In Progress Poetry Manuscripts - dolls, dreams, nightmares, seizures, bodies, death, robots...

I am in the process of being overwhelmed by my own poems. Well not exactly the poems themselves, but organizing them/assembling them into collections (specifically chapbook manuscripts). I guess I've been writing more than I thought I was in the last few years and I guess I've somewhat drifted out of a sort of routine I had of tending to assemble new poems into chapbook manuscripts fairly quickly on an ongoing basis.

I haven't had a new chapbook published in over a year AND I haven't submitted a chapbook manuscript anywhere yet this year. For a while now, I've been working on and off on a small series of interconnected poems that I was thinking I might assemble into a chapbook manuscript and I finally made some significant progress on that this week. I also have a micro-chapbook manuscript that I assembled and submitted to one press over a year ago (from which it was rejected) and that I had been meaning to re-read/revise/add more poems to and so on. So I guess I have two different chapbook manuscripts in progress to an extent, but I've been focusing more on writing individual poems than organizing/assembling manuscripts.

So this past week, in addition to trying to focus on somewhat organizing those two possible chapbook manuscripts in progress, I've also been trying to re-read and somewhat organize all these other new-ish poems of mine, in order to decide which ones to possibly incorporate into which manuscript in progress and now I'm starting to think I'm going to have to create AT LEAST 3 (quite possibly more) different chapbook manuscripts. Regarding the two chapbook manuscripts in progress, half the stuff I'm reading doesn't really seem to fit into either one. One of those manuscripts is focused on women's bodies and I want it to stay short, interconnected, and pretty specifically thematic. The other one is focused on feeling invisible, unnamable, unimportant and out of place, and that one doesn't have to be quite AS thematically linked, it has SOME flexibility, but overall, I do like my chapbook manuscripts to be short, interconnected, and thematically linked to a significant extent. Not just a bunch of different poems semi-randomly placed in a chapbook length manuscript.

So some of my poems I'm reading might be able to fit into one of the current manuscripts-in-progress, but then I also have all these doll poems - dream/nightmare poems - seizure poems - death poems - and anti-AI poems. Some of these themes somewhat interconnect in certain ways and to certain extents, but not to the extent of fusing them all into two chapbooks. Again, I like my chapbook manuscripts to be short-ish, interconnected, and thematically linked in one way or another, so I'm thinking I need to assemble at least 3 (maybe more).

Anyway, I am just taking a break from reading/writing notes on my own poems to ramble a bit about my current overwhelmed feelings about assembling the poems into various interconnected entities. Mind you, I've been working on this quite a bit this past week, and some progress has been made, but it feels like it's taking forever. I feel like I should have made more progress by now. But at least I made a little bit of progress and I'll keep working on it.

To reiterate, the shorter version of this is dolls, bodies, brains, dreams, nightmares, seizures, death, invisibility, and being overwhelmed, which is way better than being replaced by robots.

Malfunctioning Tampon Dispenser Dream

Not sure how to interpret this odd little dream last night (or at least the part I remember). I was in a public restroom that had one of those tampon dispensers where you stick in coins to have it pop out tampons. But the dispenser was malfunctioning and instead of tampons, a bunch of colorful masks were sticking out of its slots. Nobody else was in the restroom, so I quickly stole some of the masks and stuck them in my purse. Then I walked out of the restroom and was in some crappy college bar from which everyone was gone and there was trash all over the floor. Half empty plastic cups, wet wads of paper towels, no people other than me.

When big deaths turn into more little deaths...

Dreams last night involved pets dying. I don't remember the details of how my cat died, but I think it was some sort of illness that wasn't properly cared for because we were focused on something else. My friends sick mouse died because even though both of us had been paying careful attention to the sleeping area and pills laid out for it in its own little space, one of us forgot to shut the door on the way out and the next time we returned to the room to check on the sick mouse, it was gone and we knew it was dead. We realized one of us had forgotten to shut the door and I admitted it was me, even though I wasn't sure.

Even though the dream focused on small animals dying, when I woke up, I kept thinking about people making too many little mistakes and quick and easy assumptions about what is or isn't safe behavior during this ongoing virus. Such as people seeming to assume that it's reasonable to spend time in person with various other family members who don't live with them and seeming to think that they know what those other family members are doing elsewhere or whether those other family members own living environments (as well as those of other friends or family members they spend time with too) are reasonably and relatively safe, even if people aren't asking each other many questions and are choosing to make decisions based on guesses, assumptions, or a bare minimum of information, because it's easier that way.

