Diving Deep

I had another strange dream. Very different from the previous ones, this was not a nightmare, quite the contrary. The diver from the photos appeared to me. He looked nothing like in the photos, but it was the same man. He was the poet who had written the poems as well. In the dream he floated in the air above me in the bedroom as if we were underwater. He was wearing a strange, heavy diving suit, almost like a spacesuit, and he was shining with a bright light. He told me things that in the dream made perfect sense, but now not so much. I’ve made a habit of keeping a notebook and a pen by my nightstand, so that I can write down my dreams as soon as I wake up, but even then, I feel that I missed or misunderstood a lot of what he told me, already beginning to forget it while I was writing it down. Also, when I read through my own notes now, some of them make no sense. But afterward – and still now – I feel shaken by the powerful emotion I felt in the dream. I’ll try to explain the dream as well as I can.

The diver told me that a dark presence had taken over his girlfriend (the woman in the photos). He’d tried everything he could think of to banish it from her, but everything had failed. In the end, he finally understood what he had to do, finally understood the true nature of the dark place that was hidden under the waves of the lake where they lived. The lake was an opening to dark place that was much bigger than the lake itself, in fact, much bigger than the whole universe we live in. He wrote one last poem, his masterpiece, a secret poem, a hidden poem, a poem that’s not among the poems I’ve found in the shoebox. And he took his girlfriend for one last dive. Together they sank down into the depths, far deeper than he had ever dived before. In the dream, I was there, diving with them. And from the depths, something, or some things, surged up to meet them. Things of darkness, but bright things of light as well. The diver explained that these things, or these presences, were forever fighting a war between the forces of light and darkness. A dark presence had taken over his girlfriend, and a bright presence now came to take over him. And he surrendered his body to it, but at the same time, the essence of who he was kept diving deeper, ever deeper, holding the essence of his girlfriend (their spirits? their souls?). The diver (or what was left of him, his true self) spoke the words of his secret poem. The poem described a new world, an island in this sea of darkness, a safe haven, a paradise, a “baby” universe. The nature of the dark place was such that anything dreamed up there, any dream or a work of art, would come true, just as true as anything in our world can be. And the poem came true and the essence of the diver and the essence of his girlfriend escaped from the darkness and disappeared into this new world to live there happily ever after; while their shapes, his now taken over by a bright presence, as his girlfriend’s had been taken over by a dark presence, surged up, through the opening in the lake to our world, to continue their battle there.           

When I woke up I felt overwhelmingly happy and privileged of having been shown this. I’ve never been so moved by a dream and didn’t think it could even be possible. Even now, even though I’ve forgotten many details, the feeling remains: a feeling of hope. I know that something amazing is coming, that something wonderful is going to happen, and at the same time I know that when it does, it will be something totally different from what I’m expecting, something I could never have imagined. And I know it might take a long time before it does happen, but no matter how long it takes, I’ll be here, waiting.


The Title Page


Note: as said, this is not a poem, more like a title page for something. The name of the author has been thoroughly and violently scratched out. Written above the title: "Campbell's MONOMYTH! I) Departure II) Initiation! III) Return".

Poem 18

A good friend passed away today
Quite unexpectedly
A bit of a bad luck there
But these things happen
It was nobody’s fault really
He was taken by
A dark presence
We keep his things in a shoebox
On our mantelpiece

NOTE: "dark presence" has been underlined. Written next to the poem: "E didn't find this funny".

Poem 17

I was surprised to find
That such revulsion could shine
In someone’s eyes. “How I hate your kind,”
He said, as we sat down to dine
On him

Poem 16

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
We don’t know what
Neat stacks of hundred dollar bills
Jewels like stars
The dreams of those who’ve slept in this town
The dream of this town (when we open it, the dreamer will wake, and we, all part of his dream, will be gone)
Our wishes come true
The power to punch a hole into the universe

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
A coffee thermos
A flashlight
A box of ammo
Two pages of poems
Countless wor(l)ds

Inside this shoebox we killed for
There is
No cat, poisoned or otherwise, dead or living, undead, un-cat
Baleful spirits
All the evils of the world
No hope


NOTE: lines "A coffee thermos / A flashlight / A box of ammo / Two pages of poems, all crossed out. Written below the poem: "E can't see it. He's view is too narrow, limited. It's not a lake, it's an ocean, darkness before the act of creation, before the Big Bang, darkness upon the face of the deep, upon the face of the waters, before light, before the primeval atom, before the word, before THE POEM. I can be a creator, the creator. It has happened before, and it will happen again, many times."

