Dreams and Ruminations
Comments: 0 - Date: December 22nd, 2003 - Categories: Reflection
Tuesday morning update: Can we get a warning label put on Johnny Cash’s last album? It has turned my good mood blue.
Thanks to my new psychopharmaceutica, sometimes I have some crazy-ass fucked up dreams. And while I have always been a prolific dreamer, my nocturnal visions as of late have been intensely weird and emotional.
Last night, I had this weird series of dreams which included this snippet:
I was in a nightclub facing the stage. Red velvet curtains framed the stage, a series of platforms of differing heights. Suddenly, the show started. Meg White, of the White Stripes, was doing a DJ set. She was chunkier than reality’s Meg White. And while she was standing in front of turntables and wearing headphones, she was lipsynching to some weird ’60s torch song. And then she did spoken word. And then there were these go-go dancers. It was one big indie-rock-faux-country episode of Laugh-In. Thanks, psychopharmaceutica.
She ate the flowers one by one until they were all gone. Their stems were a different kind of beauty.
The waves lapped at the dog’s feet as he walked along the surf. A flash of light caught his eye, a stirring in the waves. He leapt over the walls of water which got higher with each yard out. He ignored the calls of his master.
As she typed, her hands buzzing pain through numbness, she wondered if these little bits she wrote spoke more about what was going on inside her than any hour of dedicated thought. She reviewed her pieces. Most of them about the marriage of pain and pleasure, some about water, almost all about loss. She broke for coffee.