Dream Pop

A dreamer of pictures, a writer of scenes: I post whatever pops to mind.

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Mapping out patterns. Accessing color combos. Scribbling down my obsession with masks in notes to myself to include the resulting questions those rabbit holes lead to.

Honestly, I have felt so drawn to creating them, researching about them in ancient art history and throughout the ages to contemporary times, and their symbology and mythos, too. I think there is an element of play and transmutation that attracts me most to masks as a medium or “format” for expression. Then there is the juxtaposition between dramatic and subtle color shifts in applied pigments. What is it saying as an aesthetic choice, what is the meaning behind picking a shifting color for an object made to both obscure and ultimately transfigure one being into the embodiment of another?

Sometimes I wonder if ADHD is a superpower or an unfortunate hobbling of innate talents, especially b/c a friend sent me a news update about an experimental medication targeting three neurotransmitters: norepinephrine, dopamine, and serotonin.

My response was essentially “…Sounds like the brain chemistry equivalent of getting Eiffel towered so you can fucking focus.”

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A dreamer of pictures, a writer of scenes, a smithing of words is all that is seen. Tell me no answers, and I’ll ask you no lies. Transmute every glance with an exchanging of spies. The light oft omits what the shadows welcome in as twin flames will rewrite what was meant by “original sin”. If this is shared knowledge and evolution eternal chorus, then everything surface is meant to be porous. A resonant pattern, a hunt for insight, furtive gazes triple back for well-hidden delights. Blink and you miss what was only meant for your eyes. The break in the chase deepens this need for the rest of a vision narrows in the corners of lips lifted upwards in jest.

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Cha-cha-cha-nges, turn and face the “strange.”

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They want junk food, junk science, and flavorless sex.

The worst lie dormant waiting to be fed variables against controls by scientists too drugged up to care about the final result as they’ve long since lost sight of the grant funded hypothesis

The male loneliness epidemic is not eugenics enough



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I feel a shift happening within me like an oyster slowly turned over, split open, with tissues palpitated upon inspection. And in an upwelling tucked into translucent folds one bears witness under pulsing light and shadow: the strain of a bulging pearl.

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In the dream we walk to the door

Turn the handle and play a game of eye spy but more

What’s this brackish water lapping at the threshold

Barely keeping the muddy, green slime algae from slipping in

Close the door now open it again

Scene change

Tide’s rolled out and exposed

A drop of 30ft below

An ancient woman in a muddy slime pool flails

Blink and we are putting pen to page as our thoughts set sail

Telegraphing messages that can’t arrive by bottle

Mercury is in full throttle 

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Twin bleed

Twin seed

Moon sleep

Daydream

Class heed

Whisper speed

Quiet need

Simple greed

Blood feed

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Down the secret garden path

I am drawn to fractal maths

Mapping out the edge of leaves

Snail shells concentric spiralings

Leads me to the labyrinth’s edge

A hand reaches out and pulls me in

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No moon to show

Here in the dark doubleland

Here in the cold, unfeeling snow

My hand in your hand

The hedge maze for miles

Twist and turn

Yield, resist

Clenching fists

Safe house spotted on the outer rim

You pulled me there, and all the way in

The static creeps, encircles around

Up against the door of the other realm

At the intersection of these nether regions

Released within me all the ghostly legions

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I’m the arrow shot into a killer storm

Don’t worry———

I’ve been doing this in dreams before we were born

Watching from that green tractor, you’re taking in fields of corn

White flesh turning yellow slowly

Invisibly, assuredly like given history

Amid long, hot stretches of summer heat

But when the clouds gather

And that dark bubble bursts

You’ll find me mingling in the mists

The ghosts speaking in tongues

Dead languages

White opals

Kernels deep in the maize

Peel back the husk and lick the ear

What did we hear?

Decaying silk tassels once soft, harden

Organic ticker tape parades

I’ve gone away

An arrow loose

The hunt, the prey

[poppippop]

The birth is ordained by the Trine

Saturn, Venus, and the Moon all shine

Mercury races behind,

If we are reading it left to right

However, the Mother is not so linear

And the Father’s a long Shadow

Perhaps the last monument of a crumbling time

But that is not why the Heavens

Open their thighs and sigh

[poppippop]

You always look for the bleak destruction

I take a more benevolent course of action

But I admit, sometimes I stare too long

And feel the pull

A Chaos in the way it moves

Death by degrees

Some freeze

Some burn

Some yearn until their desires

Surround

Consume

It breathes into your ear

Hot and heavy

Prickles the hairs up and down your neck

A noose

My hands are loose

A truce

Until the next time

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Me before I looked up how to style a wig.

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A Feathered Serpent lands upon the window ledge

Our journey takes off in divining flight

For an age as the crow flies and flies

Dusk till dawn and dusk again

Till we spiral down, down, down into the belly of a once monstrous, now dead volcano

Our landing echoes within a cavernous inky still

What mischief leads ahead…

… in visioning in the envisioned

I spy the ruby red thread leading to a lair

My fingers tug then —-

reverberation in taut, taut cotton

I leave the Feathered Serpent waiting for my cue

Moonrise lights the darkest path

Each subtle wave of tension fills my head

Of what lays baited at the end

I swear I hear my name ringing further into the deep

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[poppippop]

2025 high femme lewks when I actually don’t feel like a high femme kinda bitch. I feel like a soft stud most of the time and like there are men who aren’t as strong in personality, intuition, honesty, creativity, leadership, backbone and determination.