Last
night’s dream was immensely convoluted, like a Picassoesque collage of
embarrassing childhood fantasies pasted to a sheet of angsty foreboding, with
offers of more mature opportunities lending the piece an air of Hope
throughout.In short, it was a stark reproduction of yesterday
evening,representing with surpassing detail my waking delusions following every
conversation I havewith Andrew during the periods(usually lasting at least half
a year,each) wherein his problems with girls invoke in him a loss of innocence
that he is hesitant to embrace as a man clinging to an
as ^
iceberg,hanging over
abody of water, is hesitant to let it go.
Trying to recall the details is as
awkward as trying to dredge weeds from mud.
were
The most important details were
undoubtedly those that ^ carried over obviously from my waking personality.
The dream found me again as a
musician, yet I felt more successful than I had the previous night.
The previous evening, in Waking
Life, Andrew had recounted, over the phone, a dream wherein he had been
startled to find that his thoughts from conscious life were present. I
immediately affirmed this phenomenon as one that I was familiar with. Lo
and behold, it appeared in this most recent dream.
I
found myself planning out my second solo album, struggling to dredge up songs from
a memory that felt like custard, but feeling a sense of almost lusty exhiliration
at every success in doing so.
The dream also had me playing guitar,
devising solos that surpass my current skill level by making the same fantasy function
incarnate in the dream-scape.
The rest of the dream details, while
appearing immensely elaborate and tantalizing, seem relatively
Unimportant to document because of the childish
quality. dm.A.A.
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