The Dream Poet Anthology 2009

Below are the names of every poet who made an appearance or was mentioned in my dreams during 2009. Some of these poets I know well, others are acquaintances and some are complete strangers. If you find your name is on this list and you do not know me, it means that I know of you via your work or reputation and my psyche has attached some type of meaning or symbolism on you to represent something.

2009 Contributors:

Kim Addonizio, Deborah Ager, Bill Allegrezza, Clay Banes, Jeffery Bahr, Jennifer Bartlett, Sandra Beasley, Tara Betts, Frank Bidart, Remica Bingham, Julie Bloemeke, Anne Boyer, Ana Božičević, Maurice Burford, Blake Butler, Ryan Call, Laura Carter, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Joshua Clover, Kelly Cockerham, Shanna Compton, CA Conrad, Eduardo Corral, Bruce Covey, H.D., Jon Dallas, Kyle Daragan, Neil de la Flor, Linh Dinh, Michael Dumanis, Jill Alexander Essbaum, Thomas Sayers Ellis, Annie Finch, Wade Fletcher, Daisy Fried, Elisa Gabbert, Scott Glassman, Johannes Göransson, Noah Eli Gordon, Anne Gorrick, Lea Graham, Gabriel Gudding, Paul Guest, Stacey Harwood, Teri Cross Hayes, Terrence Hayes, Ginger Heatter, Matthew Hittinger, Janet Holmes, Dave Housley, Richard Howard, Theo Hummer, Charlie Jensen, Shane Jones, Collin Kelley, Amy King, Steve Kistulenz, Rauan Klassnik, Jennifer L. Knox, Dorothea Lasky, David Lehman, Rebecca Loudon, Natalie Lyalin, Tony Mancus, Cate Marvin, Joseph Massey, David McDonald, Gary McDowell, Didi Menendez, E. Ethelbert Miller, K. Silem Mohammad, Gina Myers, Dan Nester, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Hoa Nguyen, Ed Ochester, Jeni Olin, Danielle Pafunda, Karl Parker, Shann Palmer, Richard Peabody, PF Potvin, Craig Santos Perez, Jessica Piazza, Scott Pierce, PF Potvin, Ezra Pound, Barbara Jane Reyes, Tony Robinson, Ken Rumble, Carly Sachs, CJ Sage, Allyson Salazar, Michael Schiavo, Zach Schomburg, Steven Schroeder, Rebecca Seiferle, Don Share, Laura Sheahen, Evie Shockley, Jessica Smith, Laurel Snyder, Ron Silliman, Janaka Stucky, Craig Teicher, Brent Terry, Maureen Thorson, Tony Tost, Elizabeth Treadwell, John Updike, Sarah Vap, Rich Villar, Mark Wallace, James Wagner, Fritz Ward, Allyssa Wolf, Rebecca Wolff, Joshua Marie Wilkinson, C. Dale Young, Matthew Zapruder

Q: Does appearing on this list mean that I am obsessed with or stalking you?
A: Possibly.

Q: Will I tell you the details of the dream you appeared in?
A: No, absolutely not. Assume the dream was totally demented and would disturb you a great deal.

Q: I'm a poet and I'm psychically awesome, why aren't I included in this anthology?
A: There are three possible reasons you are not included:

1. You didn't appear in my dreams in 2009. Resolve in 2010 to be more ambitious psychically.
2. You did appear in my dreams, but I don't remember. I forget many dreams. Your omission is a simple case of editorial oversight. You were screwed, unintentionally.
3. You did appear in my dreams, but I am loathe to publicly admit such a thing. This applies to around 3% of the poets appearing in my dreams. Your omission is a simple case of editorial bias. You were screwed, intentionally.

The last dream I had in 2008 (one year ago today) was that I was riding in a spaceship with a man who wrote an introduction to one of Harold Bloom's books. We were flying over an arctic wasteland. The writer used some kind of oxygen spray to breathe and the rest of us had breathing attachments in our mouths. I was familiar with the writer's introduction and what he wrote of the region.

Then Chris and I checked into a hotel and asked if Harold Bloom checked in yet. He had, but refused the suite for a simpler room instead. This was consistent with his book. It was 10:49. I was worried that breakfast would end in a minute. We made arrangements with HB to meet us for lunch before the 11:30 wedding we were to attend. I still had to get ready for the wedding.

ok, this is more terrifying than the hippie who wants me to go back to school and refinance my home

Don't even get me started on the "heart of PA" -- that is not the type of love I wish to surround myself.

What's next FB? Glue factory and pasture advertisements?

Not to get all personal here, but I can still bear children and um, wipe myself. Am I really that close to retirement age?

I miss the "hey fatso . . . prune face . . . pee-stained grin . . . pancake titty" advertisements I used to receive on FB when I was 36. Bring them back, please!

Personal Best/Suckiest of 2009

Best

Stockholm with Gideon

My niece, Tabitha

Finishing God Damsel

Publishing Karl Parkers' PERSONATIONSKIN

My awesome, demented, freakish dreams

Jeff Goldblum on Law and Order: Criminal Intent

My spiffy azurite pendulum and moldavite pendant

Losing 10 pounds via energy visualization

Breaking up with pilates and returning to yoga

New blog!

