Dream tides (III)

September 5, 2011

A few days before, my friend had mentioned that she was writing in her notebook, and I’d remembered, with some curiosity, what it was like to keep one and then thought about what it is like now not to be keeping one. The flip-book dream, then, might be a comment on how I understand the chronicling of travel, be it emotional or physical. It had been a simple construct when I’d dreamed it, the flip book, and resonates more deeply now that I’ve given it context. This narrative-making hasn’t happened with a dream since last June when, during a Vicodin haze, I saw the ocean through a glass wall as in an aquarium, its myriad sea monsters lazily rolling about and causing giant, impenetrable waves, and I’d woken up terrified, with one sentence repeated in my head: “Let us never fall asleep so as to avoid contributing to the deaths and disasters caused by the undulating, unrelenting creatures in our dreams.”


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