هائل
I awoke this morning to escape a dream of power.
I don’t remember anything about the dream. I rarely do. All I remember is clawing my way back to consciousness to escape the awful intensity.
I’m tangled in the sheets, gasping like a fish, trying to force open my eyes to hide from the residual mad glyphs that are still strobing on the back of my eyes. Random corporate logos, fragments of equations, obscure gerunds, ambiguous Arabic words assembled from knives and curving spider legs. There are almond eyes staring at me from the clusters of diacritical marks.
The images, of course, are flashing too fast to understand. I am already too far from the dream logic to read this last urgent missive from my unconscious. Before I’m fully awake, I can still see my life as alien. I can see aspects of myself laid out like broken moths nailed to a white board.
I am not unhappy with what I see. I know that I will probably forget everything before I can write it down, but I hope I can remember at least that.
I don’t remember anything about the dream. I rarely do. All I remember is clawing my way back to consciousness to escape the awful intensity.
I’m tangled in the sheets, gasping like a fish, trying to force open my eyes to hide from the residual mad glyphs that are still strobing on the back of my eyes. Random corporate logos, fragments of equations, obscure gerunds, ambiguous Arabic words assembled from knives and curving spider legs. There are almond eyes staring at me from the clusters of diacritical marks.
The images, of course, are flashing too fast to understand. I am already too far from the dream logic to read this last urgent missive from my unconscious. Before I’m fully awake, I can still see my life as alien. I can see aspects of myself laid out like broken moths nailed to a white board.
I am not unhappy with what I see. I know that I will probably forget everything before I can write it down, but I hope I can remember at least that.