Dreams, Loneliness, Musings
Alright Livejournal. No holds barred.
Let's talk about loneliness.
Let's talk about having a wonderful dream. In it, I spend the majority of this dream this boy. He's six or seven years old, perhaps. I do not feel as though he is my son, but he might as well be, because he acts like he is-- minus referring to me as "dad" or something. Instead, we do not refer to each other by names or relationships... we just talk. I just spend the day with him. It's summer. We go swimming in a pool and make a point of rough housing and splashing about. We go to the park (or something like a park...). He says clever things (for a kid anyway) that make me laugh, and it is amazing to see him happy. I carry him around for a good portion of this dream-- he weighs nothing, but he is still very much there. He's warm, and I'm warm, and he whispers questions and thoughts to me, and I calmly whisper back. For a dream in which not much happens, it seems so long. This was one of those dreams, you know? I'd live a thousand times in this dream, if I could. The feeling of this dream was a foreign one... imagine it doesn't matter where anything is going. You do nothing for a living; there are no due dates. You simply live, and there is this beautiful creature with you that just barely knows what's going on and yet somehow simultaneously knows more than you could ever hope to... or rather, it knows everything you used to know before you forgot how to know them. But he's reteaching you, see? Tutoring in humanity and warmth and belonging. Unconditional love. Present and there, with no semblence or inkling of ever having to end. Everything is happiness, from the splashing to the quiet whispers, there is no sense of how bad the world can be, or who is out there to make it that way. There is just an amazing feeling, doubtless and full, like you're not just there, but that you're actually living. That was this dream.
And then I wake up. It's some time... morning, presumably. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I have a class to go to, I guess. I don't care. I try not to fall asleep again because I know there's no alarm after the second one. I sit up to prevent this. It is hell. My messy bed, on a filthy rug, in a tiny room that can't decide whether it's fifty degrees or a hundred. I get up. I eat a shitty breakfast. I go to classes I don't particularly care about. I create bad art that I definitely don't care about to meet deadlines for composition classes, classes for which I wish I had some talent to do good art instead. Everyone seems to have a shit day, a good friend of mine having an especially shitty day, the calibur of which I feel I can do nothing to fix, let alone help. I eat again, for some reason. I talk to a girl very far away that I love very much but can do nothing to be any closer to.
All the while I am thinking of that smiling boy, and that feeling. That goddamn dream. I wish I had never had it, I think. But then I think about not knowing, not experiencing it, and it feels worse. What does this mean? Has it made me better, then? Has the glimpse of what I am the farthest away from somehow done me a service by making me far more miserable in my waking life?
Let's talk about loneliness.
Why is it so difficult to be by yourself? I've always said that you can't be together if you can't be alone. I think this is entirely true, and I stick by it. But... it's just been so long. Haven't I learned yet, haven't I done my penace or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be? Why does this still hurt so much, no, hurt more than it ever has? And it's not just her and I... it's everyone. While I would want to keep my distance from most people until I know them better, I just wish I could be closer to my friends. I wish I could just explode out of body or something-- be this floating red vapor of Vincent-ness that can simply merge with other people in order to completely know them, and in turn they'd completely know me. But-- do I really want this? It's terrifying. A terrifying concept. I know me. I'm barbed inside, wicked and scary and mad. I don't want to let anyone into that part of me. But I do. But I don't. I just want to know people, and I want them to know, and I want it to be okay. But... maybe the sad truth is that it wouldn't be okay. Maybe this is why things are the way they are-- why we have these bodies that do their damndest to keep our brains from getting to close together.
Maybe I just want my friends to know that I love them all very much. Maybe I just want to know if they love me. Maybe I just want to be accepted, completely and utterly. Maybe that's all anyone wants.
If I could be that boy for someone, I would. Close, and happy, and wholly separate from the difficulties of decision-making, coping, and simply existing. I hope to be that, someday. I'm pretty sure I've found him incarnate, but he's far away. Or she. Whatever.
Maybe the demon sleep will make me dream of him again. Hope that it doesn't...
The demon sleep could at least have the decency not to remind me of my duty to my existential angst before my slightly more relaxing weekends....
Here's to finding wallets and not numbing it all away,
awake, asleep, and abeauty
and other shit I can't remember
but all of which should start with
the letter 'a' for no reason
other than to amuse myself
at three AM.
That's AM, not am, as in
I am going to sleep.
