Dream 1: Plastic bags roam around with a life of their own in a denuded winter forest. I grab one of them and find that it, they all, have smiley faces scrawled on them. A ringing despair passes through me, out of me, like a ghost. I stare at the crudely drawn face for a while. Then I put the bag over my head, pull it tight and tie it around my neck as best as I can.
Then I sit down and wait for happiness to wash over me and suffocate me.
Dream 2: A spiral staircase rises up to the heavens. I walk up, up to a solitary square hole, a niche in the wall, on which I see sitting a cat, that turns and looks at me. It’s eyes are ambergris , an eluficient color. I suddenly realize I have no idea what eluficient means. The cat jumps down from the hole and slinks up to the staircase. I see the staircase wind up on itself, and disappear. Soon there is nothing but solid wall, the solitary square hole, the cat and me.
Dream 3: I spring on from eluficient to more words that I don’t know the meaning of, words I don’t think exist.
Aberyllious, Glowdery, Xelitious, Jaqerty, Plewtiminous, Nazelline, Morphoneloquence.
Little imaginary red squiggles emerge below each of them. “Are you sure this is the right word?” I start making up meanings for them and match them in my head.
Nazelline is not a color. It could be a mineral. I assume it is more of a receptacle for lost memories of all the people there ever were. We could extract it from the earth, polish it, refine it, and sell it for lots of money. The gem obtained from the mineral would be called Nazell.
Xelitious is the taste of something foreign, the taste of something you can’t pinpoint exactly which sense-organ to use to experience . Something that leaves you with a feeling of…xelity. Also comparable to the feeling of sitting by a river and wanting to fall in when you know you cannot swim, just to see.
Morphoneloquence is neo-eloquence under the effect of Morpheus. Synoyms with Morphonerbosity. The habit of making up new words in your sleep. For things that you see and taste and touch and smell and feel only in your dreams. Things that you will forget and will not remember later. Can also be used as a collective noun for all such made-up words. Customized lexicons of customized dreams.
Dream 4: The rabbit-hole is somehow under lockdown, it’s door damaged by the furious scrabbling of an angry Cheshire Cat who has to go in and get his/her smile back. And everybody is outside, standing around or rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet, or paws. Everybody is sheepish or Caterpillarish, or Dodoish, or Dormousish, or,as in the case of the Jabberwocky, purely English. Everybody is waiting for the hole to open up.
Everyone except the Hatter, who bounces around whining “ A walrus, a walrus, my kingdom for a Walrus!!”
What happens later: I think the feeling of fishing around for bits and scraps of dreams to hang on to, or tack down into tangible, remember-able, recount-able chunks of memory is very xelitious.
I watch the cat nod (?) at the appropriate use of a newly made-up word in a sentence.
‘You are getting good at this’
I undo the knot in my plastic bag with the smiley face (that has dissolved by now into a colorless, milky-grey nothing, I think they are a one-time use-only kind-of thing). Something whooshes through me, out of me, again. But it is not despair. It is something glowdery, I should say. The forest around me is covered in brown-hued snow.
I wake up. And then I start digging for Nazelline.