Category Archives: dream

Francis Jammes

Un jour, les livres où étaient les pensées des hommes disparurent par enchantement.
Alors, de grands savants s’assemblèrent; ceux qui sont dans la mathématique, la physique, la chimie, l’astronomie, la poésie, l’histoire et autres sciences et lettres.
Ils tinrent conseil et dirent :
– Nous sommes les dépositaires du génie humain; nous allons nous rappeler, pour les graver sur un marbre immortel, les inventions les plus belles des savants et des poètes; mais seulement celles qui représentent, depuis que le monde existe, les plus hauts sommets de l’entendement. Pascal n’aura droit qu’à une pensée; Newton qu’à une étoile; Darwin qu’à un insecte; Galilée qu’à un grain de poussière; Tolstoï qu’à une charité; Henri Heine qu’à un vers; Shakespeare qu’à un cri; Wagner qu’à une note…
Et alors, comme ils se recueillaient pour ressaisir en leurs mémoires les chefs-d’oeuvre indispensables à la consécration de l’homme, ils sentirent avec effroi que leurs têtes étaient vides.

>Olga Tokarczuk


The first night I had a dream. I dreamed I was pure sight, without a body or a name. I was suspended high above a valley at some undefined point from which I could see everything. I could move around my field of vision, yet remain in the same place. It seemed as if the world below was yielding to me as I look at it, constantly moving towards me, and then away, so first I could see everything, then only tiny details.
I could see a valley with a house standing in the middle of it, but it wasn’t my house, or my valley, because nothing belonged to me. I didn’t even belong to myself. There was no such thing as ‘I’. Yet I could see the circular line of the horizon enclosing the valley on all sides. I could see a turbulent stream flowing down between the hills. I could see trees set deep into the ground like huge, one-legged creatures. The stillness of what I could see was only on the surface. Whenever I wished, I could look through this surface to what lay underneath. Under the bark of trees I could see rivulets of water, streams of sap flowing up and down the trunk. Under the roof of the house I could see the bodies of people asleep, and their stillness, too, was only superficial – their hears were beating gently, their blood was rippling in their veins, I could even see their dreams, fragments of images flashing inside their heads. In their tangled dream-thoughts I could see myself (this was when I discovered the strange truth, that I was purely vision, without any values or emotions). Then I discovered that I could see through times as well, and that just as I could change my point of view in space, so I could change it in time, too. I was like the cursor on a computer screen navigating of its own accord, or at least oblivious of the hand that is moving it.
I seemed to dream like this for an eternity. There was no before, or after, no sense of anticipation, because there was nothing to gain or lose. The night would never end. Nothing would happen. Even time would never change what I could see. I went on staring, not toticing anything new or forgetting anything I had seen.

>Clement Clark Moore


‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

>Charles Baudelaire


Quand, les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d’automne,
Je respire l’odeur de ton sein chaleureux,
Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux
Qu’éblouissent les feux d’un soleil monotone;
Une île paresseuse où la nature donne
Des arbres singuliers et des fruits savoureux;
Des hommes dont le corps est mince et vigoureux,
Et des femmes dont l’œil par sa franchise étonne.
Guidé par ton odeur vers de charmants climats,
Je vois un port rempli de voiles et de mâts
Encor tout fatigués par la vague marine,
Pendant que le parfum des verts tamariniers,
Qui circule dans l’air et m’enfle la narine
Se mêle dans mon âme au chant des mariniers.






S.A. Gordy, S.K. Gordy

I feel on top of the world with my lady
I’m gonna rock your body all night
She make me wanna say la la la la, la la la la, la la la la, la la la la,
la la la la, la la la la, la la la la, la la la la, ohh






She reminded me of my best friend growing up – always living in a dream world. Figures shifting when they move- Like you see ghosts do in those old cheap horror films. Looking fragmented, slowly. …. Now cut..

Francis Jammes

Il y avait un ouvrier très travailleur, dont la femme était bonne et la petite fille jolie. Ils habitaient dans une grande ville.
Pour la fête du père, on acheta une belle salade blanche et un poulet que l’on fit rôtir. Et tout le monde était bien content, ce Dimanche matin, même le petit chat qui regardait la volaille avec un air coquin et en se disant; J’aurai de bons os à sucer.
Ils déjeunèrent, puis le père dit; Nous allons, pour une fois, nous payer le tramway et aller jusqu’aux environs.
Ils sortirent.
Ils avaient vu, bien des fois, de beaux messieurs et de belles clames faire signe au cocher du tramway, qui arrêtait alors immédiatement les chevaux pour que l’on pût monter.
Le bon ouvrier tenait sa petite fille. Sa femme et lui s’arrêtèrent au coin d’une belle rue.
Un omnibus verni s’avançait vers eux, presque vide. Et ils avaient une grande joie à penser qu’ils allaient y monter pour quatre sous chacun. Et le bon ouvrier fit signe au conducteur d’arrêter les chevaux. Mais le conducteur, voyant ces pauvres simples, les regarda avec dédain et n’arrêta pas la voiture.