Lucid Dreaming

Fragmentary. I exist in bits and pieces stitched together–that stitched together. In glimpses here and flashes there, your peripheral is my home. I’m more comfortable when you can’t see me. When I am a phantom, shadow-person you convince yourself insomnia summoned.

A nightmare. I’d rather be an apparition, figment of your frontal lobe. (Figment of my own.) Make-believe people don’t need to be. Flesh. Bone. Whole. They can be porcelain and plastic wrap. Fragile. Easily torn. Tossed. Replaced.

Made-up people can be dusk, not night but not light either. They can be almost but not quite. They can be reflections.

Can live inside mirrors.

Inside you.




This is me. How I sound to myself. How I sound when I tell stories. Weave word into vision. This is my preferred voice (and the one I think I will use from now on for as many future exercises as I can ^.^). This exercise inspired me to use it.

Images–bits, pieces, glimpses, flashes–can evoke profound responses. Can trigger memories. Summon the muses. Inspire. They can tell stories with or without words. Light, line, value, contrast, form or lack thereof are all elements that can combine to create in the same way words can be woven into a vision, into an invitation to enter that vision. In many ways, I think images are a reversal of the traditional storytelling process–the scene, setting, scenario, etc. is given upfront, the story filling in the absences of meaning here. In traditional stories, a premise usually precedes a scene in that the writer has decided the purpose for that scene rather than the scene deciding the purpose. If that all makes sense. I don’t believe either method/process to be superior to the other. Just different. Unique unto itself. Some stories will find better homes in one than the other. Experimentation is necessary to make a decision–or not. If Elit is interested in anything, I think it is blending, stitching, and remixing. It seeks compromise instead of separation.It seeks to extend past traditional barriers. To, rather, build bridges.

Needless to say, I greatly enjoyed this kind of exercise. It truly felt alchemic. Like I was brewing a potion. Reciting a spell. Doing something conventional enough but, also, something surprising,  with an end result I couldn’t quite predict until I got to the end. That’s kind of magickal, isn’t it?