Interpretations or simply ridiculously confusing dreams? I
"I told you. I'm a leprechaun. We don't come from fucken Moscow."
-American Gods. Neil Gaiman.
I dreamt of you two nights in a row. I will tell myself that it is most likely because I have let myself think about you and what transpired again after these few months. I don't feel angry, but apparently I still feel justifiable malicious and vindictive. I don't want to hurt you. Not because I still care or because I care what the outcome would be (success or failure, who is hurt on the sidelines if anyone, what anyone thinks of me for doing so) but because I know it will happen of your own accord and that, little one, will be so much more satisfying and just. And if it doesn't, then that means that you have changed something. Which is unlikely.
I was at your funeral. I walked up to your casket with a smile larger than I've worn while truly feeling in a long, long time. As I stared down at your still, pale, sunken body devoid of breath, your eyes closed in deep, deep sleep that only the released know, I simply beamed. You looked exactly the same as I last saw you, walking with a scared, weak look in your eyes to a coffee shop where everything tastes like shit but is necessary when shit is the only thing readily available, starving, thin, chased by yourself and terrified of it. I shook almost violently, spasming uncontrollably. As I could take it no longer, I snickered. This turned into a laugh, which almost immediately turned into full-blown guffaws. Gut-wrenching, rib-splitting laughter. I hurt. It was blissful. I laughed uncontrollably as I slowly walked from your coffin. I laughed maniacally as friends, family, your old friends, current friends, people I did not know but assumed were associated to you, came to me to give me pity for my and my family's loss. I laughed as those who fancied themselves close to you cried their tears, wishing you would not have been gone "too soon". I laughed and I laughed. I laughed as I stood just outside the funeral home, smoking a cigarette and talking to C. I laughed about your letter to M. You had written to her that you were no longer going to eat. That the act of consuming sustenance was a human weakness that you could no longer allow yourself or you couldn't ascend into true release or freedom or some bullshit like that, going on to state reasons and logic that screamed "I am hurting, but too proud to say. I am scared but too proud to yell. I am weak but too proud to ask you for your help." You were going to kill yourself by starvation because of pride. The irony made me hug my sides because of the pain from the laughter. I knew I was dreaming, and that made it all more hilarious. I know you are starving, brother. Dying slowly and painfully. And all because of pride. The only moments my sides weren't stitched with laughter was when I was holding M. Telling her that you were in a better place, and she could now talk to you whenever she worried, and more of the same soothing crap.
I awoke with tears in my eyes and in such a fresh and happy mood that I had to calm myself down before I took a pitch black walk in the desert air to work. I smoked a cigarette and donned the usual and appropriate carefree smile that says everything is just peachy dandy with a dab of whipped cream^_^.
-American Gods. Neil Gaiman.
I dreamt of you two nights in a row. I will tell myself that it is most likely because I have let myself think about you and what transpired again after these few months. I don't feel angry, but apparently I still feel justifiable malicious and vindictive. I don't want to hurt you. Not because I still care or because I care what the outcome would be (success or failure, who is hurt on the sidelines if anyone, what anyone thinks of me for doing so) but because I know it will happen of your own accord and that, little one, will be so much more satisfying and just. And if it doesn't, then that means that you have changed something. Which is unlikely.
I was at your funeral. I walked up to your casket with a smile larger than I've worn while truly feeling in a long, long time. As I stared down at your still, pale, sunken body devoid of breath, your eyes closed in deep, deep sleep that only the released know, I simply beamed. You looked exactly the same as I last saw you, walking with a scared, weak look in your eyes to a coffee shop where everything tastes like shit but is necessary when shit is the only thing readily available, starving, thin, chased by yourself and terrified of it. I shook almost violently, spasming uncontrollably. As I could take it no longer, I snickered. This turned into a laugh, which almost immediately turned into full-blown guffaws. Gut-wrenching, rib-splitting laughter. I hurt. It was blissful. I laughed uncontrollably as I slowly walked from your coffin. I laughed maniacally as friends, family, your old friends, current friends, people I did not know but assumed were associated to you, came to me to give me pity for my and my family's loss. I laughed as those who fancied themselves close to you cried their tears, wishing you would not have been gone "too soon". I laughed and I laughed. I laughed as I stood just outside the funeral home, smoking a cigarette and talking to C. I laughed about your letter to M. You had written to her that you were no longer going to eat. That the act of consuming sustenance was a human weakness that you could no longer allow yourself or you couldn't ascend into true release or freedom or some bullshit like that, going on to state reasons and logic that screamed "I am hurting, but too proud to say. I am scared but too proud to yell. I am weak but too proud to ask you for your help." You were going to kill yourself by starvation because of pride. The irony made me hug my sides because of the pain from the laughter. I knew I was dreaming, and that made it all more hilarious. I know you are starving, brother. Dying slowly and painfully. And all because of pride. The only moments my sides weren't stitched with laughter was when I was holding M. Telling her that you were in a better place, and she could now talk to you whenever she worried, and more of the same soothing crap.
I awoke with tears in my eyes and in such a fresh and happy mood that I had to calm myself down before I took a pitch black walk in the desert air to work. I smoked a cigarette and donned the usual and appropriate carefree smile that says everything is just peachy dandy with a dab of whipped cream^_^.