Note: Dreams are funny things. As the creator of the world you’re in, you have an omniscient knowledge of everything, including what other people in the dream are thinking. Things that are lysergic and random make perfect sense in a dream. Every now and then, especially when they’re very vivid, a dream will seem fascinating, so I’ll write it down and post it. Then I read it over again, and think “This is the stupidest, least coherent thing I’ve ever written”. Then I delete it. I’ve done this about a half dozen times, and they’re the only entries I’ve ever deleted from this blog.
This is an example from last night. I’ll try not to delete it.
There was also a part about playing table tennis that precedes the beginning, like the scene between Scarlett Johansson and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in Match Point, which, eerily enough, is somewhat similar to this dream. However, the memory has been lost in the haze of consciousness.
P.S. If you ever read this, Alex, please don’t beat me up. KTHX.
Dreamt Sophia and I were in love.
Continue reading “Recording My Dreams”…
Snow collected on the grass last night.
This makes me dream of weekend mornings in my living room, tea and a laptop, looking out to a blanket of white. Dolly curled up on the armrest next to me, as she always is. No other contrast feels as cozy.
Ritual dictates that I watch Onegin or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind on the day of the first snowfall, a tribute to winter scenes and warm romance.
This year, I’ll buy myself some skates. I’ll pack a snack and some water. Maybe my camera in case an image catches my fancy.
As the strings shudder and the beats go on, I’ll carve a little path for myself on the canal, and burn beneath the orange sky.
And this will be my new ritual.
The art of longing’s over, and it’s never coming back.
—Leonard Cohen, Death of a Ladies’ Man
They ask me why I’m crying. I tell them the song is too good, not to cry.
They ask me why there’s a bounce in my step. I tell them I’m in love, and I don’t care.
They ask me if she’s taken. I tell them she is.
They ask me if she knows. I tell them it doesn’t matter as long as I feel this way, and I’m never letting go.
They ask me, “Why her?”.
I tell them she makes me happy without trying.
A few days before the show, I found out that Krista and Shane were playing a small venue in town. Usually I make it a point to see an artist just once in my life, but last time was different; I was expecting Lederhosen Lucil, but was treated to an entirely different and unfamiliar sound. This time, it was my chance to see Krista and Shane perform after becoming familiar with the songs. Turns out the venue was in un petit salon des arts. This place boasted a mixture of different artforms; music, metal sculptures, photographs, paintings, and graphic poems.
I didn’t really feel like going out that night, but I forced myself to go, reminding myself that I could say the same thing any other night and I’d never get anywhere.
When I arrived, the Salon was to capacity. I couldn’t even get in the entrance; there were people physically blocking the door. My chance to get in came after a few had made room by leaving, then I saw a path up the stairs and took it.
Enter six degrees of separation.
Continue reading “Emergence Exposition Opus 01”…
Every now and then, Louise let’s me know that she’s praying for me. For my health. For my success.
She really believes in the power of prayer. It’s healed her family, it’s given her guidance, it’s provided her with the strength that she needs. She’s one of the few Christian’s whose faith I respect.
It’s a nice feeling to be in someone’s prayers, and she does this even though I’m not Christian myself.
Normally, I’m a skeptic about these things.
Which makes it difficult to deny how it’s lately been working.