A dance that was totally wrong
I was on a trip with my friend A and we ended up in some kind of school, where we were supposed to participate in dances and other recreational activities. I remember only that she liked one of the men in staff and I offered to pick him up for her, because she was too shy to do it. He was also in this dancing group.
We were supposed to dance a hanter dro, which is a popular Breton type of dance, and only I knew the steps. They tried to make me dance something else and it was completely out of the beat. And besides, they danced to the right, not to the left; what the hell were they thinking? I’ve no idea.
I was also walking about the school and meeting people, but I don’t remember anything else.
My sleep has been more sound recently and I don’t remember as much as I would like to. It could be that I’m simply tired (I also sleep more than usually), but I have a suspicion that my friend Good Wizard has something to do with it. He’d like me to have a nightmareless, peaceful sleep, so he might have blocked too much. And the eight hour sleep doesn’t give me as much rest as usually, I often need a nap during daytime. Or this might be the recurring lack of serotonin issue, I hope it isn’t, or I’m going to waste another few months.
Trinitrotoluene and school
I was taking out some cash from an ATM in a huge, empty shopping mall at night. I thought I was alone, when a man approached me. I thought he was going to rob me, or watch me enter my PIN number, but no.
Instead, he put an old guitar full of TNT on a floor, and threatened to detonate it.
I panicked. I somehow knew that if he did it, he’d catalize the end of the world. So I started looking for a way to change his mind. I went to ask someone for help. I went to ask my Good Wizard for help! I flied over the mall. I plotted a very complicated plot, which I don’t remember at all. When all of it failed, I started running. Again.
I ended up in an empty school, watching the drawing and painting exhibition. I was in the middle of watching details of a drawing (it was so clear and detailed, I could probably draw it right now), when the school was filled with children. Very ill and very aggressive children, that tried to attack me. So I ran and hid. Again. And I desperately wanted to get out of there.
So I did the only thing I could in this situation: I became invisible. Not one hundred percent, about fifty, but it was enough to stop being attacked. I was halfway through the stairs when the stupid alarm rang.
Empathy II
I’ve got several new white hairs on my head, they haven’t been there just three weeks ago. I have weird, bad dreams that I don’t remember or don’t want to remember.
We all pay for our empathy with this.
Thought of the day I
Each day of living with parents is minus one point to sanity.
My body
For the first time in the last few years I’d like to perform some major artistic activity, and for the first time in those years I don’t have any means to (because of my current situation and place of residence; long story). I have an idea for a series of emotive self-portraits, both photography and painting, that I couldn’t probably show to anyone afterwards anyway, because they’d be nudes, and too emotive, and I don’t like being physically and emotionally naked before others.
But I seriously think this might be the only way to get rid of my demons, or tame them at least. Or maybe make friends with them, as my brother has recently suggested. To turn them into images, so they’re defined, restrained and changed into something good. To stop quelling my emotions inside and vent them into something constructive and beautiful. To like my body as it is. Yeah, I’d love to like my body.
Real life’s a dream
Every time I go back home from my music journeys, I get the weird feeling, that nothing here is real and I’m somewhere out of the reality, beholding everything happening in a slow motion, like in a dream, with no possibility to change my position.
The city isn’t real. People aren’t real. My “real life” problems aren’t real. Weather changes aren’t real. I’m in a Matrix of some sort, I can’t get out, and I can’t get inside life like all the others.
Sometimes there is something that seems real for a little moment: a person, a dog, a cat, a bird, a song, an undefined presence. But not for long. I can’t get a firm grip of it. I don’t live, I’m in a state of vegetation, hanging between worlds, parallel realities.
Sometimes the action of my dreams takes place in my town. Quite often, actually. And this alternative town, which isn’t stable, changes all the time and is full of ghosts and monsters, seems somehow more real than the one in the “real” life. That’s why I love my dreams, even if they are nightmares.
Running again
The action of this dream took place in my hometown, on an university campus that’s near my parents’ place. There are several dorms there.
One of the dorms was being destroyed. But there weren’t any machines doing that. It was disappearing piece by piece, looking like it was being eaten by a giant invisible monster. Attics of all the dorms were magically connected. The night was greyish-blue, the air was cool, and I saw everything perfectly.
On the roof of the destroyed building there were large stones and rocks, that contained little greyish-coloured opaque gems, that were the main target of the enemy. I was with a group of friends, who weren’t really looking like people. They were sort of looking like living dolls. But they were good and I loved them very much. We were hiding together and they protected me from the enemy, who tried to keep us away from the little gems. They must have had some meaning.
One of my friends, a grey-haired one, found a blueish gem embedded in a rock and he took it. I took a yellowish one, but we couldn’t take any more, because it would help the enemy locate us.
Then we found ourselves in a closed space, surrounded by the enemy (who had apparently found us) and we were supposed to jump into a hole in a floor, and go down through a soft sleeve tunnel to a safe place, where they wouldn’t hurt us. We managed to escape, but one of my friends stayed behind and was killed, while keeping the enemy away from us and letting us escape. We were very sad.
