I apologize for the recent absence of thought; my only real excuse is that I haven’t felt the need to share anything as of late.
Last night witnessed me falling asleep at the ungodly hour of ten, only to wake up restless and entirely confused a mere four and a half hours hence. The dreams I witnessed are a bit foggy now, considering the recent return of insomnia, but I’ll recount them in their entirety and attempt to decipher their meanings in the process.
Yes, I’m that bored.
The first played out like rather like a movie, and this dream was perceived in equal parts third and first person. I occupied the body of someone I’ve heard that I somewhat resemble, they were friends with a man independently wealthy, and “we” awoke at some upper class shopping center, on the benches of the food court, I believe. My clothes were in tatters, as was his, and all knowledge of what transpired the night before was beyond me.
Probably a fight, given the cuts and bruises. Maybe something else, but I was smiling just the same. Yes, it was a fight. I’m seeing flashbacks of it now.
How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?
A part of me has been itching for another for years, ever since I fought my “father”, but I’ve suppressed these barbaric feelings with a sometimes forced compassion, and the knowledge that, given my diminutive stature, I’d either get my ass kicked or have to really hurt someone in order to come out on top. Also, come on, we’re in the 21st century!
This dream skipped ahead some and I found myself in line at some coffee shop with my associate, and, upon looking into the mirror, I realized that I must’ve shopped in the interim, because I was wearing gender neutral clothing, much like Ryutaro Arimura of Plastic Tree. I felt so balanced, and physically liberated, much as I do with my longer hair now.
Then this dream abruptly ended, and I “awoke” in a rustic, rural setting not unlike Purgatory. A different man. Scruffy, and wizened. Some kind of farm, perhaps. As I recall it now, there was a hollowed-out pickup trip, with the top removed for late night stargazing in the fields. That’s one thing I’ll definitely miss.
Light pollution isn’t so bad out here at night, you know.
It was a day seemingly like any other, and I was lounging in the truck, my feet dangling off the side of it, when he called out to me and pulled up a chair, a trinket box in tow. He began to speak of personal matters — MY personal matters — as if there were his own. His gaze would drift here and there like the languid movements of leaves flowing along in a river, and the memories would pour out just the same.
He showed me polaroids of an old flame, one after another, and how I struggled then, on the verge of weeping! He smiled this half-hearted smile I know and wear all too often, and continued his calculated ministrations until I awoke.