Saturday, May 14

Thunder Only

Conjuring up stories is difficult for me, so lacking is my imagination in inventiveness and scope. As this affects my literary career, so too does it affect my dreams. I rarely dream during sleep, not to any degree that they are memorable, at least. More often than not I wake without a single thought in my head. There is no bedly recollection for me. However, after a week or two of dreamless sleep I will have a night full of them. So plentiful are these dreams that I will wake many times during, taking a moment to reassure myself that everything is sound before I fall back to sleep. If they are nightmares I will sob, laugh at my tears, shake what I can of them from my mind, wonder how bakewell tarts are made, and then fall back into slumber.
There are many reoccurring subjects in my dreams – as I am sure there are in the dreams of the reader. Personally, I suffer dreams where I cannot talk, where my teeth fall out, or where my skin is so thin and so loose than it falls from my face and I am left with exposed muscle and blood all over. The latter is most unpleasant.
(Not once have I had a wet dream. It would be something, unpleasant or otherwise, to wake up with underwear full of semen. I do not know what that is like.)
Seldom do I dream of happiness, or of being in love. What joy is present in those rare dreams quickly vanishes when I wake up, so troubled am I by the absence of them in my real life.
Of course, the past year I have had dreams of my ex-lover.
Dreams of my ex-lover; my ex: a phantom bouncing across my waking eye and blossoming in the flickers of my night. I suppose I give my subconscious little option but to experiment with her during the hours of my closed night. If you fall in love, the minutiae of life become constant reminders of what was; them. If they become life, then they remain life, I suppose. It is not a magazine subscription, you don’t sign up to it. It just is. For instance, tying a cable in a knot reminds me of my ex-lover; I will not explain to you why, but just know that it does. The act of tying a cable in a knot – phone charger, guitar lead, u.s.b. – becomes something more than it is. I cannot help that.
Last night I dreamed of my ex.
If I could have chosen, I would have chosen not to dream of my ex. It was, by some distance, the most vivid dream I have had of her.
We were on a large ship whisking briskly over a cold blue sea that frothed in white lace. Wind blew. There was a submarine coming from below to overturn the ship. The ship bobbed but stayed upright. The submarine persisted. The submarine appeared from the blue to overturn the ship.
We stood together on the stern, laughing at the submarine but becoming increasingly worried. Finally the submarine triumphed, overturning the ship. My ex and I flew up and away from it. We could fly, together. We landed on the front lawn of her parents’ house. It was sunny, bright spring sunshine. Her mother came out of the house with a birthday cake and said something that made us laugh. My ex-lover laughed and then stopped laughing and then jumped on me, pinning me to the grass, like Nala pinned Simba. We stared at each other. She kissed me. I put my hands in her hair as she kissed me.
What was strange was that I could taste her saliva. I remembered the taste from when we used to kiss; that was information my brain decided was important, so it was filed somewhere distant and obscure in my subconscious, only to be retrieved during a dream.
What was strange was that I could feel her skull, and I know those shapes of her skull. I loved the shapes of her skull. This was obviously information my brain decided was important, so it was filed somewhere accessible and ready, only to be retrieved during a dream.
We kissed and I tasted her and I felt the shapes of her skull.
Then I woke up, lingering breathless at the end of the dream, as it swept away from me, like the frothy edge of a wave hissing away from the sand of another day.

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