Dreams
I haven't dreamt in so long. No one's allowed to say "Well duh, bologna anyone?" either because I hardly dreamt on Catalina (and we all know of the Catalina sandwich deficiency). It has something to do with it, I suppose, because on Catalina I'd wake up with the occasional, flickery image and associated emotion, but nothing you'd really call a dream. I used to dream vividly. When I was younger I could become conscious of the dream without waking, and change them as I pleased. I would have these strange recurring dreams about being able to jump hundreds of feet in the air, and at the apex I was always convinced I'd get hurt, but I'd come down uninjured. The thing was that I couldn't stop and just walk.
Now all I have is my imagination, which has been weird as fuck lately. I have this recurring character who I've taken to calling the smiling man, and he's showing up entirely too frequently in my thoughts. He's wearing some kind of dark suit and is about six feet tall, and his skin is a glossy black. His lipless mouth is freakishly distended, and forms this constant toothy grin that extends a few inches past the edge of his skull. His eyes are unblinking, and generally have tiny black irisless pupils. In Riverside, home alone, I was always convinced that he would be sitting on the edge of Kyle's bed, grinning out his doorway, so that I'd have to hurry past into the bathroom and when I would brush my teeth at the mirror I'd have the unshakeable feeling of eyes on me. Now, here in the desert and sleeping on the couch, I lie awake and think about him outside the window, illuminated by the moonlight and grinning in at me.
Other than that, though, it's just been the usual sex and violence.
Now all I have is my imagination, which has been weird as fuck lately. I have this recurring character who I've taken to calling the smiling man, and he's showing up entirely too frequently in my thoughts. He's wearing some kind of dark suit and is about six feet tall, and his skin is a glossy black. His lipless mouth is freakishly distended, and forms this constant toothy grin that extends a few inches past the edge of his skull. His eyes are unblinking, and generally have tiny black irisless pupils. In Riverside, home alone, I was always convinced that he would be sitting on the edge of Kyle's bed, grinning out his doorway, so that I'd have to hurry past into the bathroom and when I would brush my teeth at the mirror I'd have the unshakeable feeling of eyes on me. Now, here in the desert and sleeping on the couch, I lie awake and think about him outside the window, illuminated by the moonlight and grinning in at me.
Other than that, though, it's just been the usual sex and violence.