tingling with joy.
The crumbly sweetness slowly melts on her tongue,
And she sighs, softly,
Basking in the glory
Of God’s most beautiful creation.
But suddenly, her eyes flash open,
And she realizes that it was all a dream,
That she is sitting at a desk in a classroom,
And the only smell in the air is of dusty textbooks.
A solitary tear rolls down her cheek,
But then she smiles, because she knows
That her true love,
Her freshly baked cookies,
Are waiting for her at home.
Dreams of Desire - Brennan Massey
Life is a dream to me.
My pathetic, whimsical desires seem to shape the life I believe I am living, but do they really?
I set my mind upon something, fighting until it is just within reach, only to wake up and have it slashed to pieces before my eyes. I try to tell myself it isn’t real, that it doesn’t matter, but I know otherwise . I try to fall back into the gentle lies of sleep . I try to allow it to continue in my head as it had been, but once I have awakened to the true nature of things, I can never know what form it would have otherwise followed. I cannot say how many times I have awoken to the mechanized real world and wished that it were the dream.
Life is a dream to me.
Everything I strive for, every wall in my path, every shred of emotion. No matter how hard I struggle, how much I persist, how much I try to deny it, I waken and it comes crashing down. And what is left? Where is one to turn when their feelings, hopes, and dreams are struck down in an instant?
Life is a dream to me.
Is nothing real? If I pour my heart and soul into something, will I waken before it comes to be? Will I tear another hole in myself that is impossible to mend without the truth of its finality? Will I have to rely on the sad, slow powers of fantasy and speculation to heal me as they are assaulted by worry, doubt, and grief? How will I know what is worth doing when it could all be obliterated in the blink of an eye, with no evidence or memory of my painful efforts? Will I waken one day and realize that even the failures that have been my life have been but another trick of my tired mind? Have I ever even woken up? If I haven’t, perhaps I wish that I had.
Life is a dream to me.
And dreams are my reality.
Bunny - Mareim Salman
In the dark.
My sisters surround me,
in bed and on the floor
Three bedroom apartment,
we could have wished for nothing more.
The light from the window
peeks through the curtains
I stare blankly at the dresser
my bunny sits there, staring right back
she gets up
she dances for me
I stare, knowing that if I blink
she will stop and sit
right back down.
She grabbed her friends
made some tea
told them stories
as they watch my eyes burn.
They sit down
pretending that this never happened
I stare, wanting her to tell her story again.
Nightmare - Jacob Arnold
Dreams invade an uneventful sleep
Sometimes they’re wanted
Some fill your mind with terror
The dream progresses
and you sweat and shift in your sleep
but you don’t
Trees made of shadows
In a forest of silence, the trees are
Running towards the thing you are running from
“Where are you?”
Behind, in front?
Not far away enough
“Too far away,” it says
Where are you?
Dead silence in the air
You stand there
breaking sound barriers
It’s here, it’s over
“It has just begun,” it says
Escaping from the thing you once knew
Come back to haunt you
Lost in my mind
Have I lost my mind?
No relief from the terror
“Something is wrong,” you say
Did the thing go away?
Scrape, as it comes closer
Drawing nearer to you
Sand keeps trickling down
Time waits for no man
We’re in a forest.
This must be a dream
And it all starts to melt
Ice cream on a hot day
Until it’s gone
You shudder as you sit there, awake
Why didn’t I die?
“Until next time,” the thing says
But it’s distant
the voice is far away
Tomorrow you hope
dreams do not creep
inside your mind
so that you can get some
By James Ersil
The Doctor - Katherine Gibson
The Doctor has called in sick today.
It's ironic in the sense that most irony is.
His lab coat gathering dust in a pile from the night before.
His phone turned off and the dark rectangle blank.
He has left his bed in a state that any mother would be ashamed of,
And wandered sleepily to the couch.
The TV is on but The Doctor is asleep.
He is not dreaming of the hectic ward and bright lights,
or the putrid smell of hand sanitizer wafting through the brightly decorated halls of the hospital.
No, he is dreaming of his dog.
Red fur glistening in the sun,
Playing frisbee on the beach,
His feet soaked in the salty waves,
His eyes shone with pure amazement,
And The Doctor is finally happy.
Heavenly Dream - Rylie McDowell
One night, I had a dream
A strange man approached me
He said I was an angel
I replied “That cannot be.”
He asked how I knew
I replied with a smile
A smile that hurt while hiding what's true
it makes my chest hurt as if I ran 100 miles
But instead of leaving, like I thought he would
He hugged me so tight like I was made of glass
He said “I wish you could see you’re good.”
I simply cried out,
“What's an angel without its wings?!
Not to even mention, Lord knows I’ve sinned
Even compared to the devil I’m grim.”
The man shook his head
“I'm sorry you're in pain
But follow me
it will be worth it for the gain.”
