Tag Archives: dream

I wish I could do more about the stench of crude oil but it may take the efforts of the next generation

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As I laid awake again for another night of clanks, bangs and grinding steel, metal and horns I wondered when it would happen. I wondered when the explosion would occur and I would be running beside Chris carrying Willow amidst an inferno so grotesque that there’d be no use of even trying as we wouldn’t survive the explosions to begin with. We’d likely be incinerated and scientists would be identifying us through use of dental records.

I spoke with Chris about my fears this morning. He carries the same ones. We live somewhere where the trains carrying toxic crude oil and natural gas outnumber humans five to one. And we live 500 meters from the end of the line where all the tanks are unloaded of their black liquid gold which is then pumped to the Irving Oil Refinery a few kilometres away for refining.

Neither one of us would have purchased homes back in the old neighbourhood that we grew up in had we known there were going to be HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS of freight trains unloading there oil in our backyard for Irving to refine.

The stench is more than we can bare at times. It permeates our home and makes it impossible to breath outside or open your windows when the wind is calm and humidity high. Old women and children plug their noses on public transit buses as they near the intersection of Bayside Drive and the Courtenay Bay Causeway and it sickens me that I need to pull the buzzer and step off in the thick of it. The smell has been so bad on occasion that I thought there was an oil leak in my home. I have dashed down and into the basement to check the tank for cracks on more than one occasion. How ironic that my home is heated with oil and that it is some of the most expensive oil to buy in Canada even though it is refined right here in my backyard.

I feel angry and cheated out of the peace and quiet that used to pervade this neighbourhood. The noise pollution level has risen to the point that we rarely sleep through the night anymore. And what is this doing to our six month old daughter.

I’d like the end of the line to be moved or for Irving to buy my home and my boyfriends home so we can relocate at a minimum 2KM away from the end of the line if it’s to be here permanently. I’d like the refinery shut down and converted to windmills but that’s akin to wishing the Pacific ocean clean of plastic debris. These things will not happen in my lifetime.

There are people who tell me to shut up and not say anything because if I want to sell my house I better be quiet about it. WHY be quiet about it… This is everywhere. You.can.not.escape.it. This industry dominates the skyline of of the City of Saint John.

I tire of living in fear, on a constant alert that an all out oil apocalypse is going to happen and no amount of new overpasses and evacuation routes will save my family and I, living here, at the end of the line.

If the Plutocracy can spend billions on retrofitting DOT-111 tanks they can certainly move the end of the line to the refinery or purchase the neighborhood so we can all move. We were duped into thinking a park would be where the terminal is.

They say things happen in three’s. Lac Magentic, Plasterock… The end of the line?

Photo Credit – (Selfie) My daughter Willow and

Culmination – new illustration

Mushroom art entitled Culmination by Artist Jesisca Doyle

Peeled the tape off of this piece last night, let it sit and air out. Not that an illustration created with ink, watercolour and coloured pencil needs to air out and dry but it is a nice way to welcome it into the world. Or perhaps, I’ve lost it. Continue reading

In the midst of the cacophony ghosts danced

I awoke this morning horny. I had been dreaming of ghosts. A large party that covered whole city blocks. It resembled the downtown Eastside of Vancouver. All the buildings appeared as they do today except the streets, the windows, sidewalks and air were filled with cars, horses, wagons and people of yesteryear, some centuries old. I was four or five floors up in a hotel. It happened to be clean and comfortable decorated with furniture from the turn of the century. I questioned the dark haired female ghost next to me

“How old are you?”
“292 years. I’m old” She smiled appearing no older than 29, “You?”

I couldn’t remember how old I was. My early thirties I suppose then I thought I was 32 and began wondering why 32 just didn’t seem to be the right age. She had read my thoughts and said out loud,

“You are young and still alive.”

I felt fear nagging behind meas being alive around these ghosts although jovial could mean trouble. I moved on through the room content to let fear follow. An orgy was in progress. This orgy was not just sex. It encompassed everything and anything that could make people (ghosts) laugh and feel pleasure. There were ghosts eating. There were ghosts tickling one and other. There were ghosts painting and taking their clothes off comparing their wounds to that which they were painting.

I remembered being alive. I knew I was not dead and peaked my head out the curtainless window down the length of the street below, witnessing the final cacophony of ghostial bestiality… then all was calm.

My surroundings morphed into a dank apartment. This was real. My surroundings didn’t smell. It was dirty, unkempt and all shades of brown in color. I felt happy. It felt familiar. I heard voices in the distance and recognized them. Andrea’s voice sung out. She had climaxed. She giggled. I set about doing the dishes but they had all been cleaned beforehand. I set about putting them all away. There were mountains of them and drying racks everywhere. The dish towels were gross. I tossed them *dans la poubelle quickly. There were five drawers in the kitchen. Four of the five contained one kind of cutlery, forks, spoons, small spoons and knives. The fifth contained a cutlery organizer. I got confused. I began laughing.

The sound of a man came into existence. Jean Paul Tremblay walked into the kitchen. A bed appeared in the corner. We sat and I began studying his penis for drawing purposes.

Curley…

I certainly woke **happy today.

This is the first dream I remember upon waking in which I was not using drugs, I was not running or trying to escape something or someone and not fearing for my life, nor was I screaming upon waking up.

I awoke having an orgasm. This is the first time that that has happened in years.

*in the garbage
**…and it all began from an eargasm. Go figure?

