Create a guidebook of creative dreamsYou can use a blank book or just blank paper clipped together. Put photographs or scraps from magazines in that represent your creative dreams. Draw, scribble, or paint in between the images. Make a list of creative dreams you've thought of or admire in others.
and dreaming is very pleasant as long as you are not forced to put your dreams into practice. That way, we avoid all the risks, frustrations and difficulties, and when we are old, we can always blame other people-preferably our parents, our spouses or our children-for our failure to realize our dreams.
I had a dream about you. You wanted to go for a walk, and I wanted to start a parade. I suggested we team up, but you said you’d rather have sex with a cactus. I was taken aback, but then I offered to introduce you to a Congressman, because I think he could really benefit from your kind of loving.
I had a dream about you. You were an escalator, and I was a flight of stairs. You thought I was a Luddite, and I thought I was as ostrich, because I hadn’t figured out how to put the fly in flight. One day you broke down, and then you saw that you and I weren’t so different after all.
I had a dream about you. You were a hummingbird feeder, and you made my heart flutter as fast as hummingbird wings. When you dried up I didn’t know what else to do but eat a bucket of fried chicken and watch people in a factory going nowhere in life make elevator buttons for people going places.
Träume und Märchen waren ihr eigentlicher Lebensinhalt, dachte ich jetzt. Deshalb hat sie sich auch umgebracht, dachte ich, weil ein Mensch, der nur Träume und Märchen sich zu seinem Lebensinhalt gemacht hat, in dieser Welt nicht überleben kann, nicht überleben darf, dachte ich.
I had a dream about you. You took control of my body and forced me to have sex with you. Then you called the cops, and the police said I raped you—but I was the one who was raped. If I had known you were that kind of person, I’d have never voted you into political office in the first place.
I had a dream about you. Knowing that women like to buy two things above all else, shoes and purses, I combined the two into one product that looked like Margaret Thatcher’s dress on your feet. You asked if my shoes made your ass look fat, and I replied, “If I have to tell you it is, it isn’t.
I had a dream about you. I had a flat tire on the interstate, which is really embarrassing for a hitchhiker who is using that tire as a substitute for pants. You were the only person who offered to give me a ride, and I am grateful, even though you pulled over at first because you thought I was a hooker.
I think the notion of dreaming in a time where we are told that it is foolish, futile or not useful is one of the most revolutionary things we can do. To have our lives determined by our dreams of a free world--instead of reactions to a state-imposed reality--is one of the most powerful tools of decolonization.
I had a dream about you. You told me you loved me, and then you stabbed me with a spoon. Luckily, moments before your attack, I assumed the identity of a bowl of Jell-O. Later on in the dream, as a half-eaten bowl of Jell-O, I launched a successful political campaign, got elected, and moved to Washington DC.
I have to choose what I detest - either dreaming which my intelligence hates, or action, which my sensibility loathes; either action, for which I wasn't born, or dreaming, for which no one was born. Detesting both, I choose neither; but since I must on occasion either dream or act, I mix the two things together.
I had a dream about you. You were a stranger playing a gig in this pub where I was waitressing. I felt like I knew you or needed to, so I asked you to have a few drinks with me. Then my alarm went off. I sat up in bed to see you still sleeping. I’m glad I decided to wear a kilt that summer while I was in school.
And when I fall in love,” I began, "I will build a mountain to touch the sky. Then, my lover and I will have the best of both worlds, reality firmly under our feet, while we have our heads in the clouds with all our illusions still intact. And the purple grass will grow all around, high enough to reach our eyes.
So here is why I write what I do: We all have futures. We all have pasts. We all have stories. And we all, every single one of us, no matter who we are and no matter what’s been taken from us or what poison we’ve internalized or how hard we’ve had to work to expel it –– we all get to dream.