Rebeccamas with Chris, Gideon and family

37


Suckiest

Gideon's appendectomy (thankfully he made a full recovery)

Gideon's numerous childhood illnesses & emergencies (swine flu, pink eye, button stuck in ear, etc.)

Breaking my ass and the following, chronic ass pain

SWAYZE

The cancellation of The Sarah Connor Chronicles (fuck you TV execs, fuck you to apocalypse)

The ending of Torchwood: Children of Earth (Torchwood, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME)

final call for anthology

Only a few more days to psychically submit to The Reb Livingston Dream Poet Anthology 2009. Every poet who enters my psyche is accepted into the anthology.

Unless I don't want to publicly admit that you entered my psyche.

This past week I dreamed of two poets who already secured their places in the anthology. They get an A for effort, but no special prize. You only have to appear once in my dreams to make the anthology. You don't even have to really appear, just the mention of your name or book counts.

I should warn you that there's been a bit of violence in my dreams as of late: shoot-outs, murders, assaults, bear attacks, attempted murder by bug spray, boiling mice, blood-worms that look a lot like penises appearing in spaghetti, etc. . .

I cannot guarantee the safety or integrity of your psychic avatar.

I'm liking 37 a lot so far.

Definitely better than 36 which was infinitely better than 35 and so on.

To all you 20-somethings fretting about turning 30:

You're all a bunch of ninny fools.

Your 20's are a big, heaping, steaming pile of sheet.

You're just not worldly or experienced enough to realize it.

Someday, when you become worldly and experienced, like me, you'll understand what I'm saying.

Flush that sheet, wash your hands and get cooking in your creative kitchen.

Christmas morning 9 a.m. (after 14 hours of sleep)



Christmas afternoon at 1 p.m.



Too much holiday excitement!



* * *

Today is the last day for my poems at No Tell Motel. After midnight tonight, you'll have to go slumming through the archives to read them.

I recommend that everyone spend Rebeccamas week at No Tell.

I told him he could stay up at the party until 10:00 pm.

He didn't make it to 6:30 pm.

I hope he feels better in the morning.



Too much Christmas spirit!

That's right, I'm celebrating my birthday all week long.

Really.

It's all I'm going to talk about.

Today I had a hot chocolate and split a polar bear cookie with Gideon.

He ate the bear's brain, butt and toes.

I ate the rest.

I dreamed of bears over the weekend.

A black bear went after Chris and a panda after me. As the panda approached, I fell to the ground, pretty much into a fetal position.

I was terrified.

The panda put his arm around me and snuggled.

What a nice panda.

That panda made me feel much better about myself.

I have no idea what the black bear did with Chris.

What can you do?

My high school Spanish teacher used to say: Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you.

But back to my birthday . . .


Steve Fellner gave me a gift in his interview at Almost Dorothy.

Thank you Steve & Neil.

I turn 37 on Friday.

So I gave myself what I always wanted.

A week at No Tell Motel.

At the end of the year I will post my 2009 Dream Poet Anthology. Just a few more days for you to make your psychic appearance (in such a way that I remember upon waking). The deadline is December 31, 2009 8 a.m. ET.

The Reb Livingston Dream Poet Anthology series is the most coveted and prestigious list any poet can dream of making. Poets who made this list in the past went on to do very important and impressive things.

Good luck.

This morning Gideon selected his own outfit because he wanted to be really good-looking.



The shirt says Idaho.

The puppet is from Paris.

The binoculars are from Target.

My tailbone continues to cause grief, but it's considerably better now. I still can't sit for long periods of time, so if you're waiting to hear back from me, well, hopefully soon.

If you received any correspondence from me this past week, appreciate the pain I endured making that happen.

Pain I endured for you.

I no longer hate everyone.

I'm merely annoyed.

The party Friday night was fun -- and I barely felt my tailbone.

Because beforehand we had a tour of the Newsuem.

The tailbone cure: an hour of walking on a concrete floor in heels in a cold building

The foot pain and shivers created solidarity among the ladies.

We all looked very pretty in our mutual suffering.

Saturday afternoon I received a call from The Other Rebecca.

The first thing I said was "how do I know it's you?"

Life is full of surprises.

After we hung up, I said to Chris, "you have no idea what a big deal that call was!"

He assured me that he did indeed understand.

He's such a know-it-all.

It was like receiving a call saying I won Publishers Clearinghouse.

Except my bank account balance stayed the same.

On my way out the door to my reading on Sunday, I slipped on some ice causing some serious tailbone pain. All week it's been Oh my aching ass! I can't sit for long periods of time. I can't bend very well. It still hurts, but today the pain is finally lessening. I have a pile of NTM submissions that I did nothing with, despite my intentions, because well, right now I sort of hate everybody and figure that extends doubly-so to poems. Everyone is annoying. Jokes aren't funny. I'm moving and acting like an elderly, cranky scrooge. I must be a real treat because Gideon keeps informing me that my "bum doesn't hurt anymore" -- he wants me to get over it already. He doesn't understand, healing takes time.