Spirits

I find myself listening to Spirits again today. It is almost painful sometimes to listen, for it causes so much emotion to well up inside me that I need to release. Last week on Thursday I danced. Friday I awoke feeling the world is my playground and that my dreams are becoming reality because I am doing rather than just dreaming now. A little bit of fear sheds everyday for me. Then the phone rang. I answered it. It was a man. This man was from a collection agency. He told me what I was already very aware of; that my student loan from Scotiabank has not been payed upon for 6 monthes. He told me to call my parents for money. He told me they would take me to court if I did not pay the full amount. He told me it is not very often that he has to call someone with an “A” rating on their credit and that most of his day is spent calling “D” or “F” credit rating people demanding money in full. IN FULL. The full amount. I remained calm. I had woken feeling exuberant, alive and feeling alive, feeling I have so much to live for, that I am so close to trusting myself completely. I told this man I am not working, that I am artist. I told him I have been paying Scotiabank for 10 years since I first graduated college back in 1996. He asked me to phone my parents again and told me about the story of a girl who cried and cried because she couldn’t pay her student loan. He told me she called her parents and her parents peyed the full amount for her by the end of the weekend. He said your amount is not that high and that really it is not that hard to come by over a weekend. He told me of other people in collection had much much higher debt loads and that mine is EASY to pay. I told him I would call my family. I told him I would ask my boyfriend.
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Raw emotion – distilled into water?

There lives fear everywhere. It’s installed in us when we each are born. This installation learns. In it’s truest and earliest form, fear was an instinct. An instinct such as hunger, and the need for warmth when it was cold; fear kept you safe. Fear is no longer fear. It is Phobic.

I need to think on this longer. I’ll post more later today.

Green Stop Sign

I thought on this longer and became more phobic. Fuck. Now at 20 minutes to midnight I can say I feel calmer. Where did the phobia begin today? Yesterday. And Yesterday’s fear was carried over from the day before’s fear. So now that this fear has been cubed and diced where does that leave me? Laughing. Phobic fear is just that – phobia. It is irrational in most peoples eyes. However, when experiencing phobia one can become quite disabled.

I could not function today. I woke up this morning screaming out loud from a lucid nightmare. It’s not often that I’ve screamed myself awake. Today I did. And yesterday for that matter I had another disturbing dream. These dreams are so vivid and lucid. I’ve not yet manged to completely control them. The dreams I’ve been having since cleaning up 203 days ago have been all consuming at times involving people, places and experiences from my present and past. Inter tangled enlightenment’s of the soul perhaps? There are messages my subconscious is attempting to make conscious to me. This could be called the link between the soul and the body. The drawing to the left I drew after one such dream. I had been hit in the head by an usher at a wedding with a green stop sign in the dream, as I began to walk down the isle as a bridesmaid without bouquet in hand.

When the two (soul & mind) work as one, a person is in the ‘NOW’. There is no past, nor future, just the moment, he or she is experiencing. Having experienced these moments of complete clarity with and without drugs, I must say they are both beautiful and unexplainable in words. I have attempted to draw and paint them. However as soon as I would think – POOF – the moment is gone and I’m in the past or the future again.

The past is to depression what the future is to anxiety. The best way to know something is to experience it. Once your brain experiences it, whatever it may be; the brain will remember that experience with the emotions you felt during that experience. The brain doesn’t know the difference between past and future. When you get up in the morning say, and drink your coffee you probably associate waking up and being more alert with the coffee. Your mind is craving that feeling not the coffee. It’s a hard one to wrap your head around eh?

Now to take it a step further… When someone becomes addicted to a feeling what happens?

Their brain pretty much short circuits and rewires itself in such a way, that it needs the feeling or it will go into withdrawal. The extent of withdrawal would be dependent upon how much the brain needed the feeling to feel normal. Most addicts would say that they don’t get high anymore, that they are in fact just maintaining a normal so they don’t go into withdrawal. The ‘high’ has become normal. And when the normal cannot be achieved the brain along with the physical body begins to go down, down, down to what the average person would call normal. Are you still with me? So picture your worst, sickest, saddest and angriest day ever and multiply it by lets say 10. That is what real “normal” feels like to an addict when they withdraw from a substance.

After withdrawal all that the brain knows is raw emotion. Happiness times 10. Sadness times 10. Anger times 10. Fear times 10. Disgust times 10. You feel every emotion times 10. Your senses are heightened beyond what you ever thought possible. Light hurts your eyes. Traffic noise hurts. Advertisements sicken you. Colour stands out. A hair tickles your back and you jump! Bad memories cloud your mind like they happened today. They feel like they are happening right now.

But beautiful little things begin to happen gradually. I remember looking down at my paintbrush about 10 days into detox and just watching the water drip off the tip off the paintbrush into the rinse can. The sound fascinated me. Somehow my brain had blocked out all the other noise and distraction and all I heard and saw was the drip. I cried. I was happy. This was a moment with no past nor future.

I would recommend to anyone in search of understanding rent the movie What the Bleep? and also check outDr. Masaru Emoto’s website! The research he has done with water in how it affects every one of us in relation to our emotions is brilliant. We are, remember 90% water.

The days I watched these three movies will be forever with me. My brain I hope will remember the feelings generated by their visual, auditory gift. Drinking a glass of water has never been the same after seeing Dr. Masaru Emoto’s video.

You know, fear is the exact same as excitement. I’m terrified on a roller coaster where another person is excited beyond belief.