You can be so much better
-Elliott, Oliver, Victor, Jacob, Icarus, and other things I'm not named
Let's talk about loneliness.
Let's talk about having a wonderful dream. In it, I spend the majority of this dream this boy. He's six or seven years old, perhaps. I do not feel as though he is my son, but he might as well be, because he acts like he is-- minus referring to me as "dad" or something. Instead, we do not refer to each other by names or relationships... we just talk. I just spend the day with him. It's summer. We go swimming in a pool and make a point of rough housing and splashing about. We go to the park (or something like a park...). He says clever things (for a kid anyway) that make me laugh, and it is amazing to see him happy. I carry him around for a good portion of this dream-- he weighs nothing, but he is still very much there. He's warm, and I'm warm, and he whispers questions and thoughts to me, and I calmly whisper back. For a dream in which not much happens, it seems so long. This was one of those dreams, you know? I'd live a thousand times in this dream, if I could. The feeling of this dream was a foreign one... imagine it doesn't matter where anything is going. You do nothing for a living; there are no due dates. You simply live, and there is this beautiful creature with you that just barely knows what's going on and yet somehow simultaneously knows more than you could ever hope to... or rather, it knows everything you used to know before you forgot how to know them. But he's reteaching you, see? Tutoring in humanity and warmth and belonging. Unconditional love. Present and there, with no semblence or inkling of ever having to end. Everything is happiness, from the splashing to the quiet whispers, there is no sense of how bad the world can be, or who is out there to make it that way. There is just an amazing feeling, doubtless and full, like you're not just there, but that you're actually living. That was this dream.
And then I wake up. It's some time... morning, presumably. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I have a class to go to, I guess. I don't care. I try not to fall asleep again because I know there's no alarm after the second one. I sit up to prevent this. It is hell. My messy bed, on a filthy rug, in a tiny room that can't decide whether it's fifty degrees or a hundred. I get up. I eat a shitty breakfast. I go to classes I don't particularly care about. I create bad art that I definitely don't care about to meet deadlines for composition classes, classes for which I wish I had some talent to do good art instead. Everyone seems to have a shit day, a good friend of mine having an especially shitty day, the calibur of which I feel I can do nothing to fix, let alone help. I eat again, for some reason. I talk to a girl very far away that I love very much but can do nothing to be any closer to.
All the while I am thinking of that smiling boy, and that feeling. That goddamn dream. I wish I had never had it, I think. But then I think about not knowing, not experiencing it, and it feels worse. What does this mean? Has it made me better, then? Has the glimpse of what I am the farthest away from somehow done me a service by making me far more miserable in my waking life?
Let's talk about loneliness.
Why is it so difficult to be by yourself? I've always said that you can't be together if you can't be alone. I think this is entirely true, and I stick by it. But... it's just been so long. Haven't I learned yet, haven't I done my penace or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be? Why does this still hurt so much, no, hurt more than it ever has? And it's not just her and I... it's everyone. While I would want to keep my distance from most people until I know them better, I just wish I could be closer to my friends. I wish I could just explode out of body or something-- be this floating red vapor of Vincent-ness that can simply merge with other people in order to completely know them, and in turn they'd completely know me. But-- do I really want this? It's terrifying. A terrifying concept. I know me. I'm barbed inside, wicked and scary and mad. I don't want to let anyone into that part of me. But I do. But I don't. I just want to know people, and I want them to know, and I want it to be okay. But... maybe the sad truth is that it wouldn't be okay. Maybe this is why things are the way they are-- why we have these bodies that do their damndest to keep our brains from getting to close together.
Maybe I just want my friends to know that I love them all very much. Maybe I just want to know if they love me. Maybe I just want to be accepted, completely and utterly. Maybe that's all anyone wants.
If I could be that boy for someone, I would. Close, and happy, and wholly separate from the difficulties of decision-making, coping, and simply existing. I hope to be that, someday. I'm pretty sure I've found him incarnate, but he's far away. Or she. Whatever.
Maybe the demon sleep will make me dream of him again. Hope that it doesn't...
The demon sleep could at least have the decency not to remind me of my duty to my existential angst before my slightly more relaxing weekends....
Here's to finding wallets and not numbing it all away,
awake, asleep, and abeauty
and other shit I can't remember
but all of which should start with
the letter 'a' for no reason
other than to amuse myself
at three AM.
That's AM, not am, as in
I am going to sleep.
You can be so much better
-Elliott, Oliver, Victor, Jacob, Icarus, and other things I'm not named