Tag Archives: hand

We are at a table, maybe a long desk, but I cannot see the room or anything else. He sits at my left and I can see the back of his head, his neck as he looks down at my hand.
He holds my right hand over a white sheet of paper and with a pencil he contours my hand.


Dreaming of our hands is actually not as common as many other parts of the body, but when we do dream of our hands or another’s, it often seems to have an unusually strong significance.  Dreaming of hands is often a sign of self awareness, of taking control of our own life and destiny, or or of making an impact through our own actions on another person or the world around us at large.  The unusual act of actually looking at your own hands in a dream is used by some to achieve lucidity, that is, to realize that they are actually dreaming.

Our own hands in dreams are often taken for granted, many times simply functioning as tools which we use to make things happen, though we tend to focus more on the action and result than how we made this happen.  If we stop long enough to notice our hands in our dreams, it can be a sign that we are becoming aware of our own influence, or lack of it.  Dreaming of another person’s hands can often feel very intimate.  The two profound symbols of another’s hands in a positive context are of “holding hands” and of the “helping hand.”  Both of these images require us to let someone else into our lives, to be open to love, affection, consideration or assistance. For this reason, hand dreams can leave us with a lingering feeling of happiness and warmth long into the day.  These dreams may indicate that we are receiving assistance, affection or support from another in a waking life, but in many cases they are a symbolic representation that we are learning how to help our selves, that we are being kind to our selves where once we may have been a harsh judge, that we are befriending a part of ourselves that once we may have ignored or rejected, or even that we are healing a part of ourselves that once was sick and neglected.


Dear you

Dear you in the darkness, dear you at the razors edge, dear you with the dying heart.

Hear me and head me, or maybe not. In calmness and stillness I draw the blood myself.

The blood that drips and drops and slithers through me and over me. Red, slippery, coppery.

Life so small, so bright so red . . . My heart beat taking me away.

I feel the death, I feel the sting, I feel the fear.


Blinding in the light, and darknes. I sit very still, waiting to die. But I don’t.

Dear darkmes, I can not feel your hand in my throat. Gasping for air as you tighten your grip.

I want the pain, I want the blood, I want the warmth of your self inside me.

Drip, drip, drip . . . Red and red and black mad sharp. How sharp? So sharp I won’t feel a thing.

But I will feel it. I am numb.

I slide the razor through my arm, a thin red line. A thin. Red line.

The pulse slowly, slowly and then. Them the warmth of death and Dear You, my darkness. My darkness with your tongue between my legs.



I walk through the darkness of my own feelings, guided by the hand of a man who . . . a man whom I don’t know. This realization comes slightly as a surprise, I don’t know him and our closeness has always been  . . . fragile.
I am not in love, I am not in love, I am not in love.
A mantra, my mantra.
Lost, confused, powerless. What can I do to regain my power

I wave

I wave but not at you, but you don’t now this so you smile at me. That smile is seared in my mind, in my mind seared forever and ever with all your other thousand different smiles. Or maybe there are just variations of the same smile.
And then I’m up and I’m down, and I’m waiting and NOT  waiting, and doing things that I’m not supposed to and getting drunk and day dreaming and  . . .  Not sure of what I’m doing the rest of the time but it seems to be just in between. In between you, and you, and you again, and then not you.
I nearly miss my bus stop this morning, and I sighed while on the computer today, and I checked myself in the mirror a little bit too much. And there’s a million other things that I do, that I really don’t do, but now I do.
And I quote The Princess Bride and Firefly and, I  . . . think a lot about you and about not thinking about you. I feel contradictions and stomach aches, and I cry and cry and cry for no reason and I wish you wold do something romantic.
Other things too, that escape my mind right now, like . . .  like touching you once, was it your hand or your arm? And looking at your chest of all places, weird. And remembering you without your shirt the day at work when the air condition blew up.
And finally, I’m getting pretty weird generally speaking even more so than usual.

Kissing B

I had two dreams tonight. It was weird because when I woke up from the first dream I didn’t want to go back to sleep, I just wanted to keep that memory fresh and alive.

He was teaching me to skateboard, we were out in the sun, laughing as I tried to stay on it. I looked down at my feet and I step on to the board, I extended my arms  and he hold my hand as I propelled myself forward. Well, forward and downward. As I fell he grab me and we both went down laughing.

We sat in the shade with our backs on a concrete wall from the skate park. I lay my head on his shoulder and looked up, we kissed. It was a slow kiss, our lips softly touching, with our eyes closed and  . . .just staying like that.

In the second dream there were four of us, all friends, and we were somewhere in South America. I don’t know how I knew where we were, but I just did. I remember the sun, and the texture  of the clay under my bare feet, and most of all I remember his smile and his hand pulling my arm towards him.

And we kissed, a kiss with a smile and a laugh and our eyes open.