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Thursday, February 28, 2013

of dreams and things

I’ve had dreams constantly  for the last couple of weeks, everyday I go to bed and every day I dream, it happens whether or not I’m sober, it happens no matter how tired or at peace with myself I feel. There’s nothing to these dreams most of the time. In fact I can hardly remember what they are about but I remember having them.

Sometime ago I was striking a match. The matchstick broke in half after igniting and went and landed on a girl’s blouse. It burned a neat, round hole in the sleeve, at a place so conspicuous she can never wear it again. She’s understandably pissed and I had a dream that we talked it over and she forgave me.

That’s the kind of dream I have. It doesn’t foretell anything, there’s nothing ominous in them though sometimes I have nightmares. I remember last year I dreamed that some girl had stabbed me. Why was she so pissed? Because I was a detective or fancied myself one in that dream and had gone to her with the news that I knew who had killed her twin sister. I got to the place and I remember it was like the burrow, it was dark outside, it may have been raining, it may have been starry but it was all very ominous. I go in to talk to her and her twin sister is right there. She stabs me right in the stomach and I am sure I’m dead then I wake up in sweats in my own room thanking God that it was just a dream. So I get up and I go to look at the stab wound in the mirror, just because, and when I get there I see two stab wounds. They looked like they had healed and one of them was higher up than the other. Moonlight was leaking into the room and everything looked kind of silver and dim, they seem to me now like they looked ugly, jagged and with a stitch job that was not the best. I begin to leave the room to ask for help and suddenly she’s in my bed, she rises up coming to finish up the job and then I wake up again and thank God that that too was a dream.

Those nightmares I remember in such detail it’s like I actually lived them. I wake up and I’m sweating, my brow is damp and my hair is wet the way it gets after its been raining. I remember that when I was taking antibiotics was also an interesting dream time for me. The thing about antibiotics is they make you feel like shit. They make you weak, you lose your appetite, nothing tastes or feels the way it’s supposed to. I kept drinking down water to dilute its effects, even the way the water went down my throat felt different than normal, it felt like I was taking gulps with every sip and the water bumped its way down like a mixture with air. That felt good when nothing else did so I drank a lot of water. Then it was time to piss. Another crappy thing about antibiotics is how they make pee smell. You know that hospital smell? It’s probably the smell from the toilets because of all the people taking antibiotics there. Then I would drink more water to dilute this but it wouldn’t work and I would be right there peeing all the time.

At night I had to get up to pee a lot more than normal. This meant that I was never very far from the kind of sleep that allows dreams, I would wake up and pee and go to bed and then dream. Wake up and pee and then dream. I can’t remember any of those dreams but I remember it was a time of strange dreams. Things were disconnected Proust once wrote about illness that it makes us “recognise that we are chained to a being from a different realm, worlds apart from us, with no knowledge of us, and by whom it is impossible to make ourselves understood.” I feel like I got glimpses of him in those days, real glimpses not like the ones in dreams I usually have. It was like I was living his life and was completely confused by it. Can you imagine being put inside someone’s head for just a little while and having that person’s experiences and feeling and emotions, seeing things through their eyes. It would be completely disorienting, maybe that’s what dreams do they give us a glimmer of someone else and it makes no sense because we have all his data but none of the skills and life experiences necessary to make sense of it.

Last year when I had to get up to go to work I would set my alarm clock 20 minutes before I actually needed to wake up. I would snooze it and snooze it again. If you are a person who has missed dreaming I recommend you do this. In those 10 minutes you have hour-long dreams so much happens that you can’t remember half of it.

I was talking to this girl the other day, then I left her for a minute and came back to sit next to her she said,
“Hi how have you been?”
“Good, but so much has happened since you left, I’m not even the same person anymore, my whole life has changed”
That’s how those ten minute dreams make you feel.

The reason I like dreaming so much now is because of how much I used to hate sleep. I hated it because I had this feeling that one day I would die (I was too young for it to be a knowledge, it just felt like it would happen but then again maybe it wouldn’t) and I didn’t like the idea of spending a third of my life dead. Then I realised that dreams are just another part of life. They are a part of life that’s confusing and anticlimactic, how many people have the actual sex in their dreams? Most don’t (I’ve done a survey) and dreams are the land of always foreplay and awakening just before anything begins to happen. Apparently it also happens when you dream about food something comes between you and the prize. Dreams are a place of anticipation more than satisfaction.

But they aren’t black. When I think about the nights that I didn’t dream I see black. I don’t know where the idea of black comes from. Do we actually see black when we don’t dream? We see it right before we sleep if we are in a dark room but I have no idea what colour or colours the eyes actually see when we are unconscious. Maybe there’s an endless kaleidoscope that gets turned on and we can’t remember it because the night is long and full of terrors. From a class presentation yesterday I learned that the colour black evokes feelings of emptiness in all of us. When I don’t dream I feel like had a few hours of black and therefore a few hours of emptiness. No matter how many times I get stabbed in a dream I would always prefer this to that darkness.