First Dreams, First Fears


First Dream: Tucked behind a door in my childhood room were the stairs to the attic. I remember one night dreaming that I was in that room in my bed, the room and myself feeling exactly as it did awake, only the attic door opened and out came a faceless witch who stood over my bed and killed me with a cold feeling. I remember waking from that dream and finding the attic door open.

First Fears: My childhood fears were comprised of being attacked by people in hiding, being eviscerated by dinosaurs, the fracturing of minutes into seconds, and falling out of trees.

Steven Cline

First Dream: Around the age of 5 I had a dream that I was inside of a large mansion, being chased by King Kong. I was hiding in the kitchen cupboards, but I knew that he would find me soon.

First fears: None that I can think of really early on. A bit later I developed a fear of demons and aliens at night. This often combined in my mind with a fear of encountering the H.R. Giger alien.

Steve morrison

First Dream: Dream that my friends were abducted by aliens in a prison in the sky. I used my cloud car to fly up and rescue them, and to get inside I had to solve a puzzle door which was based on colors.

First Fears: A fear of giants. When I learned that the characters in fairy tales were not generally real, but that Kings actually did exist, I also became afraid of Kings.

aaron dylan kearns

First Dream: A dream of a show that was Sesame Street meets Monty Python. The tagline of the show was something like “Medulla Oblongata!

First Fears: A fear of the moon. I was afraid I’d be pulled up if I looked directly at the night sky, so I’d always try to look in front of me or down to the ground when I was outside at night. I also had a fear of mirrors.

casi cline

First Dream: I am about maybe 5 or 6. It is the end of the world. Like the whole jesus coming with a trumpet thing. A deep chasm opens up in the earth with me on one side and my family on the other. At the bottom of what would be a very long fall is hell, which just looks like a bunch of people swirling around in lava. I drop my favorite childhood stuffed animal, a panda bear named Rebecca, into the hell-chasm, and I just have an overwhelming feeling of aloneness. 

First Fears: Hell, demons, cancer, atomic bombs, & torture.

iconoclasm of the glacial

Poetry reversal game played on May 15th, 2019

Daylight departs from an unchosen wall
Black holes end your tomb’s immobility, a curse
of fractured gifts, the rind
of a regimented chaos. My shadow hides your bare baroque throats
acids in quatreform quiet, ruined
to the fossil outside its soul. Two true smooth faces’
emptiness which eternity won’t offer, the crumpling muffler of
the un-world’s rim and drastic preservation.
The muffler fossilizes their arbitrary anchor.
(Steve Morrison)

morning is disturbed under a random window
black hole darkness and its testicle stillness, a desecration
of a flawed recovery, the crust
of a designated disorder. you hide your adorned belt
of solids outside a linear stillness, remain
for the tree outside the line. many wigs are the soft
singularity of space doesn’t inquire of the cocooning voice
the poles of celestial and almost intense unchanging
the voice digs up during its superfluous motionlessness
(Casi Cline)

the iconoclasm of the glacial

but before many run gracefully
because, a plain was red for the first time there was not enough dog poison
for negative two, he thought. But you say you are outcast beside that sphere.
night is different than less misfortune to her.
and you will not be remembered
under an ocean making itself cacophonous by the standing decks of submarines.
there is no more than not enough eternity for her
heartlessness either. You’re the shoe and bowls that belong.
an imprisoned tsitra. a first and last for the cynics

never do the hard mountains untangle resistant roots
outside a sole for one person only
this unbreaking is my secret
a spotless constellation whose irregularities reject isolation
and at the beginning call to the burning agoraphobic, naked
in brown at the beginning of the lome.
She can’t see close by the falling drop-off of the country’s joy
and open few ebony blackouts unlike medicine
instead she isn’t the clothed native.

