Dreams Not To Kill By Poem by Julia Luber

At one point there was a dream behind it all:
vibrant, colorful, detailed, practically touchable.
But it was strictly measured by a human will behind it.
And strictly the force of an imagination. Complex though.

A dream as vivid as the sun itself, like light itself.
And how did that happen. It must have been highly
scienticized, practically manufactured. Put gently-
something from a different world, perhaps a different planet.

Perhaps this place we are, this life, this planet was that different
at that time. That that 'dream' so vivid, clear, comprehensive and complete
could exist as some resurrection of what felt like life would always have
as a dimension of a dreaming mind. But listen to what happened and know why.

In dreams, we are all different. We all want different things. But we live by
the same language. And some people somehow align themselves with those
who put a cabal on reality. They actually implement others to be their slaves
and Dream for them: and compose-what represents: the sexiest, the most powerful.

Indeed, their senses need to be 'told' what is the best. They have made of the basest
human functions a kind of instructed collateral. It is worth this much to reality. It has
this level of power. It stands that much for something to somebody. It is that intense
and severe of a private attachment that you all have turned into the public attachment.

The public attachment of money. Somehow you exchanged somebody's actual privacy space
for this public attachment of money. No doubt there were many sophisticated measures pulled in this labyrinthian disgrace. No doubt how secret and undetectable this really is will
never be able to be truly exposed. Indeed, silent dreams, wishes, connections - - wait.

This wasn't silent. This was about something above silence. Something higher and lighter.
This was a dream with perfect pitch. But of an air wave frequency, none were sensitive enough
to be able to discern. So you had it simplified. Turned into a generic. Raped of its privacy and
particularity and personalism. Classily extolled, this is called a Framework.

And there are so many fabulous and enlightened language tricks that are pulled strictly for this archetypal claimancy. But at one point it was private and it meant something genuine.
Now it is not. Now it is part of a perversely contaminated public rape of its sanctity. Now it
is something that a lot of people who think themselves profoundly sophisticated and correct

have hijacked to stand for a force of strictly their own professional contamination. Now it has become so bureaucratic and insensitive to ever haven been a dream at all. But it was at one point. Yes, indeed, it was, at one point, strictly a dream. A dream ripped from its sleeping eyes and catapulted to a grotesque and embezzled and contaminated public display.

And they rape it twenty four hours a day. And they have found, for themselves, everything that they are through it. There are numbers in this dream that has been turned into a publicly
owned possession….a force of time and history now owned by the enemies of the original
Dreamer. It has been Eminent Domained to be Public Property and designate of an enemy

force. Understand that you can not imagine. That there is nothing left of the Dream this once was. That there is nothing left of the dignity nor the power nor the right. That what was once a Dream has become an offensive level of antagonistic and aggressive wrongful ownership. That your dreams, in stealing mine, were coerced by a violation you could never imagine nor

understand. And through this complete misunderstanding and insensitivity and wrong, sadly, it is how such strength of your own was achieved and attained. And my Dream was not what it has been turned into. It was not so crass and obvious and in the face of people who really should be home sleeping and entertaining Dreams of their own, to Live, not to KILL by.