the time for rebuilding

night time is for recalibration 

body breaks into a million pieces before the sun rises

when it does

i go to collect them

the heart goes first

the nice thing is that it’s the first thing to come back

and it’s beating distinctly by the time the rest of the body is in order

night time is a time of reorganization 

memories solidify

information downloaded into muscles, sinews, bones

but you never remember where you are in the split second that you regain consciousness 

the realization dawns

when you’re lucky

when it’s quiet

you can segue into morning

past the darkest hour

into the first light of day

sun around the corner

coming up from the mountain 

and as the rays of light fill the sky

that’s when the body comes back to place

it has rested

it has recovered

it has reassembled

in order to live a new day

I used to sleep

HYPNOS: I used to sleep. I used to sleep and dream. Dream about sheep. Just kidding — I never dream about sheep. Sheep are boring and expected. Still they are cuddly and innocuous little beings. Eating their grass. Baa-ing. Wandering around. Eating more grass. Laying down… what do you think a sheep thinks like? 

Do you think sheep have the same kinds of problems people do only maybe their gradiation is smaller? Like sheep has blue, yellow, purple, but humans got chartreuse, goldenrod, amethyst. How do you think a god sees? It’s… indescribable. You see, to understand it would be touching divinity. It would mean that you’d have to die. Maybe then you could understand. The dead understand a lot of things that the living don’t.

There’s a seed in the heart of the forest down in South America that is supposed to be THE remedy for sleep. It’s been 21 days. Even for a god, I’m starting to feel as though something is off. As if I don’t understand myself anymore. I was looking for ways to get this seed here, but of course, it’s near to impossible. 

First of all, you’d need a guide to even find it. But the guide doesn’t speak Spanish or Portuguese so you gotta find a guide for the guide who knows the language of deep within the forest. Second, the conditions have to be just right for the plant to flower and fruit, or so it’s indicated on these numerous websites that I’ve bookmarked. Apparently it’s a really stinky kind of flower that attracts the worst kind of bugs.

I’m afraid of bites… Well, I suppose that’s obvious though…

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite…”

“Good night!”

Good night. 

“Good night.”

I can feel the world’s people go to bed. And I’m going insane. People tell me “just go to bed,” but I can’t go to bed! I’m racing once I’m in there. Ready to go. Better than coffee. Better than any kind of drug. I’m like thinking a million things a moment. I have all these ideas like toaster with a side container to make eggs. Dog socks. A left-handed violin. Shoes that clean themselves. Jackets that turn into seat cushions. I could go on forever.

I could go on forever.

I could…

go on…



I need to sleep. The dreams do something with all these thoughts. The dreams know how to sort it out. The dreams point the direction. 

And I stop worrying.

I walk.

I enjoy my day. 

I remember what it’s like to laugh.

And the deepness of an instant.

I see me again. 

When I dream.

I miss dreaming.

what is it like?

More inspiration writing for the play that is a part of the San Francisco Olympians Festival on the god of nonviolent death, Thanatos.

Incidentally, I’ll be interviewed about the play along with Veronica Tjioe by fellow writer, Jovelyn Richards, who is the host of a radio program on KPFA, Jovelyn’s Boutique. This will be on Wednesday from 3:30-4:00 PM PST, so listen in or check out the archived interview later.

T: What is it like to die… what does it feel like for them? I don’t know… I try to make it painless, or at least, if there is pain, maybe I help them come to terms with it before finally releasing it. The process of death is both quicker and slower than you think. 

Slower because, as you know, every moment in linear time is one step closer to it. To me. Quicker because ultimately, it’s simple. You are here and then you are not here.

The actual moment? I don’t know if it’s painful. I would imagine it is because everything in life lives on a pain scale. But maybe I’m wrong about that, maybe the feeling of death is the opposite of the feeling of life. Maybe what I do is painless.

How would I know that I had died and that I wasn’t just dreaming? See, that is where Sleep and Death — the fact that we’re twins — comes into play. It fools people. It’s calling for one when you mean the other. When you need the other. 

