Port Pensivities: Eggs — or as I say it, ‘eyren’

Port: Bin 27. This is seriously the only port I know. I am not even sure if it be a good one. All that I ken is that I adore the sweetness, and grapiness. If anyone has a better/different port to recommend, I am here awaiting such news.


Almost a full month, and it hit me: my first real craving. I woke up wanting eyren. Sunny side up on toast with mayonnaise, salt, pepper, and garlic; for short, an open-faced egg sandwich is that which I wanted. I could taste the creaminess of the yolks. I argued with myself quite a lot. It was not until I remembered that A) I would break a religious oath, B) my boyfriend would be disappointed in me — he would not say it…or maybe he would..,but he would be strongly disappointed —, and C) I had written to a friend yesterday of my progress. I likened my taste for meat, cheese, milk, eyren, and other things which are not vegan to a kraken. This kraken’s name is Hungrijaną, or ‘hunger, to’ in Proto-Germanic. He is a testy one. He sleeps in my lower left gut. He opens his eyes to grumble a deep roar, from the chest, ‘Soon.’

In short, I am addicted to non-vegan foods according to some. In my humbly not-a-nutritionist way, I actively love food. It speaks to me on a spiritual level. I do not mean that in the vague millennial sense. I actually feel like a better person when I cook for someone whom I love. Some may call it being a Cancerian cusp. Some may call it social indoctrination since my mother’s family is Southern — where I get my craving for fried foods —, and my father’s side is Germanic — where I get my craving for meat —. I think that today is when I decided on my breakfast 1 March. I want a traditional fry-up. I am not sure if it shall be a full English, or a full Scottish. I suppose that depends if I can find blood sausage — which is amazing, no matter who disparages it.

Why though? Why do I ramble — since this is a pensivity…and NOT a rumination — about food? Well, I had an interesting dream night prior. Before I get into it, here is a quick run-down on my family — who are pertinent to the ‘plot’ of the said dream:

1)Grandpa Misner: died 2010 in real life

2) Mutter (Mother): alive, and my mother. She, also, is the only child to my Grandpa Misner, and all of her siblings are half-siblings.

3) My sister: alive, and my sister…also the first one to whom I came out as a faggot, and as a witch. She is also devoutly evangelical.

4)My Aunt Pat: my favourite aunt. It is well-known. She, and her husband — Uncle Tom —, are two of the few people whom I want to impress. I doubt that I do because I am very…different from the rest of the family. I, therefore, now am to have them respect me. She also lives in California whilst most of everyone else live in Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Texas area.

5) My cousin Jaime: Pat’s daughter. Amazing woman. Taught me the basics of makeup. One of the few cousins — and even fewer Texans — who I think really gets me.

6) Granny Misner: alive in real life, when Grandpa died she went into maternal mode. I am not sure if she has ever mourned. Maybe she killed him, and is living the high life, maybe she cries late at night. I really do not know.


Okay. So…in the dream, current me (or, as current of an image as any dream has. Anyne else’s dreams lag behind haircuts, exercise, and the like? I will admit that I tend to be brunette in my dreams, and skinnier. Though that will change as Hungrijaną says, ‘Soon’.) is at my Grandpa Misner’s funeral. He just died. Granny is stereotypical widow: wailing, melodramatic, wearing black…basically she is the widow who (whom? The copula always confuses me) I think I would be. I would put Italian soap operas to shame. Novellas would have nothing on my wails. She was wailing to put banshees to shame. I digress. Granny is in the background. Mutter is off to the side. She is distraught. My sister is sitting next to her. I am next to my sister.

Aunt Pat comes storming into the area — it is a large sort-of Christian warehouse, with a lot of tables. More of a reception hall than a funeral home…but it works. —. She is livid because no one told her that Grandpa had died. She starts yelling at Mutter. She takes a good ten minutes of dream time doing this. I, in typical fashion have telekinetic powers…this is seriously typical of my dreams…, start defending Mutter by doing small things to inconvenience Aunt Pat. I throw a wet towel in her face — subtle, I know —. She smokes in the dream (she has quite to my knowledge in real life), so I dumped her cigar box off the table (she smoked cigarettes).

Her daughter Jaime brought food for her own family — I mentioned that that side is very Southern, and so we eat a lot at funerals —.  It looked amazing. It was rice, spinach, and mushroom casserole. It looked, and smelt divine. That family unit is off by themselves. I am still doing small things to inconvenience them.

My sister, all the while, is putting two-and-two together. She starts watching me. I look at her as I try to make more things move, and it stops working. She says to me, ‘Stop your witchy things.’

I, deadpan, look at her, and say, ‘You forget rule one of being around me: do NOT fuck with Mother.’

I then wake up.




If people represent aspects of myself in dreams, I need to look at the aspects each individual represents.

Grandpa: The parts of me that I wish were dead, or the parts of me that are dead. I think that it is the latter for reasons explained below.

Granny: The mourning of the loss of self. I have troubling nostalgia, and I have to constantly remind myself of the horrors of times past. Unfortunately, the horrors of the present do nothing to placate this.

Mutter: In the dream, my mother was more timid than I have ever seen her in real life. I think that she represents the parts of me which are reluctantly okay with the status quo. Motherhood is also reminiscent of purity. Not in the ‘untainted’ sense, but in the ‘home’ sense. The sense of oneself where one’s roots originate.

My sister: I grew up in a christian household. To my knowledge, I am the only non-christian in the family. There are times were I wonder if I should do something, and I have to remind myself — as I reminded my sister — that I am not the person who is timid, and fucking with those more timid is an inherently amoral position to take.

Aunt Pat: She is my favourite aunt, but she is also the strongest of her siblings — no offense, Mom, if you read this —. She is the first one to accept me, but that also means that she is the voice of the family — no pressure, Pat —. She is pure feminine strength. She is part of the reason (my mother, sister, Xena, and the like are also reasons) for which I am very judgemental of weakness. I grew up not knowing weak people. so I have very little in common with them…even though, in frankness, I feel as if I be the weakest link in the family.

Jaime: She was my favourite cousin. I liked her so much that I remember the family thought I had some incestuous crush on her. I really just wanted to be like her. She is the one who does not scream, does not yell, but just emanates herself.

Uncle Tom: The manliest man who ever manned. He is, in my experience, the best example of non-toxic masculinity. A marine, and armyman (pure military that man) who sat me down when I thought about going into the military, and told me the best advice I have ever heard, ‘If you go into the Marines, they will crush everything about you that makes you you. You do not need to be a soldier to be a warrior, or a man.’ The lack of him in the dream to me is that my masculinity is not in question.


Putting this all together, I feel that the dream is trying to tell me that I am on the right track to be me. In a rather morbid way, the dream released tension towards my family — I ended up calling my mutter for the first time in a month —, and that helps me today.


In a overly bare way, I have told you one of my night-visions. I hope that everyone has a good sleep.

Also, drink more wine.

Be safe.

-J.A. Victor Wilson

One thought on “Port Pensivities: Eggs — or as I say it, ‘eyren’

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s