#he

if you’re going to use the word ‘dream’ in a poem, you had better be langston hughes. ↗

— Jewelle Gomez

#poetry #dreams

I dreamt that I took William Burrough’s penis and tied it up with piano wire. I hung him like a Chagall painting…In the next part J.G. Ballard swam through streets of female urine. The girls read his book Crash and then mowed him down with their Volkswagen, crushing his chest slowly against a brick wall. As he screamed in agony larger than representation can accommodate, they referred to his text and had orgasms. Later, they jumped up and down yelling, ‘You’re not a hero. You’re not a hero. You’re not. You’re not. You’re not.’ “ “How do you analyze that part of the dream, Anna?” …”I guess I’m nervous about my birthday. ↗

— Sarah Schulman

#dreams #j-g-ballard #psychoanalysis #sexism #william-burroughs

A snake bites your ankle. Recoiling, you scream. Fearing poison, your mind slips into a dream... ...where a man bites your ankle. Expecting no guile, "Again," softly falls from your lips with a smile. Yet, the man and the snake are the same. Your perception is only to blame. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#judgement #perception #poetry #richelle #richelle-goodrich

i think you will be tired of telling me & my dreams to go to hell ↗

— E.E. Cummings

#deflating #dreams #go-to-hell #dreams

At the end of the day, when the sun falls a willing prisoner of the night...and humans, males and females alike, become submitted to the mistress of the dark, my mind begins to wander and wonder. Looking upwards at a blank slate of concrete, the psyque expresses freely what my subconscious is afraid to give free rein. And there and then, between the play of reality and dreamland, I find my place. I find myself. ↗

— Eiry Nieves

#night #psyche #subconscious #submission #dreams

Neruda had his first dream, First meeting with the Moon and the Sun In sunny La Mancha, hiding in his heart, Where he learned how to sing like a nightingale. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#heart #la-mancha #moon #neruda #nightingale

What did your mom say?" "She said I better not be pregnant." Janie snorts. "What the hell is wrong with our parents, anyway? Wait -- you're not, are you?" "Of course not! Sheesh, Janers! I may not have gotten the best grades in school, but I'm not stupid. You know I'm on the Pill. And his Jimmy doesn't get near me without a raincoat, yadamean? Ain't nothin' getting through my little fortress! ↗

— Lisa McMann

#dream-catcher #funny #gone #janers #janie

So what, then? Pete? Clyde?" Cabel rolls over, pretending to sleep. "It's Fred, isn't it?" "Janie. Stop." "You named your thing Janie?" She giggles. Cabel groans deeply. "Go to sleep. ↗

— Lisa McMann

#dream-catcher #dream-catcher- #dreams

...when do I actually encounter the Other 'beyond the wall of language', in the rel of his or her being? Not when I am able to describe her, not even when I learn her values, dreams, and so on, but only when I encounter the Other in her moment of jouissance: when I discern in her a tiny detail (a compulsive gesture, a facial expression, a tic) which signals the intensity of the real of jouissance. This encounter with the real is always traumatic; there is something at least minimally obscene about it; I cannot simply integrate it into my universe, there is always a gulf separating me from it. ↗

— Slavoj Žižek

#lacan #the-other #the-real #dreams

A fair and generous woman is (at best) respected, but seldom loved. ↗

— Shulamith Firestone

#love