On One Hand

December 5, 2004

Pink Dream

Filed under: Uncategorized — ononehand @ 2:11 am

Another weird dream:

I’m standing on walkway on the side of a mountian. The walkway is made of wooden slats, a fancy rail, and a suspended roof, though everything on the walkway would be considered outside. One side looks down over the hill which gets steeper as it descends, eventually becoming a vertical cliff, while the uphill side is lined with bars and stores. The cliff seems to lead down into nothingness, while a canyon on another side of the mountian is filled with trees and buildings down below.

The walkway has a lot of pink on it, and is filled with people. In this place there is no time: all points in history converge here on the path. The place is busy, like an airport or some travel stop, and the people are from many different places and times. There are some from colonial times, others from a few months or weeks ago, others from the present, still others from the future. Those from the past are black and white like old photographs, while those from the future are shiny, plastic, the most brightly colored of all. I go into a bar and spend my only money on a piece of food. I come out and there are five or so homeless people, poor, dirty, many different races and cultures, from a wide range of different times. I hold out my food for them and they lunge at it, each taking a piece, leaving me with nothing. I’m unhappy about that, but it’s not like I can tell them no.

When I start to fall asleep, I can feel the part of my brain that makes dreams take over. My thoughts becme random, scatter, and my eyes start zipping around at ridiculous angles as if they’re trying to follow a swarm of bees. If I take interest in what is happening, my thoughts snap back to reality and my eyes stop moving, leaving me with an impossible connundrum of being interested but not being able to address that interest. But before long it happens again. I get the feeling of my brain scattering before any pictures come, before the randomness generates some sort of meaningful and interperetable thought.

And then I dream, which is almost always unhappy. My anxieties come out, especially the ones about betrayal or rejection, and friends are turning their backs on me, crushes are turning me down outright, and strangers are turning up their chins, passing me by. But if I wake up I desperately want to go back, to finish the story.


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