i began to describe a dream i had last night that seemed so strange i had to relate it. but, as with so many dreams, i really couldn't begin to describe it. what seemed profound in the dream now seems incoherent. at one point in the dream i had a mirror in my mouth and was wailing in front of a small party of young people who thought my performance was deeply sad and moving. at other points i was lost looking for a truck that i'd rented for a purpose that i couldn't remember. i awoke from the dream feeling i'd been given a glimpse into my soul. there's a small window of time during my waking process, between dream and consciousness, where dreamworld and reality seem to mesh, where my will has impact in the fluidity of the subconscious. i love this place. i write beautiful poetry, long letters, make beautiful movies. when fully awake i lose connection to that place. it's as if reality, or my defense against reality, my shell, hardens with the morning light and i lose the sensitivity necessary to access the inbetween. it reminds me of certain insects who go through metamorphosis. they emerge soft and pliable from their former bodies then harden in the sun in preparation for their next stage of life.
2 comments:
Matt, when i dream which isn't all that often generally the dreams have themes of reminiscence for the many friends I've known whom hath departed this plane of existence and will never be here again. The lament you grow into if you are blessed with a destiny to outlive many a comrade. Being an old timer isn't all that great regardless of a satisfying life.
You've been doing fine with your posting's, How I wish too write as well as you, a natural you are;-)
~SD
thanks sd. natural... well, you wouldn't believe how much i rewrite. like andy warhol said, work...that's all there is to it...work.
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