paging doctor freud

(what you ask yourself: if your eyes were a different color, would your life had been the same?)

Strange dreams the night before last: an earthquake (and god, how the building of my class did roll for a moment in reality that morning); and then: a night like a painting of a night, the colors were so moody, and me on a rock in a sea the same color as the night, sloppy waved and dangerous, and the girl, a girl i knew long ago, one of those people who isn’t evil but essentially too self absorbed to have the capacity for real empathy, this girl whose parents must never have loved her properly, this poor girl who was so intent on taking care of the little girl inside her that she could never love another, this girl who also as it turns out was one of the most sexually deviant people i’ve known (if you believe in sexual deviance, and remember, whatever you do, somebody, somewhere, would call it deviant), this girl who was always walking around the outside of the fire and trying to get people to take her inside, in my dream she was on the rock with me, opposite side of the jagged dome, this girl with her pale skin and dark hair, she was wearing only panties, white, if it’s significant, looking small but not cold and not as afraid as i was, appetizing if you stared at her only for a moment, if it is possible to stare for a moment, if you didn’t see the coldness in her eyes or the way her smile looked cruel, if you kept your vision on belly, on hip, on collarbone, the twist of waist, the slope of her ribs, she and i were on the rock and speaking too each other in this dark night above these dark waters, but in this dream, there are no voices, no sounds, or perhaps it was that there was so much sound that all sound was insignificant, so it was our mouths that were moving, and i thought as i often do about the importance of teeth (give me a woman with good teeth and some kind of exercise addiction), and i believed she was trying to lure me into something, this very specific woman who as it may turn out was more than just that one woman, this woman who was perhaps trying to make me re-want her, if want her i ever did (and in fact, once upon a time, i did, and i ate at the table), she was trying to convince me of something i did not trust, and i knew it was my own desire which would betray me, and there was something she was selling, something she was asking for, who knows what, but even if one could know those things, he wouldn’t know enough…

And it occurs to me just now, as I finish writing about it, that perhaps it wasn’t that she was too deep, her motives too complex; perhaps it has something to do with just the opposite, that she was too shallow, her motives too base…

And my own. That side of ourselves we're always trying lobotomize away, though we don't really mean it, though we're in way too much love with it, though we're way too much co-dependant on it, to really really make that change; the way we're always asking ourselves, yes, but who would I be then?

Later, I dreamed of a bear that only wanted to sleep but through some semi-farcical mis- maneuverings between me and a dog, we kept waking the bear, and it was comical to a degree but the consequences felt grave, as they did on the rock with the girl, as if the dream goes on too long, someone is going to get hurt.

This long night of many dreams which is good because it means I've really slept, and I know it in the morning. Trying to emmerge from my dream world into this real world. Trying to figure out if the me in the dream is the same as the me that wakes.

And in the bright and burning light of the first reallyreally legitimate spring day in Kennesaw, GA, a day as hot as the mid-summer day of my childhood mountain home, where the ice wasn’t always off the lake by the end of May, this sunsunny day, I go running, ghost like, the way one runs and gets into another type of consciousnesses, sort of removed from this world, not entirely, but removed just the same, in that state of mind, or that near state of mind, that state of mindlessness perhaps, I pass a woman, in a skirt, linen, I think, and in the sun, her legs show through, shadow legs, like my shadow on the sidewalk, smoother and better than I am, and in my ghost mind this makes her almost magic, almost angelic…

There are pinprick moments of true love based on almost nothing, the perception of a person in orgasm, when everything is golden and anything is possible.

These little addictions that keep us passing the open windows.