When I was a kid and had a pet teddy bear hamster, my family was visiting a relative in another state and we couldn't take my pet with us. I overstocked its cage with extra food and water and put a book on the top of the cage, so the hamster couldn't somehow sneak itself out. When my family returned home from our trip, I almost immediately went to the hamster cage and somehow my pet had gotten out anyway. We searched the home and finally found her, huddled up in the corner of a lower kitchen cabinet, dead.

a dream in which food is way more interesting than me

Didn't sleep well last night. Had a small series of oddly bothersome little dreams involving me and poetry and people I'm involved with.

In one dream, my sister, who has only ever been to one of my poetry readings, told me that all of my poetry was like the same poem on repeat, like boring hospital food or like repeatedly watching some class on feminine hygiene products.

In another dream, I was sitting in an airport or mall restaurant with two people who had chosen to visit me there a little bit before I had to head to work. I had about 15 minutes, so I figured we were just going to sit there and talk, but instead they both bought big fancy sandwiches and started eating them in front of me, even though I didn't have time to eat anything. I got upset that in the limited amount of time we had together, they were both more focused on eating than on listening to me, I said something about that, the man acted like it was no big deal, and said his daughter was always hungry. I told him that he had a sandwich too, it was right in front of my face, and I might as well just leave and go to work. He casually said okay. Then I got in front of the woman's face, called her a hog, and left.

So I guess my dreams were insinuating that in some people's minds hospital food is more interesting than my poetry and me - sandwiches are more interesting than anything I have to say - and I might as well just shove feminine hygiene products into my mouth and spit them out on repeat.

Oh and if I get upset at a man for acting thoughtless and careless, then I'll call another woman a hog. 🐷

they couldn't hear me unless I screamed

Awoke last morning after ongoing odd dreams and even though I wasn’t sure exactly how/why/if this derived from my dreams, I immediately felt the need to write down a note about how I dislike and get really stressed out by some of my family dynamics – not just my immediate family so much as extended family issues that strike me as less love-based and more judgment based, along the lines of telling other people what they should or shouldn’t do (and what they’re doing wrong and how they need to do this or else…).

It’s  probably because I’ve felt such impressions throughout much of my life that I don’t usually like ANYONE (not even a good friend) phrasing things to me as if this is what I need to do unless I want something bad to happen. How does another individual know what I need to do? They don’t live inside my brain, do they? So how can they be experts on what does live in there?  Shouldn’t they focus on what they need to do?  They can offer me their thoughts/feelings/opinions (indeed I like that kind of in depth exchange), but I don’t think they should state their point of view as though if I don’t follow it, something bad or unhealthy is bound to befall me.

*

The dream recollections involve a seen in which I was driving with a group of family members and suddenly I knew that my dog was about to jump out the window on the other side.  In the dream, my dog looked like a white cat.  I kept saying stop the car, stop the car, stop the car, but nobody stopped. It wasn’t because they were purposely ignoring me, but they couldn’t hear me. They could only hear themselves. Until I screamed. 

I screamed, “WE NEED TO STOP!’, which finally got them  to stop, but by then my dog had jumped out the window.  I told them where to drive back to, but couldn’t remember exactly, and we couldn’t find him. He was gone.  I made myself wake up before I saw him dead on the road.

*

I often feel like I don’t matter much to anyone - and sometimes that makes it hard hanging out with people who feel like/act like they matter a great deal. People who even say things about themselves like, “I’m awesome”. I don’t relate to friends thinking/acting like they’re awesome, popular, very attractive, and so many people are attracted to them.

Aside from poetry readings and planned events, I’m not a fan when people think a space full of unknown other people (such as a restaurant or a bus ride) should hear their loud conversation, like it or not.  What if someone is trying to think their own thoughts and you suddenly jump into the space and start forcing yours upon them? I don’t think that’s particularly creatively enlightening or positive or caring towards others; in fact I think it can be invasive and stress inducing.  At least it is for me. 