And I woke up.
Communication
Talking about my feelings is an enormous effort for me. I always have the feeling that the person that I’m talking to doesn’t give a crap. So I don’t. I close up. Even to my love. But in spite of that, I have a distant feeling that people should talk about their feelings to their spouses, right? Right.
So sometimes I try. I try to cry to feel a relief, but I can’t. And when I try he changes the subjects, starts talking about irrelevant silly little things that make me mad at the moment. Or he tries to make me laugh, when all I need is someone to take my pain and ground it, because I don’t have a lightning rod in a form of God or gods.
And he has that stupid little habit of interpreting all problems as medical cases.
So I accused him of that all.
He accused me of closing up. He said that I should talk to him more. Because he isn’t a telepath (which he probably isn’t, true) and he has no way of knowing what brews inside my head. And that the more he’s trying to listen to me, the more I close up. Which is also true.
And we started talking. I told him that I have a problem with talking about certain stuff, especially to him. How can I talk about my problems with religious identity to someone who sacrificed a normal religious life to be with me, right? This wouldn’t be fair. So I didn’t. But he asked me to start talking, so I did. And I managed to tell him all the things.
That I don’t deny existence of any gods or a single God. They may all be there, for all I know. I just don’t give a damn. I refuse to worship them.
That the Bible or any other “holy” book is for me merely a set of legends, written to keep people together, because when they are unhappy, they should have a tradition and religion to make them feel more safe, and it should be treated as a legend, not as the only truth, because if you think logically it just can’t be.
That I simply hate people who think that their way of thinking is the only right one and I think that because their beliefs simply aren’t verifiable (is that even a word? O_o), so they might be right, wrong or both, for all I know.
That I think that bringing up a child in any religion (especially the one like his, which doesn’t tolerate any signs of thinking differently, or maybe I’m too harsh?) is brainwashing them from the beginning and making them believe things that aren’t verifiable (O_o) as they were real and true.
That he doesn’t talk about himself much and after all those years I barely know anything about his emotions, his spiritual life. I only know his opinions about various stuff and his brilliant sense of humour, which helped us through many difficult times.
He didn’t say much. He wasn’t too happy with what I said (I probably hurt his religious feelings more than once, and I realize that too painfully), and he had probably suspected such an opinion from me all this time, but he was glad that I started talking. And promised he wouldn’t send me to another shrink, and acknowledged my problems as something to be solved by some serious work from me, not by medications and talking about irrelevant stuff to a strange person, which I hate with all my heart.
I also asked him if he really wanted to be with me and why, I don’t really know why I did, because I feel that he does. Maybe I needed to hear it again to feel wanted.
I know it’s not much. We didn’t solve anything, only opened some old and new wounds. But we began communicating and it’s a good start.
A way of sharing
My good friend told me that my voice has changed. My singing has changed. It’s been changing for the last few months, and I don’t know if the change is done already. After last week everything has changed. The singing changes if the singer becomes different, I suppose.
I used to perform without emotions. Or with fake emotions. Not opening up, not letting anyone in. Going towards technical perfection (which I lack, but I’m working on it). There are people who observe emotions of others and they might use their conclusions against someone. A little Soulgaze, if I may use a reference to popular sf literature.
The last few weeks changed that. My goal now is to “rip away the top layers”. It needs concentration, emotion, perfect conditions. I only managed it once. I sang one sweet, sad song to my dear friend, as I promised him. He had his soulgaze and he appreciated. Something changed after that. He said I’m becoming someone else, and he wouldn’t say anything more, because he didn’t want to disturb the process. He said that I’m actually making a difference. I give something good to people. And that I should take from it too, because there’s enough magic in my singing for the whole planet and myself. That’s why I started singing on parties, recently, when someone asks me for it. This is the only way I can share my love for friends with them for now. It’s the only possibility for me to open up.
Even a musician who doesn’t actually like songs told me that my singing’s improved (it was after a few glasses of wine, but anyway). This must mean something.
My singing now lets me get rid of pain and sadness. Or sometimes to embrace them so they become more familiar, more… mine. I know I won’t get rid of them entirely, because they’re part of me, and I can’t simply cut that off. But singing helps keeping me from getting shattered more and more. And sometimes even glues some little broken pieces together.
Where am I going
When you drink a lot of alcohol with people you barely know, but you like working with them and drinking with them is fun too, because you talk about important stuff, you suddenly realize a lot of things that you were somehow unaware of for a long time.
Like, that this temporary job is one of the best things that have ever happened to you and you can’t imagine yourself without it.
Like, that when you finish it, everyone is going to go their separate ways and you probably won’t ever work with them again, and they probably won’t even keep in touch, and you desperately don’t want that, because you’ve grown attached to them.
Like, that you don’t really know why you’re doing with your life what you’re doing, and you’re doing it because it’s right and everyone expect you to, and you promised a lot of things to certain people, but you’d rather be somewhere else doing something entirely different, being different than you are.
