Posts in category "Random"

Recording My Dreams

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”…

A New Winter Ritual

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.

She Doesn't Know How Beautiful

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.

In Her Prayers

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 respect1.

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.

  1. In most of my expe­ri­ence, it’s as Nietzsche said; “The Christian resolve to find the world evil and ugly, has made the world evil and ugly.” [↩]