I’m at a party, dimly lit. I am approached by a long time friend-girl of mine, let’s call her K, but as she speaks, I see water building up outside the bay window. I run out the back door, but my friend doesn’t follow.
When I get outside, it’s pouring rain and thrashing waves like an ocean storm. I see flashing lights and try to avoid them. I swim around the house and peer in a second story window, but I don’t see anyone. I dive down further back to the fist story, and everyone has gone. When I resurface, I notice that there are other people in the water- some are swimming for large structures, climbing onto rooftops from where they make smalltalk, and some are just enjoying the waves.
I find a few people I know and ask about K. Most people had seen her but didn’t know where she was at the moment. I keep swimming around houses, and things start to look a little familiar, though I couldn’t say how.
The night after I had this dream, I went to a huge party with some close friends. K was there. I got into an argument with someone because a mystery person had said some nasty, untrue things about me. A good friend was falsely under the impression that I said some terrible things about her. I tried to find out who this mystery person was; everyone I asked had heard the rumors, but no one would tell me who said them. When we left the party, it was pouring rain and cops were towing cars. I left with K. I had an eerie feeling that it was K the whole time, and I figured it out- she caused the flood.
by the train station at lake como.
Dreams, a cover by Cat Power. Original by The Everly Brothers.
HAY THERE, my name is Joe Welch. I’m a 22 year old poet studying at UConn.
I decided to call this blog “Sleepy Ghosts” for a couple of reasons. Aesthetically, I think it fits just right. It’s going to be a mix of my bizarre dreams, poems, stories, and photos. I’ll also post lovely songs I come across.
When you really put yourself into art and writing, if it’s good, it takes on a little life of it’s own. A good poem isn’t necessarily alive, or dead, or unalive… it’s like a ghost. When I write, that’s what I’m trying to do. Make ghosts.
Dreams are so facscinating to me because I can’t lucidly control them and make active choices- not usually, anyways. They’re like flash fiction bits that come to me. On several occasions I’ve based creative works from things I have dreamt. On many occasions, I’ve made big decisions based on dreams that foresaw something.
So, Sleepy Ghosts, there you have it. I hope you enjoy.