Now that I have started to dream… Vivid dreams as true as day. I wonder what it would be like to live there instead of here. I wonder if my experience is tempered and adulterated by the feeling of waking. Disorienting light. Words that make no sense. Symbols. Birds flying backwards make no sense, but in the dream world it’s just another thing to notice or ignore.

It makes me appreciate the reality we call, “life” much more. Little things, like the way the sun creates a painting that no artistic genius would every be able to put together — every day. The way that water feels. The color of people’s eyes. The sound of footsteps. Wind. Did you know each moment contains so much to be in awe of?

I think some of them miss that.

If anything feels painful, it’s that realization. I could imagine that it’s heartbreaking, which is why all these souls have so much trouble remembering who they are. Only the truly strong would be able to hold even a little of that. It’s no judgement — the weight of experience is just too much after a while. 

And so…

bed under starry skies

She had a dream of being in a house. 

She had a dream of being surrounded by loving, welcoming, smiling people.

These were not the same dreams.

She felt safe again. She wasn’t sure if she should, but in the dream, she realized both in the house and at the place with many people, that people were welcoming her. Were taking her in. Were giving her a place. Wanted her to be there. Wanted her to feel comfortable. And happy.

And the tightness in her throat was not from the kind of hurt that normally came up. Rather, it was a release. It was overwelming. Encouraging, but overwhelming as she stood there among all the people who wanted to embrace her and greet her. People who wanted to know how she’d been. People who were familiar because and yet not at the same time.
The same with the house, which had been given to her. There for her as long as she wanted to use it. Always open. The door was never locked from her. And whether it was in between things, just a temporary spot, or some place she wanted to be indefinitely, she didn’t know. Only that she felt comfortable here. The kind of comfort, deep-seated like things were finally settling down.

In the middle of the night, all around her in the forest, insects chirping to one another. A bed of green below wide, ever-expansive starry skies. She stirred, and then was quiet. She slept soundly throughout the night. 


oh right sleep 

i remember you

i remember the kind of dreams 


that draw you in and hold you

i remember the comfort of sheets

the comfort of a mattress

the comfort of a pillow

room that’s the perfect temperature

and airflow

yes, breeze while you sleep


fall into the other land

fall into a place where memory is manifest

thoughts are tangible

dreams are worlds you inhabit

and sometimes

you come across something truly wonderous 

something that makes you stop and say


yes, this is sleep



There was a night when the girl couldn’t sleep, so she listened to the whispers of the forest. Her eyes watched within the darkness. She could feel something watching her and knew it was the beast who’d chased her until her lungs felt like they were bleeding.

The beast’s eyes glowed deep withing the forest. The girl stared back. They watched each other for quite some time. Neither moving. 

The girl knew the beast had been following her for some time. She didn’t know why. Because it was always close enough that it could attack, but never did.


She thought as it watched her from the shadows. The beast’s eyelids drooped and then closed. She watched for a moment before realizing it was sleeping.

In the night she stared back at this being, not knowing that it could change forms. Not knowing its intensions. But in gazing on the dark fur, she too, became heavier so that while wide awake only moments ago, she was on the verge of falling into a very deep sleep. Whistling birds were the last sounds she remembered.

fall back into the light


On the soundscape

Journey is composed of a million pictures linked together by a single word

Sonically sleeping in piles of leaves and scented flowers and euphoria

A dream pushing me along as I chase the light

Journey on the train

Shadows painted fluttering across my eyes and I blink from the sun

From wonder

I shade my eyes and see my reflection with headphones and someone singing to me inside

The journey

It’s a long one

You pass many forests. There are rain clouds and pink pulled apart sunsets.

When you drift, fall back and then before you hit the ground — if you ever do — you’ll be asleep

You’ll be fast asleep

You’ll be fast

Shadows fast passing over my face and I blink

I flutter my eyes shading my hands against the sun

Peering into forests and rain clouds and sun setting into pinkness

I wonder sometimes I wonder

And my journey dreaming

Begins the minute I fall back into sleep with outstretched hands

I’m reaching for the light

I’m dreaming

I’m visiting stars you’ve never heard about

And all while I listen to this tone and this beat and this note