Why should I want my brain forced to hear someone else’s conversation rather than being able to focus on my own or hear/speak with the person I’m sitting next to, who I’m having trouble hearing/concentrating on because I’m being loudly intersected by someone else’s expression and I don’t want to talk that loud or have a performance style conversation?

I could be wrong; I’m no expert; but I don’t think being stressed to the point of a bad headache by that sort of thing is a result of my brain’s negativity. I think it’s more like that is not my style – and when surrounded by it in excess for an extended time period, it stresses me out.  I don’t want to scream to be heard.

But then I have a dream where if I don’t scream, nobody can hear me.

*

“(I was never a cheerleader in real life.  I was never popular in real life.

What is real?  Why am I sinking down under these misshapen rafters?)”

from my poem, “Vintage Pom Pom Underwater”, which you can read in its entirety here –

http://www.counterexamplepoetics.com/2009/02/giggle-or-gurgle-her-voice-sounds-like.html

It’s one of 11 poems I read this past Saturday, during a poetry reading at the East End Book Exchange in Pittsburgh, PA. The weekend included time with very creative friends (poetry reading time, interesting conversation time, and more), bands, The Oakmont Bakery, and the Polish Hill Arts Festival.

Mid-Life Crisis Bad Dream?

It was me and him and another woman.  I didn’t know her very well and my mind and heart got really bad vibes from her (including the vibe that she’d fake it and lie to get what she wanted; personality traits that I pretty much despise), but what could I do?  I sure wouldn’t choose to hang out with her one on one, but he apparently liked hanging out with the both of us, and I really liked him (probably way too much), so I went along with it.

It reached a point at which I was supposed to guess the other woman’s age.  He & I were of similar ages (38/40), so I assumed she was too, but I’m not good at guessing age based on looks.  She looked young; she looked attractive; I figured she might be a little younger than him & me; maybe 35-ish; so I decided to guess a few years younger, just in case. I guessed 33.

She spurted out a playful sounding laugh and at first I thought it was based on her feeling delighted that I thought she looked younger than she actually was. I was wrong. 

I’m 23, she said in an annoyed voice.

Then I was annoyed at him for being so into a woman who was way more than ten years younger than both of us. Really!?!  I blurted out, in semi-disbelief. Next thing I knew they were both glaring at me.  A 38 year old man who I thought had felt very strongly about me personally – and a 23 year old woman I couldn’t relate to at all, but whom he also seemed to feel strongly about. I did not understand their connection and so I sort of freaked out, thinking he would try to work me out of my freak out and tell her to tone down her rude laughter.  “Should I just leave?” I asked.  “Do you want it to be you and the 23 year old?”  I was sure he’d say know and try to calm me down. Instead he looked at me with an unsmiling expression and glared out, ‘Yeah’.  A feeling of semi-devastated disbelief came over me then.

Me: Really?!?

Him: Yeah.

Me: Are you serious?!?

Him: YEAH!

Her: You heard him.  Get the hell out of here.

Rude, mean, gleeful smile.

 ***

Not a fun dream at all, since it involved real people and felt realistic - and even though the ending really surprised me, that surprise ending felt unfortunately realistic too.

When a relationship oriented ending surprises you.

When a man you thought felt truly strongly about you suddenly changes his mind - and then chooses to replace you with a woman way younger than either of you – a woman from whom you can clearly sense the vibe of fake chick who will say and do what she thinks he wants to hear, in order to take him away from you and he can’t sense her fakery.

When a bad dream combines age and relationship issues and causes you to make up feeling as if your looks and your personality and your life experience has no appeal and doesn’t really matter.

When you’ve become easy to replace with an uncaring mean chick almost 20 years younger than you.

When a pretty mean chick who laughs in your face when you lose is the one he chooses.

A Dream Involving Family & Poetry

I don’t remember all the details of this dream, but my immediate family members had decided to create a poetry book (possibly for Valentine’s Day?), including three poems by each of us. Or at least by each of the women; I don’t remember seeing my dad or any husbands in this dream.

It was handled as if this was a literary magazine project and one of my sisters was the editor. We had to send our poetry submissions to her. Instead of responding by email or mail though, during a family event, she announced that every one’s poems had been accepted, except for mine.

At first I didn’t say anything other than a fake overly friendly sounding ‘okay’.

