Sueños is a living exploration of the collective subconscious, expressed through shifting realities.
Exploration may lead to enlightenment, unexplainable wealth, unbidden desires, community appeal or quite possibly re-lived post traumatic stress. Read at your own expense.
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Sueños is a living exploration of the collective subconscious, expressed through shifting realities.
Exploration may lead to enlightenment, unexplainable wealth, unbidden desires, community appeal or quite possibly re-lived post traumatic stress. Read at your own expense.
REALITY IV
“We First Met in a Dream”
¡This is Cassandra speaking and this is Cassandra’s dream! Just so none of you get confused with what you are seeing.
“I am the mountains eyes. Watching, observing, collecting the little bits of nothings that are said. Watch your breasts. "She can't bypass anyone. Not on my watch," the chicken said, squawking down Mulberry Road with an ankle around his throat. Chick Chock, Cric Croc, aren't we all just wondering what to do next?
Whispers grow louder into footsteps crawling up my bed, in between my toes and around my necks, "I wonder how best I could expose you." "I could expose you if I wanted to." "I could do it in a moment + no one would know + no one would know + no one would know."
¡Oh Rich people + how they've become so bold!
There is a spirit here in this country, in this town that wants to come out but someone keeps shutting her down. Be it Christianity with his righteousness + privilege.
“With her Money, She thinks She is Sooooo funny,” he says.
Even rich immigrants have a right to "surpass" i guess. Underneath the covers, I bet she wets the bed waiting for me. Crying herself to sleep thinking,
“What will I do if I loose all my glue? If it wiggles right out of me?
Would I be brand new? She lies to herself," says the farmer with a cat crawling down his back.
"Life is but a dream, he's coming for you Cassandra la Cazadora," the mountain cooed.
And she awoke suddenly wondering what it is she wrote again?
Cassandra has spent several nights wetting the bed and this one was not the first“but the last,” she demanded!
“I am so sick of being so fertile” she said to herself wondering why it is she couldn’t find a respectable seed in the entire country. Apollo, a friendly voice in her imagination chimes in, “Well we haven’t really looked in the ENTIRE country now have we?”
“I suppose that is true,” she answers him silently.
"But we shouldn’t have to look in the first place. Seeds are plentiful, they practically come out of nowhere. They are carried by the wind from far and near. How is it that I can’t capture one single good one, not programmed with so many ancient fears and trigger bombs waiting for me to step on. Just one. One single suitable seed to grow a mango tree is all I’d ever need. Or papaya? Or Pineapple? Heck an Alexander Tree or a Browserhaiman?
“Browserhaiman? What? Cassandra what are you even talking about? I don’t think that is even a name…never mind a name for plant.” Apollo contests.
“Well it’s not but one day it will be, a very popular name and every baby boy born with this name will transform into the world’s strongest, richest and wisest man. Men that will outperform even the Kardashians.” Cassandra belches her prophecy while mounting her kitchen table, her right pinky finger pointed in the air. The whole universe seemingly supporting her with nothing but thin air.
Apollo says nothing. And the prolonged silence turns the moment a bit sour as Cassandra realizes that no one is on her kitchen counter with her. Not even Apollo. She dismounts and sinks into her television recliner.
“No one ever believes me,” a sadden thought escapes through her reality.
“There. There.” Apollo comes back to greet her.
“I mean Cassandra, you’re kind of a bit creepy sometimes. I know you don’t mean to be but like, not everyone believes in the mystical. Or frankly in eternity. I mean. These visions you’re having…… perhaps it’s that way for a reason, you know. Perhaps it’s a bit of a mental dysfunction.”
“What?” Her voice turns upward into a stare. Her eyes thinning like the backstreet flair on her hair, “How dare you,” she exclaims!
“I didn’t say you have a mental dysfunction, I just said that maybe hearing things is a part of what they’re calling PTSD now. You know the experts and all.”
“Experts? What experts? I know what I saw. Let me tell you something,” her voice transforms into a street fight “I’m the expert on me.”
Apollo, “Ok. And yea I’m not saying you didn’t see somethings that came true. I’m not saying that you don’t see things like only you do. All I’m saying is there is a place and reason and a time to you know, to share those things. Everything in seasons. It’s all good girl, I’m not here to knock ya down off your kitchen counter.”
“I guess I do come off a bit creepy sometimes. Especially to the Christians. I mean, you know how they are with their cute and cozy charity boxes and ridiculous twisted laws and this and that ways of procreating. They even mocked Jesus Christ, their own son of god that they all bow down to now.” She lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Does this mean I’m never going to be rich? Like, am I always going to be the weird one in the family?” Cassandra closes her eyes pulling Apollo’s physical vibration closer to her side as she braces for his answer.
“I think you have plenty of time to figure it out Cassandra, you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.” Hugging the pillow next to her, imagining its Apollo’s warm embrace.
“You’re going to do great things Cassandra. I know you’ll find a way to sing your own song.”
Cassandra relaxes into her morning meditation practice, excited for what new little songs may fill her head.
Maybe she’ll wish to realize a different time period? That always seems to help her find her strength again. She nestles into the comfort of time passing any which way she pleases, knowing she doesn’t have to confess anything to the Christians. She doesn’t have to be mean. She doesn’t even need to tell you or anyone anything. And this social isolation - she has laid out for herself now lined with silk woolen blanketscouldn’t feel any more perfect against her softened baby bottoms breasts. As she takes the journey into a past reality that never quite happened as of yet.
.
.