But things are looking up. This afternoon I found a dress for tomorrow's Google holiday party with ease. It made me really happy. Some Advil, a bunch of champagne and tomorrow I bet I'll feel outstanding.

stalked by a hippie

Some dirty hippie keeps showing up in advertisements directed at me:


Today on FB:



and also on Weather.com:



Anyone recognize him? It kind of looks like a mugshot. Is he a famous musician or something? Or am I totally unhip to the latest and greatest advertising methods? Is this the face the government is now using to encourage people to go back to school and refinance their homes?

Saturday

and introducing my niece, Tabitha Nicole:

Open Door Reading Series: Deborah Ager and Reb Livingston

I'm reading with Deborah Ager on Sunday, December 6th at 2pm at The Writer's Center, 4508 Walsh Street, Bethesda, MD 20815

Details here

coming to get you

Yesterday I dreamed that two women and I were protecting something. It had a Buffy the Vampire Slayer feel. There were men shooting at us. Then more elite assassins came to kill all of us. I tried to protect and hide the original assassins from the new, better ones. One lesser assassin even argued with me as I tried to hide him in a laundry basket. I was like "dude, I forgive you, let it go and let me help you." The elite assassins found us, but they didn't kill us, they held our mouths open and put in a drop of something. Was it a truth serum? A mind control tonic? Poison? I don't know. But not long after that I saw my reflection in the mirror--I was an older, frumpy red-head with HUGE dandruff flakes. I felt unattractive so when the swarmy Englishman was hitting on me, I thought it must be a trick and responded sarcastically. Then another older woman told me to just hit that already. After I announced that I hope Frodo leaves Middle Earth and comes back to Upper Earth, I went out to a car to make out with the Englishman--which was pretty gross, actually. Frumpy and dandruff aside, I could have done MUCH better. Afterwards I looked out the car window, pointed Hiro out to the Englishman and said "He's the time traveler."

* * *

Not my first Buffy-inspired dream, but my first Frodo dream. It's also my first Hiro dream, but not my first time traveler dream. In October 2008 I dreamed a bunch of annoying people were on a path looking for Dr. Who. I honked my horn and told them to get out of the way, the Doctor wasn't here. Then I mixed paints, making "hero" colors, like Wonder Woman. I tried to mix a peacock blue. The blue stood for men, red for women and white held them together, I think, or maybe the blue held them together.

I always mix up important details. Or maybe I finally got it right after all this time and that's why Hiro appeared.

My first Doctor dream was in June 2008. He was sitting at my childhood bus stop. I really wanted him to notice me. I don't think he did. I walked up the street to my home, it was a sunny beautiful day, my grandfather joyfully waited for me in our front yard. Then it became night and I was behind the house trying to park my car, but a red and white 50's car was in the spot. A woman named "MaryLou" shot at me with a shotgun. She chased me as I drove away. Then I found myself in a bedroom. I woke up and realized I was dreaming (in the dream). I heard a rustling. MaryLou was in the closet, not fully formed yet. She was this sickly, wretched humanoid. I smashed her head against a dresser and yelled for her to leave me alone. She said she'd come back from time to time. That infuriated me. I wanted her gone for good. I pummeled her harder and yelled "I'm coming to get you, MaryLou."

That's one of those dreams that when you wake up from, you go down your sanity checklist to make sure everything is in order.

Maybe I'm Smeagol and MaryLou is my Gollum?

Frodo, come back to Upper Earth!

It's time.

I got Gideon an advent calendar this year.

I never had one growing up, so it's a new concept for me, but it seemed like fun.

It was an impulse purchase. A $2 cardboard one I saw at the craft store.

This delighted Gideon.

I was delighted.

That's a lot of delight for $2!

I am a delight bargain hunter.

Yesterday we opened the first box: a piece of chocolate.

Sort of what I expected and it was exciting for Gideon.

He took a bite of the chocolate and handed it to me.

I thought, what a generous little boy! An angel!

How delightful!

Until I tasted the chocolate.

It was full of chemicals (from the plastic casing, I assume).

It was not edible.

I spat it out.

So for the next 23 days we'll continue opening the calendar, looking at the chocolate and ceremonially dropping it in the garbage can.

Then I'll give him a few jellybeans or a lollipop.

Not nearly as delightful.

* * *

So everyone is twittering about a Sherman Alexie interview on Colbert. Lots of harsh comments. I'm going to dust off the old TiVo and see what folks are talking about.

Yeah, I know I can watch it online.

* * *

I asked for a Nook for Christmas. I hear they're sold out.

I guess we'll see how magical Santa really is.

* * *

One of my projects for 2010 is making all the No Tell titles available as eBooks.

I'm kind of embarrassed I haven't done it yet, but, well, figuring out new technology and formatting stuff takes time and I've been awfully short on that.

* * *

I got a Google Wave invite a while back and couldn't figure out how to update my profile picture.

Or what I was even supposed to do with it.

One of my projects for 2010 is figuring out Google Wave.

* * *

Technology IS threatening!