September 9th, 2007. I had a horrible dream that day. The kind so wonderful that when you awake you want nothing more than to destroy your life in hopes that you'd inhabit the one in your mind. How silly. Especially for one so devoid of details, of plot, character development. It wasn't really even a great story now that I think about it. But I was so attached to it that my whole day was ruined by it. And the next several days.
Today, April 29, 2010. The same thing has occurred. Although it was a nap dream that did me in. Now my mind fears dreams, and my emotions cannot wait. I do not like my mind playing such tricks on me. It is not impure, unjust, nor evil in anyway, merely unlikely. And as such the hope that remains in me is backhanded by the cruel awareness of reality.
Tomorrow is my last day at Wesley. Soon I will leave for Durham. I like to pretend it's another fresh start, but experientially speaking that won't change much. Another place, more of the same people. It won't make a difference. People are the same everywhere, and my ways regarding the cause of this dream have not changed. The patient may play amidst dreams, but the doctor will keep him sedated during the day, lest his sorrowful sickness rub off on everything else inside me.
I've grown so tired of people asking me to will an emotion, or show more emotion, and tell them what I'm feeling. Truth is, my emotions have never given me anything of worth. They are rotten and destructive, self-pitying, nihilistic, pathetic, weak.
I am not excited.
I am not encouraged.
I am not hyped.
And I don't give a rat's ass about it.
I have peace and joy.
And these things are not emotional, but spiritual.
There are no goosebumps or hairs being raised,
no 'oooh' and 'ahhh.'
Peace, be still.
And stillness I have.
I am calm, I am collected.
My emotions are of desire.
I desire to know.
And that is sufficient for now.
And since the patient will not listen to reason, one must beat him with his own devices. Be brutal to him in word so that he will shut up long enough to go back to sleep.
I'm just babbling furiously at this point, which only shows me again how fruitful my emotions can be. Rotten.
Today, April 29, 2010. The same thing has occurred. Although it was a nap dream that did me in. Now my mind fears dreams, and my emotions cannot wait. I do not like my mind playing such tricks on me. It is not impure, unjust, nor evil in anyway, merely unlikely. And as such the hope that remains in me is backhanded by the cruel awareness of reality.
Cruel TalesI am not on a beach this time, nor is it the same person. But the relations of things and persons are all the same, both in and out of the dream. I wish it would go away. I hope it will not return. I'd rather be numb then feel such things.
September 9th, 2007
I wait for it readily
My dreams in guise
Why won't they come to me
Pour the sand into my eyes
Watch carefully
Both minds fighting for its love
Promises never kept
Surreptitiously
Tricking me while I slept
With the things never to be
Both hurt and soothe
Why not hand me both? How I need them both -
On those cold shores I lie
Unable to move or cry out loud
Descending silently
A dark angel in shroud
And kisses me softly
What am I to do?
Before the embrace can come
Awake to heart anew
Breaks without those cold, dark shores
Restlessly gliding through life
Dreams consume me
Grant wishes, nightmarish wife
If only a way I plea
For these cruel tales
Without any end in sight
Could be wrought with details
Manifest tonight
Come down to be my seer
If our worlds can collide
Then don't leave me alone to drown here
On those cold shores I lie
Unable to move or cry out loud
Descending silently
A dark angel in shroud
And kisses me softly
What am I to do?
Before the embrace can come
Awake to heart anew
Breaks without those cold, dark shores
And here I stand amongst
The terror rips my minds' seams
Choosing eternity of angst
Over the dream
The winged one I love
Who's touch breathes life into me
And the hand I'd rather shove
Then feel the desire by the sea
Why won't it leave me alone
If reality would only die
I could live this lie
Tomorrow is my last day at Wesley. Soon I will leave for Durham. I like to pretend it's another fresh start, but experientially speaking that won't change much. Another place, more of the same people. It won't make a difference. People are the same everywhere, and my ways regarding the cause of this dream have not changed. The patient may play amidst dreams, but the doctor will keep him sedated during the day, lest his sorrowful sickness rub off on everything else inside me.
I've grown so tired of people asking me to will an emotion, or show more emotion, and tell them what I'm feeling. Truth is, my emotions have never given me anything of worth. They are rotten and destructive, self-pitying, nihilistic, pathetic, weak.
I am not excited.
I am not encouraged.
I am not hyped.
And I don't give a rat's ass about it.
I have peace and joy.
And these things are not emotional, but spiritual.
There are no goosebumps or hairs being raised,
no 'oooh' and 'ahhh.'
Peace, be still.
And stillness I have.
I am calm, I am collected.
My emotions are of desire.
I desire to know.
And that is sufficient for now.
And since the patient will not listen to reason, one must beat him with his own devices. Be brutal to him in word so that he will shut up long enough to go back to sleep.
I'm just babbling furiously at this point, which only shows me again how fruitful my emotions can be. Rotten.
I just discovered you have a blog and will be harassing you on here, just as old times. I recently finished a story and need your opinions ASAP. Also, in the mere act of writing, you've let your emotions control you. Weakling. Emotions are for the gays.
ReplyDeleteGood to hear from you old friend. I'll take a look into your story as soon as you send me a link. I'll probably respond with something about how it lacks structure and how the writing is generally sub-par.
ReplyDelete