Poem 15

More than anything
His dearest wish
He wanted to go from there
To leave
But he could not change his heritage
The blood in his veins was ink
And the crown was too tall
To pass through the door
He was doomed to remain
A king forevermore

Poem 14

Tightrope walking
Would you choose
A safety net
That traps you
And kills the thrill
Thin weave of wires
Slices your flesh
I must prefer
The dark air in-between
Soft shadows
Hug you gently
All the way to the ground

NOTE: written below the poem is a quote: "Which are you drinking? The water or the wave?" and the name of the author: "John Fowles". 

Poem 13

I came looking for my princess
Instead I found a witch wearing her face
No one in the family
Had noticed the change
She said:
“She becomes me.”

Through all the wicked things she did
To me, her beauty kept me in a daze
I stared at her adoringly and forgot how she used to be
As she tortured me for days and days
She said:
”She becomes me.”

Isn’t it strange that with every wound
She’s caused her beauty in the mirror fades
I hear she’s already looking for another pretty girl
To put on in the old one’s place
She said:
“She becomes me.”

We’re both so thin
We wear our skeletons on the outside
She becomes me

NOTE: written below the poem: "B offended, thought this was about her, of course it's not".


More Shoebox Poems

There were six new poems in the shoebox, as well as something else, not a poem, a title page, I suppose, it seems to come from a different batch. All the pages seem old, as if they've gotten wet at some point. In any case, here are the photos:

I'll transcribe the poems in an update soon, just in case the photos are not clear enough.


Inside the Shoebox

When I found the shoebox again, there were more poems inside, and a battered, old device: a switch of some kind. I actually had to go and ask about it in the local hardware store to be sure what it was. It’s an old light switch. When you flick it, there’s a solid, satisfying click. When I flicked it the first time after finding it, all the lights in the house went out. I swear I’m not making this up. It turned out to be the whole neighborhood actually, and the real reason for the power out turned out to be the thunderstorm rumbling above. But talk about a coincidence of a lifetime! I’ve flicked the switch many times after that and nothing strange has happened. 

I can't explain where this new stuff came from. Someone broke into my house and put it there? That makes no sense.


Soon after my last update, someone contacted me. They had found me through this blog. They said that they know a lot about what’s been going on, about the origin of the shoebox’s contents, and that this kind of a thing had happened before, elsewhere. They promised to tell me more, on the condition that I’d stop updating the blog. They said that this whole thing should be kept secret and hinted that it could be dangerous, that there are people out there who think that the contents of the shoebox can be very valuable and would be willing to commit crimes to get hold of them. In a way it felt a lot like my nightmare about the agent who came asking about the shoebox. Of course this was totally different in many ways, but still, it reminded me of that, like the dream had come true somehow.

I promised to think about what they’d told me. And I have. And that’s the reason why there have been no updates for a while. They were friendly enough, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more the whole thing felt like a threat. And that really pisses me off. It’s a free country, and I can write about anything I want in my own blog. And the shoebox and everything in it came with the house, and thus it’s mine.

I’ve decided to keep updating the blog for now.


Haunted House?

I’m back and I’m okay. Well, not okay, but alive. They kept me in the hospital overnight for observation. And then I spent a couple days at my parents’ house.

On the night of my previous post (sorry if it frightened anyone) I had trouble going to bed, I was on my laptop, listening to music. The TV was on in the living room, I wasn’t really watching it, but I was mildly amused by the fact that the episode in the crappy horror show that was on was about a girl who buys a haunted house and gets into trouble. It was a rerun of the Twilight Zone or something. It got ridiculous when the corny narrator started saying things like: “She thought she had bought an ordinary house in an ordinary town, but nothing could be more out of the ordinary than this house…”. I actually laughed out aloud and walked to the living room to see. It was like someone was playing a practical joke on me. But then I immediately saw the men outside my window, dark shadowy silhouettes, and the power went out and it was dark and I could hear a window breaking in another room. I ran back to the kitchen where my laptop was, I grabbed it, rushed into the closet, shutting the door behind me. I sat on the floor and dialed 911. I could hear sounds of them breaking in, and insane shouts and laughter. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I could hear them getting closer. I stopped talking to the phone so they wouldn’t hear me. I wrote the blog post, I don’t know what I was thinking. Then they were behind the door, and I got up, trying to keep it closed. It flew open violently and I fell and hit my head. The last thing I saw in the glow of the laptop was the shoebox. It was sitting on the shelf. There was no way I could not have seen it before if it had been there since it went missing. Then all went black. I woke up in the hospital with a mild concussion. The police said that there were no signs of disturbance or break-in, other than what they themselves caused when they came in to check and found me. I don’t know what to think. I’ve been very stressed at work, but I'm not going crazy and I didn't just imagine it all. It really happened.

