#on dreams

[scriptastra]

[heartssarrow]

- Fernando Pessoa - The Book of Disquiet

[saltair-and-webweaves]

Dedicated to the girl who continues to haunt my dreams even though it's been years since we spoke.

erin morgenstern/richard siken/stick season - noah kahan/not a muse: the inner lives of women: a world poetru anthology; "mountain nights" - rati saxena, edited by kate rogers and viki holmes/unknown/ @2j/unknown/do I wanna know - arctic monkeys/dear friend, - dayglow/ @etherealarte/we should be well prepared - mary oliver

[teethburied]

Opening Night 1977, dir. John Cassavetes

[cataclysmictide]

I Dream Of You Every Night

warsh_tippy and zelda - whatever dad/sailor song - gigi perez/unknown/unknown/richard siken/freaks - surf curse/we hug now - sydney rose/warsh_tippy and zelda - whatever dad/we hug now - sydney rose/freaks - surf curse/michael dickman/unknown/unknown/sailor song - gigi perez/warsh_tippy and zelda - whatever dad

[metamorphesque]

Every year, between January 18 and February 23 — 63 days before Easter — Armenians celebrate the feast of Saint Sarkis, the beloved patron of love. There are many exciting traditions associated with this day, one of the most magical being the ritual of dreams. On the Friday before the celebration, young people would fast and, as night fell, eat a salty biscuit. They believed that in their dreams, their future soulmate would appear, offering them a glass of water to quench their thirst. If the glass was full, it was seen as a promise of a long and blissful life together. This year, the feast of Saint Sarkis will be celebrated on the 15th of February.

[akindplace]

It’s not too late in life for you to start having a new dream, or for you to try to make it come true. And it’s okay if you’re still figuring out what your dreams might be, or if your dreams are something others don’t consider ambitious enough, or if an old dream suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s something you want. But if you’ve had a life long dream that you won’t be able to achieve I just hope you know I’m truly sorry and that even though life can be so disappointing, you can still try something else, something different, and that you aren’t a failure or in any way inferior than other people because you couldn’t make those dreams a reality.

[funeral]

Anthony Storr, Solitude: A Return to the Self

[cupidswurld]

when i wake up, i forget that you're not here

sailor song, gigi perez / herakles, euripides (trans. anne carson) / the promise, marie howe / the bear / i had a dream about you, richard siken / the meeting, wendell berry / li qingzhao / killing flies, michael dickman / mine

[literarymood]

musings on dreams/dreaming by women writers

Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914-1920 // The Awakening by Kate Chopin // L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea // May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal // Virginia Woolf, Night And Day // Blinding by Florence and the Machine // Anaïs Nin, in a diary entry dated 31 December 1920 // Daphne du Maurier, from Rebecca // Louise Glück, from It is Daylight.

[petaltexturedskies]

And she was richer in those dreams than in realities; for things seen pass away, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

L.M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island

[blackberryjambaby]

in a dream

emily brontë, wuthering heights (via @petaltexturedskies) / jeremy ville / anaïs nin, journals of anaïs nin: 1929 / neil young, harvest moon / louise glück, brennende liebe / @hel7l7 / anonymous (via @ruhlare) / wendell berry, a meeting / richard siken, i had a dream about you

[asoftepiloguemylove]

ON DREAMS

Clarice Lispector / pinterest / Augusto Cury / Li Qingzhao (tr. Jiaosheng Wang) Tune: The Pertridge Sky; Complete Poems / unknown / Blade Runner 2049 (2017) dir. Denis Villeneuve / Victor Hugo from a letter to Adèle Foucher written March 1822 / unknown / Charles Dickens The Fellow of No Delicacy; The Tale of Two Cities / Anaïs Nin The Diary of Anaïs Nin / Sappho XII / Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai dir. Jim Jarmusch

[the-golden-comet]

The Stairs

I had a dream last night, and I’m writing it down before it leaves the recesses of my mind.

⚠️ It may be a TW for psychological horror, so here’s your warning now. ⚠️

It was an analogue on death, but not in a religious extent. Instead, inside a desolate haunted house, a light upstairs to guide your ascent was a second chance at life, but a descent into a colder darkness meant there was no hope left.

The house smelled….eerie. Old. Mildew. I wondered if I was a ghost wandering an abandoned basement, searching for the door that will lead me upstairs. I wondered if my family was frantically trying to call me back as I search for the exit, only met with a deeper darkness and a biting cold that was washing over my skin. I shivered with each step down. It grew colder, and colder. I could start to see the fog on my breath.

Each door opened with a creak, and each time I hoped that behind the door, I would find the ascending staircase. I’m starting to forget why I was in that house in the first place, or how I died and managed to end up in my own cyclical hell—a Sisyphusian nightmare.

The steps began to narrow and become uneven, cracking at the lips. I had to watch my footing so I wouldn’t misstep and cause myself to tumble down the several flights. I felt around with my toe in the dark—now pitch black at this point. You’d think after I ceased seeing the moonlight from the cracked, cobweb-ridden windows, that I’d stop altogether? No, my body pushed forward, almost wandering aimlessly down these steps as my legs began to ache and shake.

My mind wandered to a purgatory, of sorts. Lying on a field of cool grass, and a gentle sunset warming me. Warm felt comforting…yet the gentle breeze balanced it. The golden glow made the grass gleam as it tossed delicately with the wind. I was laying with someone….my husband, I think? It was fuzzy, but present. I wonder what I could have done to be there, and what I had done to be where I am now.

And then, right before I woke up, the door I found in the dark. Turning the knob and pulling it open with a creak, I was met with a distant light….maybe from the living room? Enough illuminated the hallway to prompt me to look down at my feet:

Stairs leading up.

[odraziduse]

the endless spiral of sleep takes its hold on me once more, ignorant of the way my nails claw to cling to the remnants of daylight.

how often has this happened, i wonder? how often did I wake up only to fall again, to lose myself in a darkness so deep it feels like everything I've ever known all at once?

it feels warm, comforting. it holds memories, dreams, futures. but it's dangerous, haunting, wanting to take and take until there's nothing left.

for how long has my bed been the only place I call home?

the darkness is an old friend I've grown accustomed to. the depth of its embrace is familiar, the rustling leaves whispering for me to return.

but still, I need daylight – the morning, the sun, the flowers. the clouds cast shadows over the road and I count how many seconds it takes until they clear again.

my hand is outstretched, open palm and blurred fingers reaching for something, something.

but I never find it. instead, the leaves rustle again, the flowers wilt, the clouds darken.

the whirlpool of stars opens, and I descend.