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flamingswordMy once-forgotten dreams are getting memorable again. Beautiful and haunting. It's part of why I've been feeling the urge to write, to verbalize myself, talk into the void in the hopes that the truth comes spilling from my mouth like Athena from the head of Zeus. I need to start recording them and sifting through them for the patterns again to see what I'm trying to tell myself.
July 22nd I dreamt that Erin was my mother, and she was knocking at the front door, so I got out of bed to let her in. And when I opened the front door I realized that I was actually awake and at the open front door and had gotten out of bed in some sort of hynogogic state. At least I fell back asleep after? And I'm noticing a weird pattern of twos in the dates of the memorable dreams.
July 2nd I had a long magical realism dream of traveling through the faerie markets with a group of friends. We kept losing our map, and being really hungry because you can't eat in faerie even though everything smells good, and buying things like candles in stores for ornaments for holidays that didn't exist anymore, or maybe didn't exist yet? Blue bought a new name off an old friend he met out there.
June 22nd I have the strangest dreams when I’m in pain in my sleep. Magical realism. I was a boy in love with one of the drowning Fae, and my school took a trip I didn't want to go on to a museum of history and art and magic, and I climbed into one of the displays and found a bottle of half-drunk wedding wine on the roof.
I kept trying to tell my friends who I was in love with but the words wouldn’t come out. So I went home and laid on the couch in the back bedroom, the coldest room in the house, where the window is always open a crack, and listened to the children play in the river behind the house, where I had once seen another child die. The whole dream was like drowning, very very slowly.
In my life, when there is shit going down that my conscious mind is not acknowledging, it comes out in my dreams. My dreams try to tell mt waking self what I don't want to look at, like the time when I had recurring dreams about killing a friend of mine that I was no longer in unrequited love with. Those took forever to parse the dream logic of, but were basically me telling myself to stop obsessing before the measures I had taken to turn off that section of my personality failed and feelings came back and shit went down. Dream logic does not tell stories directly, not in my brain. It tells them mirrored and inside out or upside down or in strange emotional reversals that make dream-logic but not so much waking logic.
And if I never have another dream where I wake up in David Lowery's coffin with his dead body that would be nice. I still have shuddery hella feels from that.
July 22nd I dreamt that Erin was my mother, and she was knocking at the front door, so I got out of bed to let her in. And when I opened the front door I realized that I was actually awake and at the open front door and had gotten out of bed in some sort of hynogogic state. At least I fell back asleep after? And I'm noticing a weird pattern of twos in the dates of the memorable dreams.
July 2nd I had a long magical realism dream of traveling through the faerie markets with a group of friends. We kept losing our map, and being really hungry because you can't eat in faerie even though everything smells good, and buying things like candles in stores for ornaments for holidays that didn't exist anymore, or maybe didn't exist yet? Blue bought a new name off an old friend he met out there.
June 22nd I have the strangest dreams when I’m in pain in my sleep. Magical realism. I was a boy in love with one of the drowning Fae, and my school took a trip I didn't want to go on to a museum of history and art and magic, and I climbed into one of the displays and found a bottle of half-drunk wedding wine on the roof.
I kept trying to tell my friends who I was in love with but the words wouldn’t come out. So I went home and laid on the couch in the back bedroom, the coldest room in the house, where the window is always open a crack, and listened to the children play in the river behind the house, where I had once seen another child die. The whole dream was like drowning, very very slowly.
In my life, when there is shit going down that my conscious mind is not acknowledging, it comes out in my dreams. My dreams try to tell mt waking self what I don't want to look at, like the time when I had recurring dreams about killing a friend of mine that I was no longer in unrequited love with. Those took forever to parse the dream logic of, but were basically me telling myself to stop obsessing before the measures I had taken to turn off that section of my personality failed and feelings came back and shit went down. Dream logic does not tell stories directly, not in my brain. It tells them mirrored and inside out or upside down or in strange emotional reversals that make dream-logic but not so much waking logic.
And if I never have another dream where I wake up in David Lowery's coffin with his dead body that would be nice. I still have shuddery hella feels from that.