18 May 2007

Get out of My Fucking Dreams!

I had this intense dream about devon--the last real love of mine--and she just showed up out the blue in this bookstore where i was browsing through lit journals, and as she tried talking to me, i'd get really pissed off and and shout something and then, in this soft voice she'd say, that's not what i was trying to say at all, and i'd apologize, and realize i'd overreacted and that i still had so many triggers, and that i was still so vulnerable with her. the dream ended like this:

I knew she and i didn't know how to be together, but i couldn't let her go either, i didn't want her to leave. in my dream, i still had hope even though that place of shared space emotionally speaking, was so cluttered, heavy and awkward. . . in my dream she'd disappeared to wander through south america--which is totally true, by the way--but just appeared out of the blue in this bookstore (read: borgesian epistemological symbol) that morphed into a bedroom, the place where she and i connected the most, through cuddling, love-making, our kitties, falling asleep on our bed in our house on cable street, the way i'd have to carry them to the couch each and every night like children, the walls she and i painted blue (specifically, "capri grotto"), the fusion between public space and mental space (private space), between knowledge and intimacy, between the personal search of truth--which was pressuposed in this dream as predating the dream as a metaphor of travel--and the search of union, yo, this dream was fraught with so many little details.

I have to wonder if devon has been thinking about me recently, we have this strange tendency to invade each other's dreams during moments when we're on each other's minds.

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