The Red Dream

“My red room now lets in the blue…”

(please enjoy the smooth music of Angelo Badalamenti to set the mood while you read )

The Red Dream

Outside my window, life is glowing like smooth jazz,
a sax solo structure of framed glass that reflects my curves, my long curls.

All I know is everything is going up or coming down,
and I don’t know or care really what is happening.
My red room now lets in the blue… like a doorman suspiciously lets in strangers…
To preserve the pureness of its sensual nature, my red room says “no” to too much blue. Purple fantasies will wash in like a lovesick curtain call, staining what was perfection, changing a room it was not invited into, a room that was just beginning to ignite in hues of unexpected passion-red. Wounded hearts wear purple, and mine is healthfully on fire. Just the opposite in fact from purple’s nostalgia, and I find the right spot, to position myself and feel the red  light stroking and warm against my cheeks.

I drink down in one gulp what he left for me at my bedside, the crimson liquor, just waiting for something to happen… and now I think it is. Something is happening to me and I  am starting to lose  hold of what is solid and grounded. I feel my skirt begin to wrap and curl around me… it squeezes my calves and then breathes like a sea anemone, giddiness overtakes me and I close my eyes smiling, the idiot smile of hallucinatory bliss.
I lift off and my feet point and close like the stem of a flower heading for a vase. I am all on point and the red honey liquid begins to do fantastic things to me. I start to forget everything, why I am here, who pressed a finger to my lips and said..”just drink it like a good girl” or who was that figure behind the curtain who gave me the little glass and called me “good girl.” I forget all of that, but begin to remember so may things I never knew. Then the slow rotation takes me up and begins to twist me around..a little pinwheel being blown by the shadow of a stranger’s breath.

I twirl around and around, a dark red rotating figure, like a rare dancing flower from undersea.  I feel now the window hovering only slightly above the floorboards that catch the light from outside like a projector, the scenes texture the wood panels so that the floor appears alive. I cannot look down because I will lose the last thread holding me that still remembers my name. I feel my legs and arms pulled out, all the while I am hovering and spinning, but now I am a lovely red clad piece of game, turning on a fiery spit and the windows suddenly lose their glass in imploding bits of back-draft and I am getting sucked outside into the blue…


“in imploding bits of back-draft, I am getting sucked outside.”

I knew that pale blue would change everything, my mood is no longer liquid acquiescence, but instead painfully purple and flooded with such distant memories of cold calculated nights, that I curl up into my spinning flower and try to find the exit from these twisted bars of neon tubing caging me in pale blue. My scarlet dress of heat, now cold and dyed royally with harvested mollusks who gave up their tint unwillingly.

“dyed royally with harvested mollusks…”

All my efforts, all my panicked desires, are to return to the safety of my red room and seek out comfort to soothe my terror, having been sucked out of it against my will, and left trapped in this color I had feared. I fly, banging impotently against steel barriers, but a small ray of pinkish light catches my eyes and I twist and pinwheel towards it in my newly learned way of traveling. It must be the honey blood red fluid that allows me to hover with no friction, or limitations, and I will myself to pump it quickly through my blood stream and give me strength beyond what I know I have. When my flapping skirt panels reach the pink doorway, it opens wide for me and I am surrounded by strong massaging fingers, that mold and press my thighs soothing my terror until I close my eyes and forget even my name. I am lulled into pleasure where purple no longer has a hold on me and the red begins to rise up again and color my form.

I am surrounded by strong massaging fingers that mold and press my thighs

This is what the red room promised me, pure sensuality and hours of slow discovery by unknown hands who without a melodious note, play me as if I were the instrument their fingers had always longed to strum. Each member of the pillowed orchestra takes a solo on me with only their fingertips and their mastery. I am the only sound in the room when I feel sharply yanked backwards and pulled away from these musical hands that reach out one last time to play a finale, before I am summoned to return to where it all began.

“…summoned back to where it all began>”

I burst through the glass-less windows once again, but this time the beauty and comfort of my red room welcomes me. I am still full of pink rising energy and the blood red drink the strange man gave to me, is still very much swirling around inside. My thighs feel flushed and lovingly pinched as I land gracefully back on my unmade bed in the corner. The drapes now quiver behind my sideboard, revealing a trouser leg that begins to push slowly through, parting the blowing curtains.
To be continued…

Karima Hoisan
April 7th, 2011
Renacer Misty Shores, SL

*please see my comment

This entry was posted in Prose Vignettes, Slices of Second Life, The Colored Dreams, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to The Red Dream

  1. As I have said in earlier posts, the sim Locus by DB Bailey (RL architect David Denton) is always an inspiration when I visit it. This sim and photographs of it figure in many of my posts. I am hoping to do a series of colored dream vignettes, more prose than poetry and more sensual than my usual eclectic fair. I hope you enjoy this one and will stay-tuned for the following colored dreams soon to be born.
    Here are some urls to see more of his work.
    the sim Locus


  2. Dzin says:

    Definitely sensuous and intriguing (pass the cup of red liquid, surely you did not drink it all (smiles)! You are in the ‘zone’ with your poetic power, so varied yet recognizable as *YOU*. Awaits the continuation with curiosity… no doubt, I am captivated 🙂


    • smiles at Diz..oops I did drink it all..but maybe in the next episode there will be another sweet treat for your your drinking pleasure.. I am glad you liked it..It is for a larger project that I am collaborating on with DB Bailey..stay tuned sis:)


  3. Torben Mølgaard-Andersen says:

    …again music….man, you paint with words…very feminine but with some strong masculine bass play….I enjoy speaking the words instead of just reading the poem….