One thing is certain: this is my house, and I won’t be frightened away by ghosts or shadows. This is my house and I will fight for it if that’s what it takes. So there.

I just checked. The shoebox is there on the shelf in the closet. There is stuff inside that wasn’t there before.       


Called 911. Men outside shadows darkcominghelpmoreligh


No Light, No Light

I’ve been very busy at work and too exhausted to post here for a while (apart for the nightmare the other night, which I had to get off my chest immediately, and it still gives me the creeps). On a more positive note, the house is slowly starting to look really good and I’ve been living here for a while (here’s a photo of my fireplace). 

I got the yard lights, now I only need to get them installed.

To be honest, I’m playing for time here, writing this, not looking forward to going to bed. I was listening to the beautiful & brilliant Florence + the Machine earlier and the song “No Light, No Light” made me think about the nightmare again.


Shoebox Dream 2

I had another dream last night, and when I woke up, a real scare.

In the dream I was visiting the previous owner of my house at the nursing home, only in the dream the owner wasn’t a sweet old lady, he was a man, and he wasn’t old, he was a young man with a dark hair – very good looking in fact. I remember that he was wearing a funny jacket with old-fashioned elbow patches. I was there to find out about the shoebox, but he was very agitated and didn’t listen to me. The place was brightly lit, it was sunny outside, but he was still very anxious and wanted me to turn all the lights on. He kept going on about the place being too dark. I remember being certain that all the lights were on already, but that didn’t calm him down. In the end he was screaming for me to turn the lights on. I was also starting to freak out, starting to think that something horrible was coming to take us away, and that’s when I woke up. I was really thirsty, I got up from bed and went to get a glass of water. In the hallway, coming back, I suddenly saw a dark silhouette of a man outside the window. I must have screamed aloud. My heart stopped for a moment. I dropped the glass (luckily it didn’t break, it’s one of my favorites). I was really frightened. I rushed through the house, turning on all the lights. My first impulse was to dial 911, but after a moment that felt silly. I told myself that I must have imagined the whole thing, seen my own reflection in the window. Of course, with all the lights on inside, I couldn’t see anything outside anymore. I ended up calling a friend of mine, Joss, who lives nearby, waking him up. He was kind enough to come over and check the place. Bless him. Joss’s a real angel. There was no sign of anyone outside. 

Today I’m definitely going buy some yard lights, I’ve been meaning to do that for some time already.


Poem 12

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Kept from sleep again last night
By the sound of chimes
I sway
So far below heaven
So high above hell
Frost creeps up
The trunk of my spine
All is blackness through these holes
Of my eyes
Just the wind in my skull
And the wings of her crows
They perch on the gallows
They have pecked me clean
And made a chime from
My bones

NOTE: Also written on the page: “B’s comment: a diver, not a hanged man, think about it!!!”

Poem 11

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

In this temple of shadow and mist
There's a window
In the floor and
A door in the ceiling
There is no knowing
Am I standing still
Or running or kneeling

NOTE: the two last lines have been scratched out (can’t make out what it originally said) and the lines of the poem have been written next to them.

Poem 10

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

From bloom to gloom
Our love like fire
We burned our bridges
Furniture, clothes
Hair, flesh and bones
All too soon
We ran out of things
To burn
But while it blossomed
Our love
Was like a flower

NOTE: Also written on the page: “B. This is us. T.” and a name “Barbara” (I’m guessing, can’t quite make it out, different handwriting) next to a heart.

Poem 9

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Until that time comes around again
The shadow falls on this town again
It’s barely evening
But the shadow falls on me again

No one will miss us
Our faces inked black
They’ll sell our things at the flea market
They’ll never call us back

So she left with them
They’ll wine her and dine her
We huddle naked in this alley
Nothing’s for sure

Fir needles tickle
We bathe in rain water
All the way to the ocean
The memory of the slaughter

Until that time comes around again
The shadow falls on this town again
It’s barely evening
But the shadow falls on me again

When I’m awake I’m barely alive
When I sleep I have two hearts
Your heart and mine
Your two hearts and mine

Poem 8

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

I wish it would shatter
Like glass under my heels
Just like a sheet of ice
When I close my eyes
That’s how the mirror feels

Oh mercy
Thousands have gone missing
Beyond the labyrinth of me
When you’re lost
You’re lost in your own company

NOTE: There’s another poem on the page as well: “In this hall of mirrors / built by liars / I’m a pale reflection of myself – Pool.” There are also a couple of drawings, a face of a man, some fir trees by the water (maybe?), and a strange face with a long nose and round black eyes.

