I Shall Dream You and Write You a World

I woke up dream-drunk… my skull full of worlds with walls made of words and wants that demand to be written into a tale. Between my eyelids and sleep, I watched two slick shadow-clad bodies frolicking in a pond that was mostly mud.

Still half-asleep, I reached for a notepad I keep next to my bed, and scribbled the first three lines of this post. I didn’t want to forget the dance… or the mud. And I didn’t. The dream was in my mind as I watered my plants, as I waited for the sun to kiss my grin, as I sipped my passion fruit tea, as I typed these words, thinking, Don’t worry, my muddy sweets, I shall dream you and write you a world. Soon…

Speaking of dreams, writing and other things I love, my passiflora is budding…

my passion-
flower dreams summer
in my hand

…my mango plant, which is proudly bushy, is sprouting new color…

…and this morning, my bean plant woke up flowering.

The world isn’t perfect, my Wicked Luvs. Most of the time, it isn’t even happy. But… if we take a deeper look, if we dare to dream wild dreams, we might just find one thing (or thirteen) that makes us smile (delightfully wicked) for a while.

Dancing this Rotten World Better

“Genuine anger was one of the world’s great creative forces. But you had to learn how to control it. That didn’t mean you let it trickle away. It meant you dammed it, carefully, let it develop a working head, let it drown whole valleys of the mind and then, just when the whole structure was about to collapse, opened a tiny pipeline at the base and let the iron-hard stream of wrath power the turbines of revenge.” ~ Terry Pratchett 

I will take the fiery
energy of my fury,
morph it into words
that sing into other souls’
flesh and bone…
and we will dance
this rotten world better.

the wee notes…

– Revenge often gets a bad name. Perhaps, because the term tends to bring up images of anger, of wailing, of violence. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Revenge can be that magnificent mix of dismay and powerlessness, which shrouds the faces of individuals who believed (even hoped that) we would fall apart under the pressures of the world, but are forced to watch us weave horrors into wonders that add yumminess to our lives.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Read Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

“Burton Bar”, by Shelle Kennedy
(the look on Wednesday’s face gives me a serious case of the mad giggles)