/yesod

Category: dreams

  • Terminus

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    The department has a new manager and she’s been placed in the cubicle with me, which means I have to shift the sprawl of my stuff in order to make room for her things (which are more important than dusty action figures, artifacts of personal flair, and binders full of meeting minutes no one if…

  • “She won’t rest.”

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    My daughter is almost nine but we still use a monitor so that we can hear her if she wakes up in the middle of the night. My wife has gone to bed and I am up late, doing some work I brought home from the office. The monitor crackles and my daughter calls for…

  • unseen

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Dozing on the couch this morning… ….I come into the room and see a baseball cap suspended in the air at about waist height, nothing apparently holding it up. It is not frozen in place,  immobile — rather, it drifts and bobs slightly, like a magician’s trick. I reach out to grab it, try to…

  • by the pricking

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    The theater is crowded with people, waiting for the play to begin. My wife and I sit and wait, looking through the program and studying posters for past productions lining the walls. When the show begins, I am transfixed. I’ve seen Macbeth a few times before, but this is just amazing. The witches scene is…

  • pest control

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Here’s an e-mail i sent to my wife this morning, slowly starting to put together a plan to exorcise the entity that currently occupying our house… What I know (or think I know) about the entity in our house… It is not human. It never was human. It is a conscious, aware entity. It is…

  • feet wrapped in rags

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …the children come out from the alcoves and holes, ragged scavenger ghosts huddled together and shuffling along the dusty floor, their hollow eyes sweeping back and forth, mouths gaping . . . they are in thrall to an old woman, an older ghost, who herds them like cattle and feeds off of their misery… I…

  • dancing

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …in the middle of an utterly boring and banal dream, I pass by a group of young women dancing on the sidewalk and one of them catches my eye. She motions to me, to get my attention, and mouths “Where have you been?” I keep walking, dragged along in the wake of my nonsense dream,…

  • sick girl

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    My seven-year-old daughter has been sick for a couple of days. High fever, probably the flu. She woke up tonight, sometime around 9 o’clock, frantic and consume dwith a fear that she could not (or would not) articulate. Glassy eyed, staring… Looking from my face to the face of her mother… She would not answer…

  • Winterly

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    My wife, her best friend, and I decide to drop acid for the first time. We lay back on the couch and each of us take the squishy pink pill and chew slowly. I only eat half of mine. I’m worried about what might happen if I take a whole one. In time, I stand…

  • danger

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    A kitchen, a house in the country — dry and dusty, very little greenery. A little boy with dark hair and a baby face sits at the kitchen table playing with an old wooden birdhouse. I see a yellowjacket crawl sluggishly over the back of the birdhouse. Inside I see the telltale paper comb covered…

  • David

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in ,

     My assignment for the magazine put me into his inner circle, where I could sit and observe first-hand what his life was like. I had five days with him. It was fascinating.  He was remarkably laid back and kind. He answered my questions thoughtfully and, to my eyes, didn’t try to hide any of himself…

  • comfort

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    “You were crying in your sleep last night,” my wife said this morning. “I was?” “You were whimpering. It went on for a while. I couldn’t get you to wake up.” I remembered then. I remembered waking up, her hand on my shoulder. I remember hearing myself crying in the dark. But I don’t remember…

  • interpretation

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in , ,

  • forearms

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in ,

    Napping this afternoon on the couch, I dream… …we’re sitting at the dining room table, my wife and I. I hear someone call “Tom” from the back hallway. I turn to see something there, down at the bottom of the steps — small and pale, almost like a child. “Don’t look!” my wife says just…

  • almost

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …as we’re passing through the room, I stop and take note of our surroundings: The concrete walls of the service tunnel, the exposed pipes . . . it’s all so familiar. Then I have it. In a flash of recognition, I turn to my companions — he is tall and dark skinned, she is waif-like…

  • on the way to bed

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Conversation with my four-year-old daughter… “Time to sleep, sleep and dream.” “I don’t always remember my dreams.” “That’s okay. They remember you.” I think this might be the best thing I have ever said or ever will say.

  • beginning of the end

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …and my wife’s face contorts in pain, her brow furrowed. I ask her what’s wrong but, before she can answer, a wave of distortion ripples through the air like a mirage. “Something’s happened.” I look out the window and see a mushroom cloud rising in the distance. The television fills in the rest of the…

  • a sad girl

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in , ,

    …lying in bed this morning, I woke to the sound of the bedroom door opening. I hear my wife slowly close the door behind her. I hear her footsteps on the floorboards, approaching my side of the bed. I cannot move, cannot open my eyes. I feel a fingertip on my arm, just inside the…

  • jump

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    I dream of flight, from time to time. Even awake, it seems like the ability is just right there and all I have to do is…

  • a tornado, two corpses, and a leather sofa

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    Inside the house, people are starting to panic. The sky outside is dark and green, the wind bending the trees to almost impossible angles. We can hear the sirens and, in a house this old, there is no safe place . . . every room has windows, the elderly frame flexes and creaks in the…

  • dark ride

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    I am surprised to see a Ferris wheel looming over the downtown district, pale against the darkening sky. As evening descends, we make our way towards the carnival. It is dark everywhere. There are no flickering lights, no music — just the mechanical clack and clank of the rides, the muted murmur of the crowds.…

  • kitchen door

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    For some reason, I am holding a bottle of olive oil in my hand while my daughter and I take a walk around the block. (We are not at home, this is not the neighborhood where we live in the waking world. This is someplace else. I do not recognize it from either my dreams…

  • a moment of moore

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    On my way through the park, I see a familiar figure heading in the opposite direction. He shambles, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. His hair and beard are wild and ragged as the hem of his overcoat. I change my course somewhat to interest his. He looks up as…

  • neighborhood watch

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …and when the neighbors show up at our front door, they demand entrance and will not leave. Too small to be a mob, but there are enough of them to force their way in. In the entryway, they shout that we are heathens and devil worshippers — they begin opening doors and ransacking the rooms.…

  • comedy and tragedy

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    by

    T.M. Camp
    in

    …when the comedian pulls up in the Winnebago, I hop in. We chat and get acquainted while his two cats prowl around in back. A few hours on the road and I realize we’re not going to get back home in time for me to help out with the baby’s bedtime. I’m embarrassed to say…