| fuck it, lets get Freudian. |
[07 Aug 2002|04:50am] |
I had been asleep for 1 hour, 57 minutes, app.
dreamquake. all change, route assignments trashed, line up to receive your new directives, "your mission, should you choose to accept it, is...."
danielle thinks she's been contributing to the frequency of my nightmares. I dont think any one force could reign in my somnambulent wayward brainwaves that easily, but even so, it WASNT exactly a nightmare.
I dreamt of my mom. chaos in a stolen derelict apartment. scattered hastily collected foodstuffs and a stack of vinyl LP's maybe 12 in all, that i yanked away from the baseboard heater with fury, remembering what happened when we moved from amsterdam to clifton park when i was 12, and her failure to tell me she'd turned up the thermostat resulted in a good half my collection being warped beyond any hope of saving. it was only the 2 of us in this place. and she was stormy, out/away a long time. when she returned she told me horrific stories of wanton disregard for all things motherlike, carelessly intoned tales of marathon sex sessions with strangers good for little else in this world. harsh liquorsoaked treatment of the liver torturous enough to make the marquis de sade wince, told equally without care, a sick overplayed glee in the abandon of it.
and then....i GOT it.
she's not throwing a harsh essence at me to assert her own individualness. shes telling me to assert MINE. just at the point where i realised this, railing in my dreamself at all the reasons I have to either pander to others' conceptions of me or be things i truly am NOT, i awoke.
earlier tonight, pre-sleep, i told someone to spit in the face of those who will not take her as she is. I barely know this person, but i still thought those words something she could use.
it is time to take my own advice.
so when i awoke i wrote my mom, just to say hi.
and now im writing this.
Ive been writing about precipices, earthquakes, the river of change...predictions of life as seen through "the tower" of the tarot deck.
my fork'd tongue is due to set the planet on its ear. not yet, but soon. institutions will crumble, faiths will be challenged, new order will loom.
that is the way it is.
what i know now is this: i am tired of apologising for the way it is, whatever way it is. i am tired of sculpting myself to fit any ideal other than my own. and im just not doing it...anymore.
In 1974, Peter Gabriel wrote a story that Genesis turned into an album. It told of how manhattan was sucked into a void, another world, one of allegory and pathos where the only sense was made in metaphor. It is now a 95-minute relic of the progressive-rock era, and reviled by many. in the final minutes, the hero is given the chance to return to the life he once knew. he is given one window, and only seconds to decide. He chooses to stay where he is. He has no security in this strange new world, but he stays because if he does not, someone he loves will die. So he stays, and saves a life. At the last seconds, turning over the rescued body of his nearly-drowned charge, he looks for signs of life. his beloved is very much alive, but he is shaken, for the face staring back at him....is his own.
And the lamb lies down on broadway.
take me or leave me. i don't care any longer. I am not the same. i can never be the same again. remember me if you wish, but either embrace who you see before you now, or move along. I CANT ignore me any longer.
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arite, zip it! - 6 zipped it good!
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blah
awake