Taking me up to a landing so high
Now this is my story
I stood on the edge, to take a leap of faith
so today, I fly towards glory
I awake to shrieks and screams
I approach the streets at a deadly speed
I was right all along
An wingless angel deserves to fall
Realistic Dreams - Sophia Chu
They always tell you to dream,
and dream big.
You can do anything you set your mind to,
anything is possible.
That's what we want to hear,
what we crave to know.
But is it what we need to hear?
Is it what we should know?
Is it true?
I think not.
Life is a game.
We're all dealt a set of cards.
Some have a royal flush,
and some have nothing.
Just because you dream of playing that winning hand,
doesn't mean that your cards magically change.
We're all limited.
Physically, financially, you name it.
With limitations sometimes you can't reach your goals.
It's okay to dream,
but don't get yourself hurt.
Not everything is possible,
but not everything isn't.
You will fail,
and you will succeed.
Dream, but not so big failure is the only option.
Dream, but be realistic as well.
Untitled - Marija Bolic
“Yep, sound asleep,” Jane said poking Luna on the forehead. Her head jerked away but slowly slid back to where it was.
“She’s had a long day, just leave her,” I said, laying on my back in my own sleeping bag staring at the dark ceiling. I listened to the pace of Luna’s breathing. She thought she was my best friend, but Luna to me was more. I love her, I just didn’t tell her yet.
“So what’s the story?” Jane whispered, shining the light from her flashlight around, slicing across my eyes. I jerked up scrunching my face and covering my eyes, when I closed my eyelids I could see where the flashlight shone across.
“Jane!” I exclaimed.
“Shhh! Amber! Don’t yell, you’ll wake Luna,” Jane said cupping her hands over my mouth. I pushed them off.
“I was walking to science class, minding my own business when DeLuma came up to me,” I started.
“Jack DeLuma? Oh my gosh, isn’t he like the most attractive guy!” Jane exclaimed. Rolling my eyes I continued.
“Anyways, he came up to me and said I know what you are and shoved me. I, of course had no clue what he was talking about. But then he came real close and whispered into my ear, faggot,” I said, startled as I heard a loud thump. Luna’s fist hit the ground. As if she raised it for some reason and let it fall helplessly on the ground.
“That dick! How did he find out? You didn’t even tell anyone! Except us of course. He has no respect!” Jane said putting her small hands into fists, her eyes flaring like a bull's.
“Hopefully he’ll drop it.”
“Your phone made a beeping noise,” Jane said handing it over to me.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when I get a text,” I said grabbing it. It was Allie, DeLuma’s girlfriend. I read the text out loud.
“This is all your fault! You don’t belong, stop poisoning our society. No one will ever love you back.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jane softened. Bed sheets started rustling. Luna was shivering, the blanket covering only her lower body, leaving her bare arms exposed. I gently moved the blanket back up.
“Why does she even have your number?” Jane asked.
“I dunno, Luna used to be good friends with her and gave her my number,” I replied.
“Let’s just try and sleep,” Jane said tucking herself back into her sleeping bag.
Notification: De_Luma_Jack commented on your instagram photo
“Why did you turn that light on,” Jane grumbled, rolling to her side to face me.
“Jack says check your dm,” I said squinting as my eyes adjust.
“Do they not have a life? Do they just stay up and harass you?” Jane says clearly frustrated by her lack of sleep and Jack’s stupid remarks.
“What do you want Jack?”
“Who told me.”
“My new girlfriend.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Cuz people like you is why my parents got a divorce. my dad left my mom because he realized he was gay, after they had me. People like you need to be stopped.”
“I’m sorry but that’s not my fault.”
“You should care too,”
“Why would I?”
“Because guess who my new girlfriend is.”
Jane peered over my phone mumbling the text as she read it.
“All I wanted was more trust, I’m sorry,” Luna said standing. The night caught up, my head spun and I surrendered that night. It wasn’t dreams that took over.
It was nightmares.
Death to Dolphins: The Lucid Dream - Lamiya Rahman
The dream began with Bruno being chased across a gym floor by dolphins. Skittering along the floor, they made eek noises as they attempted to snap their teeth around Bruno’s ankles, who was moving alarmingly slowly. Bruno took it in stride, running from the dolphins dutifully, fulfilling his purpose. The Other Bruno, the one who was watching this unfold, was floating above, his head tipped to the right, mouth twisted in confusion. Rightfully so, because he was not supposed to be there.
He’d always had the dream, as long as he could remember. The dolphins were always grey and slick, they always made the eek sounds, the gym floor was always waxed to perfection and he was always moving much too slowly. What was not typical was floating above himself, and thinking to himself: Why the hell is this floor so shiny? I can see my reflection! and Why didn’t anyone tell me my eyes bulged so much?
He was broken out of his stupor when the Dream Bruno ran smack into the gym wall, the dolphins’ tiny teeth locked around his calves. Other Bruno winced. He’d known this was about to happen. He could almost feel the welts forming. The Dream Bruno’s head lolled back, his mouth open in shock.