(Casi Cline)

Of what it unraveled in indecipherable iron
Nothing bares naked out of disrespect of many blades of artificial Easter decorative grass
Outside of many light bulbs I pass out
The whistles that batter me, with heaviness

Rarely, if you should speak with clarity
It drops memorable things of varying levels of smoothness
But she what you are unrelenting,
she that you are

And a dog of no relation to the stiff
orders fluffs her last quiet goose
Rarely when a pebble ceases,
a cheerful majority lower their feet

(Aaron Dylan Kearns)

that which you cut from heavy sea
we cast off as curse to our atmospheres
when in the suns warmth we slept
a quietude was sucked like a gravity

never again will i preach
lowering down for the memories tear
and she that is the devouring
it is in the body of she that i am

but that worm of the heavens
silenced her most violent violin
and just as the tearing was sleeping
happy multitudes, they opened up their throats

(Steven Cline)

Enamel – but you forgot the desert’s muscle
and you neglected the occupied void

and he was unconscious for the first time in consideration of the dogs
accepting a clear indifference

that was the snows, and he thought
here is an elevator, a bathroom

outside of those unoccupiable pits of the same, Urinal
but he abandoned a nuisance

nuisance that holds no relation to the water to forget
there wasn’t water, only the same cup

It is a singular of a negative,
which was left unpublished for the uncountable devils

Disruption of dog

(Aaron Dylan Kearns)

Zan – and I forgot the roadkill armadillo
and I forgot the tongue of the sea

and I moved among the insects
shivering to a wide open kindness

of the soil, and I moved
but there is no trash bag, no junkyard

in the cloud of that other, Matthew
& a villain forgotten

singular man of the rains that never come
another rain, another torrent

he was no one of the twelve
& unknown without the seven devils

apocalypse of parasite

(Steven Cline)

Éluard Games

We played two games with poems from Éluard’s Capital of Pain. The first was a translation game. We chose a poem and covered up the english translation, then took turns attempting to translate a section of the french. (None of of know french…)

To Touch a Leafy Day
To touch a leafy day, so unlike a tire pour
A Motley and senseless pastry lens
We dance the night like ants, we embrace the castle moat
We extend vibration under the bruise of the sun

Without a center or along the edge of vegetal fear
Lies a luxury of peril and regret of night
Without the hands of the sun the body lies somnolent
Grottos of idea retire behind your eyes

Souvenirs of bovine hearts, brewed tame.
I reform one chamber, then two.
That I may encounter life’s paradox.
The terrible loss of a glass creature.

The second game was a reversal game. We look the poem Marsha was beaming and each reversed it, according to our idea of what the opposite of each line would be.

Max has Darkened
The eternity’s stillness is at the height of opened death
Some ugly scaly toad slower than a gallon of porcelain
Throws stringy life across a void
Triangles of moon harden in the dirt
And the boat of its tunneling awakens the dark
the worst is always lost close by

Asthma was fractal
The second firm at the leaf of unbound breath
Settled a whole youth inside a dark pool
Isosceles of shade harden its feet
And the stillness of its death endears darkness
The worst was not near here

Many seconds stand still at the branches of linear eternity
The hideous naked worm slower than a multitude of planets
Pushes a many-headed baby away from a black hole
Cubes of moon harden its legs
But the doldrums of its landing calms the dark
The worst will be hidden inside you
Formine has been Shrouded

Faust Game in honor of Walpurgis Night

Surrealist Comic Game

Players: Steven Cline, Casi Cline, & Aaron Dylan Kearns

Directions: A “moderator” chooses a few pages of a comic, and numbers each text box. Sheets are then made for all of the players, alternating the numbers on each sheet so that one single person does not have multiple boxes in a row. The moderator notes whether the text box will be a line of dialogue or a narrator statement, but no other hints will be given as to the subject of the comic. Afterwards, line up the numbered statements with their respective boxes. Viola! You have a surrealist comic.

The Animal Monarchs

We recently played a few rounds of the “Listening Game” (outlined here) with Steve Morrison’s daughter & wife as the main storytellers. Afterwards, Jason Abdelhadi attempted to re-tell the story of the first round, going from the images alone. (Images by Steve Morrison, Megan Leach, Casi Cline, and Steven Cline)

Jason’s Re-telling: The Animal Monarchs engage in a revolutionary re-ordering of the universe, starting with a new Declaration of the Rights of Objects Whatsoever. The Cat Monarch and Pig Monarch garnish the evening with autobiographical speeches. Cat Monarch’s graveyard insights, a film noir story. Pig Monarch’s astrology.