The Vivid Issue
Last night I had a dream.
I bring my car to the shop, it is located in my living room, the mechanic is a tender older woman, much to my suprise. She lead me around my car, questioning me about everything I have ever done wrong in the car. Every misdemeanor and stupid action I have ever done was sequentially brought to light. In the end my bill for fixing the car is well over anything I could ever hope to pay for. So I get in the car with the mechanic's young liquid daughter and we drive off. My dilapitated Blazor chunking along, each grinding pound reminding me what I have done.
I spend hours crying into this intangible and exotic girl, we hold eachother for hours until I have wept for all of my shortcomings and mistakes. The girl is gone.
I'm back in my apartment, it is lit by a lush orange light. In Emily's room are many boxes. Each one contains a part to a gigantic toy. Mixed in are pieces to a smaller maquette of the greater piece. There are many boxes, but I am missing significant parts of each item. No matter how long I search the parts are not appearing.
I am frustrated by this, but am soon distracted by a new girl. I cannot see her face, but we are walking together, arms around eachother's shoulders. There is a locket in my hand, there are mirrors on either side of the hinged object. On one side is clearly reflected my face. In the other there is a constant shifting minagerie of women. Some of them I recognize, others I do not. It finally reaches a point where there is the back of a woman's head. And no matter how I move the locket around I am unable to see this woman's face.
Together we walk out of my house, which is also a factory, into a world that is both night and day.
At which point I wake up.
I haven't had a dream this vivid in a long time. And it strangely sums up the last month of my life.
I have moved back to Hartford, into an apartment that is far to big and far to resplendant for me. Doubly so because I am hardly ever there. I spend most of my days toiling away in the studio. That isn't to put toil in a bad way, mind you, if anything I spend far to much time socializing and discussing. I ballance it out with absurd and masochistic hours. I have learned so much, and still thirst for more.
I seem never to be at rest. I am buried under work. I am frustrated by my social standings. My car is in the shop where it will be offically put out that I am fucked.
But for all the shit I am swimming through right now, I've never felt more myself. I feel I have started shaping my own identity, at the very least I have caught a certain stride, which I have become content with.
For all the finer details of what's been going on read my dream again. It's mostly all in there.
I bring my car to the shop, it is located in my living room, the mechanic is a tender older woman, much to my suprise. She lead me around my car, questioning me about everything I have ever done wrong in the car. Every misdemeanor and stupid action I have ever done was sequentially brought to light. In the end my bill for fixing the car is well over anything I could ever hope to pay for. So I get in the car with the mechanic's young liquid daughter and we drive off. My dilapitated Blazor chunking along, each grinding pound reminding me what I have done.
I spend hours crying into this intangible and exotic girl, we hold eachother for hours until I have wept for all of my shortcomings and mistakes. The girl is gone.
I'm back in my apartment, it is lit by a lush orange light. In Emily's room are many boxes. Each one contains a part to a gigantic toy. Mixed in are pieces to a smaller maquette of the greater piece. There are many boxes, but I am missing significant parts of each item. No matter how long I search the parts are not appearing.
I am frustrated by this, but am soon distracted by a new girl. I cannot see her face, but we are walking together, arms around eachother's shoulders. There is a locket in my hand, there are mirrors on either side of the hinged object. On one side is clearly reflected my face. In the other there is a constant shifting minagerie of women. Some of them I recognize, others I do not. It finally reaches a point where there is the back of a woman's head. And no matter how I move the locket around I am unable to see this woman's face.
Together we walk out of my house, which is also a factory, into a world that is both night and day.
At which point I wake up.
I haven't had a dream this vivid in a long time. And it strangely sums up the last month of my life.
I have moved back to Hartford, into an apartment that is far to big and far to resplendant for me. Doubly so because I am hardly ever there. I spend most of my days toiling away in the studio. That isn't to put toil in a bad way, mind you, if anything I spend far to much time socializing and discussing. I ballance it out with absurd and masochistic hours. I have learned so much, and still thirst for more.
I seem never to be at rest. I am buried under work. I am frustrated by my social standings. My car is in the shop where it will be offically put out that I am fucked.
But for all the shit I am swimming through right now, I've never felt more myself. I feel I have started shaping my own identity, at the very least I have caught a certain stride, which I have become content with.
For all the finer details of what's been going on read my dream again. It's mostly all in there.