But then I decided to stand up and openly state that I knew it was because my family didn’t like my CONTENT. After all, I was the only family member with a degree in creative writing, who frequently submitted my poetry and frequently had it accepted for publication – and now, none of my family members liked my poetic content enough to accept me – and none of them were even poets! None of them read contemporary poetry or wrote/submitted poetry EXCEPT for this one family project – but apparently even though I AM a poet, I didn’t fit in to the family project idea of poetry.

As I gave this announcement, they all looked at me and each other as if any regular person would know that my content was over the top, unacceptable, unlikeable, and OFFENSIVE.

I left the room, but could still hear my mom and sister whispering about how my offensive content did not fit into this family.

***

(This sounds like more of a ‘not fitting in to the family’ dream as opposed to a ‘poetry rejection’ dream, because for the most part, if some publication does not relate to/like/accept my poetry, I don’t really care all that much, since plenty of others do. BUT ever since I was a teenager, part of me has felt like I don’t really fit in, including to my own family and I do really care about/love my family, and I AM really passionate about my poetry, so it was an interesting fusion.

I’m not sure quite sure where it came from though, because it’s not like I’ve been having any family issues or poetry issues related to me personally recently. I mean it’s true that my family members do not really relate to my poetry, but it’s not like they talk negatively about me because of that or call me overly offensive.

Maybe the dream was partially inspired by my Valentine’s Day ‘what is love and what are true, in-depth relationships’ thoughts and questions and the fact that I have been recently thinking about the next Blood Pudding Press collaborative project.)

NEW DREAM SEQUENCE – Death & Glimmering Glitter

When I was younger, I used to wish I looked more pale and ghostly.
Now I don't want to become a ghost - I'm scared of falling asleep -
of falling into dreams - of falling down falling down falling down...

***

1. My grandpa called me. I didn’t hear anyone on the phone at first, but part of me knew it was him, even though he never calls me. Then he started to speak in a soft and powerless voice, telling me that he was dying.

2. My ex-husband and I got together. We seemed to be getting along well, feeling good about each other, and having a fun and enjoyable time together. We started kissing. Almost as soon as we lay on the bed together, he turned too strong, purposely trying to overpower me. He told me that he was going to crush me, make me bleed inside, and slowly but surely kill me.

3. Usually, when I decide to make myself wake up, it is easy. This time, I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was jerking around and screaming, “oh my god oh my god oh my god”!. I was trying to scream, but felt like it was barely emerging as a tiny whisper. I was trying to scream loud enough so that someone else would hear me and then help me wake up. At some point, my brain realized that I was by myself; there was nobody here to help me.

4. I finally managed to wake myself up, even though I still felt uncertain for a while as to whether or not I was really awake. I was laying still feeling scared; the insides of my body were making weird little clicking sounds. Even when I realized that I really was awake, my body kept clicking. I thought about how my insides have been feeling odd on and off for over a week now; not painful, but uncomfortable in an unusual way that I am not sure how to describe. Bodily clicking sounds? Moving my neck down and making my stomach and legs tingle? What the heck? (After my bad dream, I was lying there in bed, feeling scared, and thinking, “Please don’t let me have another stroke. Please don’t let me have another seizure. Please don’t let me be on the brink of dying.”)

***

Side note 1: Could this bad dream and my bodily tremors have been partially caused by watching horror movies - thinking back upon grandpa watching old-fashioned vampire flicks when I was visiting my grandparents as a little kid – my semi-recent liking of/dancing too much to techno-cheesy music (dancing by myself but often imagining myself dancing in the middle of two gay men; although I’m not trying to refer to my gay men dancing here, so much as my little head jerkings)?

Side note 2: My mom has repeatedly suggested I watch too many horror movies and maybe that’s what causes my bad dreams, BUT I also had plenty of scary bad dreams when I was a little kid who was not allowed to watch those kinds of movies. Maybe then it was related to my mom telling me too many late night tales that started based on the subject matter of ‘don’t talk to strangers’ and then delved into scary subject matter of people slashing legs, peeling off skin, and stabbing hideous liquids into necks.

At least one good thing about my bad dreams is that they can lead to interesting writings, including poetry.

I can creatively pretend that the strange tingling sensations in my neck/stomach/legs are glimmering glitter.