Hey guys, its been awhile..
So I know its a few days early but I wanted to write to you again. I've been absent for so long from the community I had nearly forgotten how much it meant for me to be a part of it. Plus I actually have tattoos now. But that doesn't matter. What is important is that I want you back. I want you all back and can only hope you missed me too.
I never was a regular blogger. I'm not sure if its my vice of laziness or my virtue of humility (or low self esteem because why would anyone give a damn?) Either way, I present to you: my bat shit crazy dream scape. @rambo @missy
Henry Miller wrote "the plasm of the dream is the pain of separation". This idea has stuck with me and I perceive the immense weight of its truth in both the waking world and my sleep manifestations.
I did not sleep last night but I will try and attempt to convey some thematic conceptions that re occur when sleep does find me.
PLACES: the setting is always in constant flux. Black and white and grey... Techni color... Muted rosey hues... Always somewhere familiar, even if upon reflection I know I've never been there or where ever. When I'm lucid, I will find myself in a field at night or my brothers house when we were kids. I've seen the most beautiful horizons bursting with celestial bodies and super saturated clouds. Pinks and Gold. Blue and dark blue.
In dreams I've gazed into the abyss. The vast, black eternity, empty and all encompassing.
When I'm lucky, my mind takes me to the heart of the Congo or the Siberian forest. These are rare and usually remain in the first person perspective. They are fleeting and always in color.
OBJECTS: the characteristics of inanimate objects in dreams are generally sinister. Their nature is again, foreign in their otherwise normal state. A bright yellow hachling chick still cradled in its soft shell.. Grey scissors that I cant seem to let go of, as I wake I can feel them slip through my fingers... A window with nothing on the other side... An old, green arm chair my brother sits in and never leaves, a concrete walkway that I fall backwards on, slowly and purposefully... a car that drives so smooth, its like the wheels don't even touch the road... A flickering streetlight on a dark street...
AUDIO: Singing through the trees, a song I'll never know or understand... talking...endless talking...white noise... the howl of some ghastly beast in the distance... These features are the hardest to recollect.
PEOPLE: Some people appear to me as very explicit images, I recognize them immediately and remember them when I wake. Others are more like, ideas of people. I know they are supposed to be human but their faces are just crude compilations of space time. Perhaps this is some reflection of waking life, as I wander through this existence with my eyes cast downward, doing everything in my power to avoid eye contact. Anyone could be anyone, and it almost... ALMOST doesn't matter.
Sometimes the people and my interactions with them feel so incredibly real that I later find myself remembering it as such. The defining line between the memories I understand to be based in reality becomes blured with those I manufacture unconsciously.
Last night, the last part of my dream I looked into the eyes of an old flame. I saw his tattoos moving on his skin like Bradbury's Invisible Man. His eyes were blue, in stark contrast to their ordinarily dark brown complexion. He was asking me to come home and without any response. Then I woke up.
