honey creeper.

ask.

[dreamnoises]

grinding my bones into dust to offer as an elixir. mix with my blood, my sweat, my tears—take all of me. take whatever you need to make you well. i offer myself in service of you.

[dreamnoises]

MASSACHUSETTS/NEW ENGLAND: JOHN CASHMAN NEEDS A NEW LIVER.

my dad was diagnosed with end-stage liver failure last summer. man, has it has upended all of our lives. instead of a summer and fall spent in the yard & pool, we sat in the ICU. instead of celebrating birthdays and holidays, we sat panicked in the ER. to know john is to love him. he is love & warmth. although we have spent much of the last 6 months at the hospital due to his liver failure, he doesn't qualify as sick enough to be on the national transplant list. his only option is a living donor. a living donor would donate ~75% of their liver to john. within ~8 weeks, both john & the donor's liver will almost completely regenerate.

To start the donor evaluation process, candidates complete a donor screening questionnaire by visiting: www.mghlivingdonors.org (recipient: John Cashman | September 7, 1960)

[dreamnoises]

on weekends, i sit with death. we watch trivia shows & home renovations. during commercials, we make light conversation. my brain pleads, it screams, it weeps, & all that comes out is mundane chatter about life. death looks back at me like a mirrored. it stares back at me with empty eyes that were once filled with love. i have seen those empty eyes one million times only they were green & not blue. death says, “just be there” & so, i am.

[dreamnoises]

you cannot change the outcome, but you can change your reaction to the outcome.

[luthienne]

i wake up thirsty and i think of palestine. i go to the doctor’s office and i think of palestine. a sign in the corner of the waiting room says ‘this is a place of healing, disruptive behavior will not be tolerated’ and i think of palestine. they probably weren’t thinking of bombs and snipers and mass graves in parking lots. i call my parents and i think of palestine. i drive to the grocery store and i think of palestine. i look at the clear blue sky and i think of palestine. i put the dishes away and i think of palestine. i feed my cat and i think of palestine. i listen to music and i think of palestine. i read poetry and i think of palestine. i text my friends and i think of palestine. i think of palestine and i think of palestine and i think of palestine

[dreamnoises]

my thirst for life grows as i sit in the desert of my psyche. joy is a mirage— a thing of shimmering, life-giving beauty that disappears the closer i get as i am left choking on the dry, bitter air of existence.

[dreamnoises]

it's getting harder to differentiate real from unreal- up from down. is it a sickness of the mind or a sickness of the world? it's getting harder to tell the difference between dreaming and living. we are living in a nightmare. the monsters under our beds now burn libraries & murder children with smiles on their faces. hell is empty. all the devils are here. was that the quote? demons would surely be more stable minded than the bible humping children of god threatening gays on the internet. i think i am slowly descending into madness, but wouldn't remaining neutral be the true insanity?

[dreamnoises]

tonight the sky felt low, as if it were right on top of me, as if i could touch it if i just stood a little bit taller. there wasn't a moon in sight but i saw music playing across the clouds.

does this mean i am getting better or worse?

[dreamnoises]

when the veil is thin the shadows speak to me. they speak in actions, not words. their movements are poetry which i read like prophecy. we're all going to die some day, best to see the beauty.

[dreamnoises]

the hollows are always ushered in the same way. first comes the dreams, filled with silent screams, no words are heard just some nocturnal synesthesia. next comes the paranoia, the shadows lurking around the corners, the figures watching from the intersection, the fear that everyone you know has some devious intention hidden behind their smile.

[dreamnoises]

Where are my hot, muggy, summer days? The summer days that glisten on your skin, making it taste of honey and salt. Where are my summer days where the air tastes like honeysuckle and exhaust? Where are my summer days when this year's top 50 hits echo at 3 am from a house party blocks away? Did those summer days only exist when we were young and time stood still? Do those summer days only exist before we sell our soul to the work week, pinching pennies to be able to take a couple hours off to breathe?

[dreamnoises]

no rest for the wicked. is that why my eyes hang so heavy after a full night exploring lost realms of my brain? is that why my limbs feel like nylons filled with sand? is that why your name drips like honey from my mouth? tell me now, what wicked deeds have i done?

[dreamnoises]

I feel it deep within my bones. The electricity buzzing- a familiar terror.

[dreamnoises]

I want to bury you deep down in the soil, lay you on a bed of glass. I want to bury you deep down in the ocean, let the bottom feeders feast. I want to bury you deep down under the weight of my memories. I want the memories to eat you up, bit by bloody bit, so you can hurt like I do.

[dreamnoises]

The world was green and a dirty gray. Post-industrial bullshit. No fire and brimstone, no angels and clouds. A corporate meeting room in a cheap hotel where people are meant to mingle & network & buzzword buzzword. A new kind of purgatory. I left the door out in to the green. Out in the the history of my life. My body was a pen & I was meant to rewrite a story in which i didn't have evil intentions in my bones. I saw you behind a tree. Hands outstretched to meet me. Saying you'd missed me so. I badged your skull in the way I had dreamed about for years. Black. Back to the meeting room. Again & again. No fire, no brimstone. Back to the meeting room. No harps, no feathers. Some woman playing judge and jury, some woman deciding your thoughts are not pure enough for eternal life. Someone else, forever, telling you you're not not enough to ever feel at peace.

[dreamnoises]

It feels like there are matches being lit under my skin. I feel the fire travel down my neck, through my arms, out towards my fingertips. I feel I should see flames shooting from under my nails. My mind wanders. Is this what it feels like to be slowly consumed, from the inside out?

[dreamnoises]

summer smells like sweat & wet dirt. i feel the blood dripping down my neck from the biting bugs that love this humidity. looking at the sky- all violet and star studded- I imagine what it would be like to be human. The foul smell of burnt meat anchors me back in to this earthly vessel.