mood: puttering & parallel tracks
i left the house just before teatime. this day has been uncomfortable - not wasted, simply wanting. it's the second morning this week i've woken still in a dream (more lurid than morning sun, birdsong, my face distant in the mirror). entrapment in surreality leaves my mind heavy and silence is more reassuring than a voice. i have not talked about them yet and carry them with me, everywhere. normally my night-thoughts are quiet & true day-to-day. but these, these are terrifying, oh.
dream #1: the world is all marble, stretching draperies of silk and cabin fever in the vastness. the faces of all the people have become glass. they are crystal & glowing in the candlelight. your arms open and i am struggling away, choking in snowfall feathers.
dream #2: the raging waves tumble and a wind-swooping airplane is falling, crashing into pewter ocean. our pilot is a mermaid with undertow hair, siren song, but the ocean is forgiving of irresilient bodies.
baroque, burlesque, bewildered.
so i am sitting under coffee-empire lights, trying to feel normal and watching the sky turn to dark, again. and i'm working on a proposal to adapt 'speak, memory' as a graphic novella for my documentary class. on the walk home, i will stop at the photoshop to buy expired rolls of 120 & the grocery for macha tea, steam buns. i will revel in the clear night & the quiet. it will seem safe.
dream #1: the world is all marble, stretching draperies of silk and cabin fever in the vastness. the faces of all the people have become glass. they are crystal & glowing in the candlelight. your arms open and i am struggling away, choking in snowfall feathers.
dream #2: the raging waves tumble and a wind-swooping airplane is falling, crashing into pewter ocean. our pilot is a mermaid with undertow hair, siren song, but the ocean is forgiving of irresilient bodies.
baroque, burlesque, bewildered.
so i am sitting under coffee-empire lights, trying to feel normal and watching the sky turn to dark, again. and i'm working on a proposal to adapt 'speak, memory' as a graphic novella for my documentary class. on the walk home, i will stop at the photoshop to buy expired rolls of 120 & the grocery for macha tea, steam buns. i will revel in the clear night & the quiet. it will seem safe.
1 comment:
hi darling,
i hope that your visit with mum was lovely.
i see that it's supposed to snow tonight.
pick a flake & think of me.
love,
the loon.
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