So...
I had the strangest dream last night. It began with an approaching storm (not too deep, here, in Florida), a rush to close up all these horses in a barn, my own desperate search for Pass (my baby), and then things began to change...the screams of the horses became the cries of a child, a young girl, and the horses became people, trapped within walls, the safety of a protective barn became cold rooms in a concentration camp, where the people, myself included, whispered of escape, and one man became a former, and very respected professor who passed the time by quizzing me on critical theory. You were my best student, he said over and over. And that used to be what I wanted to hear more than anything. To be the best. To know random theories and to recite brilliant authors. How fucking far that all has gotten me. In the dream, there was death all around, just out of the scene, waiting, and I kept searching the corners for my horse...had he transformed and I no longer knew him? And my professor, wasted and greyed, spoke of literature with shining, burning eyes, and I wanted to scream at him that all of that was useless and unimportant in this place, but I couldn't, because I didn't believe that...I just couldn't understand...I mean, there are the large resounding issues (the guard with the gun), and the small, seemingly insignificant moments (the beauty of a favorite line breathed aloud), and the gun is life threatening, and the poetry/the song is soul sustaining. How to reconcile the disparity between "living" and living? I really want to know. And I am just a failed over-achiever whose only real war is with myself, and I can't even have a stupid, incredibly cliched dream without overthinking it, and then writing about it in a rambling livejournal entry (made all the more perfect by the fact that I haven't even shared the existence of this livejournal with anyone yet, so I'm basically, as usual, talking to myself). For some reason, I find this to be both depressing and highly amusing. If only I had left my psych ward arm bracelet on, I could use the excuse that I'm just crazy, and therefore, profound in some way...other than the back-in-the-real-world-stamped-sane reality that I just really need to get out more...
watch a movie...talk to an actual person...eat something, maybe...
read T.S. Eliot out loud to my cat...though he greatly prefers Poe...Oh well.
a little to make him purr, a little to make me purr.
Life is good, sometimes.
watch a movie...talk to an actual person...eat something, maybe...
read T.S. Eliot out loud to my cat...though he greatly prefers Poe...Oh well.
a little to make him purr, a little to make me purr.
Life is good, sometimes.