Poem 7

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Mist like death
Mist like a lover’s breath
Rolls so soft and cold and wet
Memories met for the first time
Secrets whispered
To find a long lost doorway home
Or be led to parts unknown
And forever disappear beyond this veil
In her dreams to prevail

Poem 6

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Your eyes were so cold
When you watched me go under
You were sitting in the boat
I floated down
To the darkness like a cloud
From a shark bite

I breathe out
My life with you
The currents wash me away
I let the currents
Wash me away

Poem 5

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

My mother told me to no avail
If you play with shadows
You grow sickly and pale
And forget all the wonders
The sun can unveil
Beyond the shadow you settle for
there is a miracle

NOTE: the three last lines have been underlined and there a note saying “E’s favorite line, a long talk with him about the meaning, no changes but keep in mind for another time.”

Poem 4

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Of the shadows of the deep
He challenged me
To a duel
I indulged him

For he did not know
That beyond the lake
He called home
Lies a deeper darker
Ocean green
Where waves are
Both wilder
And more serene
To its ports I have been
To its ports I have been

NOTE: “rewrite?” has been written next to the first stanza.

Poem 3

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

I go underground
Follow me underground
Everyone else has gone there
Down to the ground
I’ll take you underground

They chased a mystery
They are a mystery to me
And you’ll think that of me
When I tell you my tale

What we bring with us
Sorry secrets and awkward lies
Wet matches
A yarning for overcast skies
Everything else down here
Has been stolen so many times
Everyone who walks down these steps dies

I go underground
Follow me underground
Everyone else has gone there
Down to the ground
I’ll take you underground

Poem 2

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

Divorce me from all that’s sane
Screaming, mute darkness
Descend on this frail frame
I drown in fathomless black space
Light never scratched
The depths of this domain
I see not; yet nothing could be worse
Than the shades
My mind calls herein
Alone at my own wake
The unraveling of reason’s skein

NOTE: It says “THE DARK PLACE” below the poem, and there’s a line from William Blake’s Auguries of Innocence “Some are born to endless night.”

Poem 1

As the photos are a bit blurry, I’ll transcribe the poems:

We pillage and whore
Hauling our loot
We swagger down alleys
We don’t say please
The town is burning
We set it in flame
We are the fire
That’s gone out in your eyes

We are the maggots gnawing your heels
We are the rain trickling down
From the hole in your ceiling
We are the ants inside your walls
And under the boards of your floor
We are eating your house
We are the sharp rocks under your knees
In front of the altar
Where you are kneeling

We have no morals
No guilt, no qualms
We don’t give a damn
The sewers are clogged
Filled with waste
The water is rising

We’ll make a ship out of
Your naïve, broken dreams
And lay siege to your sanctuaries
We are a ravenous horde of rats
We are the fangs and we are the beast

There will be no more admiring gazes
No more courtesies
No more gardens in spring
We are the rising waste
And you will be a drowned king

NOTE: The first stanza has been crossed out, and the sheet had been torn up.


Shoebox Poems

I’ve been really busy and stressed at work lately, but in spite of that the shoebox and its contents are never far from my thoughts. You might say that I’m getting a bit obsessed about them. I’ve been trying to find out who the poet is, or the couple in the photos, but no luck. I asked the daughter of the previous owner about it (her mother is in a nursing home and suffers from advanced Alzheimer’s disease, so she wouldn’t be able to help me). She was certain that no one in her family was a poet, and she doubted that the people in the photos were anyone from her family. She told me that her mom liked to buy stuff from yard sales, and her guess was that the shoebox was something her mom had picked up from one of those.

I’ve tried to find the shoebox after it went missing, but I can’t find it. I’m so glad I took photos of the poems before I lost them. Here they are: 

Under the House

A couple of guys came to do some plumbing work on Friday. They had to get under the house to do that, and I discovered that there was a trapdoor that led to the crawl space underneath. It had been screwed shut, and had to be opened. After they were done, I decided to go down there to explore. Armed with a flashlight and my iPhone for shots, I squeezed myself through the trapdoor. It was cramped and claustrophobic (I’m amazed that the workmen were able to do any work there, I’m tiny compared to them).  I was mentally prepared for rats and dead cats or even something worse, but there was nothing out of the ordinary down there. Nothing out of the ordinary in the town of Ordinary (pun intended). Here are the photos: