Glossolalia

The images come to me as I am awakening. Mostly as non-intelligible nonsense, written on sheets of paper hung haphazardly on the walls surrounding my sleeping self. They are not middle-age floaters, but very visible and authentic. Sometimes they come with an indescribable sound. Sometimes I understand the sounds completely, at other times I do not. At times the wall is filled with the images of these words or visions or interpretations of dreams. At times they appear as singular detached graffiti that move and dance about, following my line of sight as I move my head and adjust my eyes to the dawn light that is entering through my bedroom window. What are these? Blessings or curses? They look like cut up strands of DNA sequences, or better yet movie film edits that end up being discarded after being rejected from lengthier completed stories. That would explain a lot. The noises and the movement, the symbolism found throughout the unfinished phrases. Sinister are the ones that I remember, nightmarish and fear inducing. Like those “no way out” Stephen King novels that I hate. Back masked discarded film edits.