Julia Rose Lewis
COGNITIVE UNCONSCIOUS 1
Upon opening a large charm, for a large woman, I spied a miniature living room. The sofa
measured in millimeters; the house itself was maybe centimeters. I speak as I create in
grayscale. The charm was sterling, I knew, not gold, not platinum. Please trust me, I’m telling
Once upon a time, I went up the lookout tower of Cardiff castle. Curled up like a kitten on the
old stone roof, I couldn’t come down. The staircase was spinning. The stones were blurring. I
couldn’t hold tight enough to the railing. Here were the steps in my first apartment that my kitten
fell down on her face. The steps were too small, too narrow, too steep. Were these stairs a
phallic symbol? They measured taller than wide, of course. How many deaths in medieval
times were due to falling down the stone staircases?
The house charm only comes in eighteen karat gold. There wasn’t even a carrot in that kitchen.
Natural carrots are yellow white. The color of tarnished white gold in fact. Carrot flowers
Queen Anne’s Lace. What fish is the color of tarnished sterling silver? I can not cook this pain
anyway. If art, then fact. Trust me, I’m telling you stories.
COGNITIVE UNCONSCIOUS 2
Abracadabra translates to I create as I speak. Looking deeper into the house charm, my world,
drained of color. I was seeking the kitchen. The house was coming nearer and farther off as
though I was using a loupe. The color receded as the house approached, but my hands held only
the house. This is known as Alice in Wonderland syndrome. It occurs as migraine surges, white
caps on the brain. But I was definitely asleep. The roof of the house flipped up lightship-basket-
like. Trust me, I’m telling you stories. I was peering into the house from the top,
why bring up my old fear of heights.
The shiny, tin-white floor of the house was rushing towards me. The house was growing again.
Larger and closer. Larger and clearer. I slipped through the loupe, electron-like. Closer and
clearer. The house moved forward. The opening in the roof grew to swallow my face. Trust
me, I’m telling you stories. Face first and then I was inside the silver-white kitchen. I was
starving. I thought I should shrink to the size of this house, this sink, and this bed. So the grey
lady says, trust me, I’m telling you stories.
If Paul Grobstein was the white rabbit and I am silver, then what does this dream mean? In the
silver kitchen, there should be a silver scaled fish, natural carrots, eggs, butter, onions and never
yukon gold potatoes. I am just inside the little grey lady in the sea. Trust me, I’m telling you