    • Sigfred, thank you for revisiting my blog:) Yes this prose piece is a bit different for me, but the sensual nature of these boxes made me write it as a small prose piece.. In my RL, music follows me everywhere I go..I think it is a wonderful dimension to poetry too or any mood we try to create with our chosen brand of art form.
      I know that from now on when I hear Sinead sing Raglan Road, no matter where I am, I will see a sniper looming in the distance..I learned to paint with words because I have no talent with acrylics and oils..I am in awe for those(like yourself) who are gifted in this way…


  4. This is about the incredible power of love, being a woman who can bring new ones into this world, and the full force and fury of seduction, desire, needs, and the seeming caprice of a lover. The full force of the creative desire to bring forth new life here in its rawest form-and most powerful. And how it all gets wrapped up in need for companionship and desire for a mate to build a nest with.

    The raw red vibrating throbbing desire so powerfully planted by the God force to procreate and yet to be loved simultaneously. The fires! I see them slowly growing in my own 11 YO granddaughters. They will dance with red fire as well in their time. Intertwined with this is scorned desire…and love. Burning passion damped by connection missed…or rejected. The frustrated eternal drive to love, be loved, and to create life within yourself. To renew the pattern of life here on Earth. This is about all the pieces of the human dance. In its full fury and beauty.

    Desire wrapped in fears. Betrayal. Disappointment. The baby that might have been…..This whole dance really goes on outside our perceptions. But within our sphere. It is our own parallel universe. But it is more than just creating babies. It is about creation in general. About everything we hope to create. Want to create. Plan to create. Our works…equipment, poems, songs….photos…paintings. Sculpture. Music.

    The full force of nature and God is not limited to shy words and thoughts….it is about engorged genitals and a driving desire to wrap around another….to eat life! To consume knowledge and create with full potency and power. To bring thought forms into real existence. The full power of creation! We are not challenging God by doing this…we are being mentored by God for our own destiny. For a future time.

    At the end of the Earth cycle of endless reincarnations thru learnings and experiences….we are given the final tools of creation. We are given our own canvass on which to really create a world as we invision it. If we learned our craft here, we will create our own magic. We are being mentored here. Not punished. What you envision is also a glimpse of the future. Of the time you will fly and dance and float using red energy. So, develop your tools well!

    Your thought-colors are also maps. You are not seeing a drugged perception….but a manifestation of what the actual energy would look like if you could see it with super-human eyes. Your intuitive eyes. The flames are real. The blue disappointments are real. We all dance between those two. And life gets painted (and singed) with both colors.

    Desire…need…creation…disappointment….hope…..the warm blast of reproduction desires…everything that makes this life real. All as instilled by God. God made all these things and infused us with all of them. It is not about stamping them out as some believe. It is really about managing them. These are all aspects of human experience. All good…all need care and managing. That is all a part of learning.

    Note: I have chosen to e-mail this first. You may not find it appropriate to post on your blog. As you can see, I am not shy about saying what I think. Out of respect and deference to you….I wanted you to see it first. Maybe it is too much for posting. You choose. It is what I think-but I wanted you to see it first. Surprised by my ending?

    This is the future. I was surprised myself. It does give one a jolt. Your strength and bravery makes you a natural leader. One who speaks to many. I want to be one of many advisors who can help guide you if you choose. Or, maybe encourage you. This is your choice. I cannot choose for you. But, I can tell you the truth. A leader needs all the information they can muster.

    I am surprised I am telling you all this. You probably think I am quite deluded. I am just saying what I know. What you do with it is up to you. I can tell you…you are held tightly by many who love you and many who have come before…..


    • Tube… thank you for this amazing comment. I also hear your voice booming like that of a modern prophet who speaks with power and authority, whenever you let that muse of commentary out to fly freely. I feel honored that my writing in the past and now, inspires this kind of energy and deep thought flow in you. You always see my poetry in the most unique and very macro-cosmic way..and I look forward to your honest camera angle and sharp- eyed focus on my writing..
      Thank you for being here Tube..and your friendship and guidance


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  7. missy rothmanay says:

    Yesss its always the red room which draws us to it and draws from us in return. Who could resist such a room without floors or ceilings but instead the promise of heights.
    I loved it !!!


  8. Pingback: The Colored Dreams Part 2 ~ Chapter 1 “Transition” | Digital Rabbit Hole

  9. Wow! You have such a vivid imagination, Karima!

    Liked by 1 person

  10. ❤️❤️❤️


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