Any minute now. Other Bruno thought. The parcel should drop in right about- His thought was cut off by a giant brown package passing clean through him. He rubbed his chest thoughtfully. Hadn’t hurt.
There was a great crunching noise and a series of EEKS before all was quiet and Dream Bruno was sitting on the floor, rubbing at his legs. Other Bruno sighed. It was decided. Dolphins were evil and vicious creatures.
By James Ersil
Dream - Maddie Murakami
It’s hot. Even for 7 PM, it’s hot. You imagine it would get cooler,but it’s as if the air is
reflecting, or better, replicating the sky’s mood. Red, blazing.
I am sitting down. Nervous, sweaty despite the lack of humidity. Next to me, someone
I have no idea.
I was sitting here, alone. I was definitely alone. This cottage is mine, and I was spending
the weekend here. I was sitting on the porch, waiting for the sun to begin setting, drink in
hand. I don’t even remember dozing off, maybe I didn’t. But I remember a brief moment
where absolutely nothing happened. As in nothing. It’s what a blind person saw, what a
deaf person heard, et cetera. Then everything was back, but this time there was an extra.
They were there. It’s a strange sensation. I feel like I know them, but at the same time
I’ve never met them before. If you’ve ever researched a celebrity, listened to all of their
songs, watched all of their movies, whatever, then you meet them in real life… you know…
them. You know everything about them, but still nothing at all. You know every movie,
every song, but nothing about their true selves.
For me with this them, it was the reverse. I felt like I knew everything about their true
selves. Every quirk, every laugh, smile, the way they speak, the sarcasm, the lack of it,
the sadness… But still, I didn’t know their name. I didn’t know where they came from.
Even when I looked at them, I couldn’t tell how old they were.
It was like looking at every person on the planet all at once. You couldn’t just describe
I blanked again. Jerking out of it, I look over at them. They’re still there. Not my
imagination. I breathe in, slowly, shakily, and speak.
“Who are you?” A basic question. There’s almost too much to cover in it. No one could
have enough time to say the answer.
But… Now, more than anything, I feel compelled to tell them who I am. As though they
were a long lost friend, one who had forgotten everything about you, but you felt they
needed to know. You told them everything you had done since the last time you saw
them… Here it was as if the last time I saw them was before I was born.
I told them about my childhood. About the time my little brother came home. The time I
fell from a tree and broke my arm, and I got a pink cast. The time my mother was crying
on the phone, and I couldn’t understand why until she told me grandpa was gone. The
time we went camping and a bear got into our things. The time in high school when I
found a girl I loved, and we were in a relationship for two years before breaking up. The
time I was bullied so much I had to switch schools. When I graduated and got into the
college I wanted. When college was too much and I almost killed myself. Or that someone
was there for me, to stop me. The time I met the most beautiful woman I’d ever met who
waited ten years before deciding she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. And
two beautiful children who loved me more than anyone. And when everyone was gone…
“I was still here.” My whole life. There it was. My whole life was there, in a fifteen
minute, one-sided conversation.
They nodded, as if in understanding. Understanding of what? I thought to myself.
And then… I blanked. Poof.
When I woke up, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my chest.
But still, to the day of my death, I could not forget them. I didn’t understand. I theorized,
never telling anyone about it. I took that secret to my grave. Still, I wonder if that day had
been a part of something bigger.
Empty Space - Isabelle Flack
The collapse of language
Words trailed like unravelled thread
Of a queen’s coat.
The string is red,
Like her skin when my sun
And the world ends to
I suppose the world
Closes its eyes for the catastrophe,
But does it dream of what it will
Wake up to
When it opens its eyes?
The Earth doesn’t mind,
Because as long as
Seven seas still shake with
Little less than a word,
I suppose life is
Nothing more than the
Phosphenes we conceived
Rendered nothing with an innocent
I hope so,
As I can’t stand the thought of us
Clinging to the world as it tries to
Send us flying into the
Galaxies of nothingness we’ve
Created in our heads and considered
Science or superstition
(But haven’t we learnt they’re more synonymous
Than previously suggested?)
And those vacant places scare me,
The pockets of outer space in solar systems and
The pockets of empty space in our minds,
Though which of the two wakes me up
In a cold sweat, I can’t tell
Because the lack of something
Proves that we’ve never been
Untitled - Hyanne Lee
Three notable dreams I've had:
1. Graham Chapman and I meeting in a makeshift dungeon, escaping, scaling walls and mountains, and subsequently breaking into my old elementary school with swords and rescuing a child.
2. Battle of Hogwarts, except against an army of Korean Medieval soldiers taken from a drama my mother watches.
3. My family's old restaurant is secretly the dinosaur exhibit at the museum of nature.
"Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"
--Edgar Allen Poe
--Edgar Allen Poe