and, in a flash, it is now five days later.
i had a dream. i can't remember the beginning of it. but at one point, in a tour bus or something, we (i and the passengers) were watching other cars and buses navigate a particularly treacherous part of the road below. apparently, there was a bus parked on the side of the road (or maybe it had broken down?), and in impatience, some of the other vehicles were trying to find an alternate route... only, there was no way around it. just beyond the bend where the bus was stalled, there was a sheer drop over a river. and we watched as bus after bus would attempt the jump and would fail spectacularly...
after a time, i spoke to some of the passengers about similarly risky pathways. and then i was speaking to someone (this younger white dude) about risky pathways that he had taken. he mentioned (and pointed out in the landscape... or did the landscape itself change?) a road sloping up into the mountains. i mentioned something similar, but far steeper- and said something about how i would never attempt such a path, particularly if someone were with me- implying something about my own children...
in any case, we eventually ended up in some sort of inn, which was located, it seems in a cave of some sort. and i was in a room with one of the bass guitarists of radiohead, the one with the bowl haircut (that thome comments on in one video) and the apish arms, whom i never quite learned the name of, and (in this dream) imagined did not speak english as his first language... he seemed conscious of the fact that attention was upon him, and immediately dropped to the floor, imitating a scene from- i called it- cape fear. i don't know if there actually was a scene like this, but he was on the floor, as though handcuffed, and someone kicked him or something, and he dislocated his shoulder on purpose, yelling (in denero-ese) "fock you!" i laughed a bit, told him that was good. he said thanks in some halting spanish accent, and then said that because it was just he and his little brother, he would often have to come up with things to entertain him and pass the time...
i remember having this insight, that this was inside of a dream. and someone (me?) said, "ah, this is a true one!" and then someone else, in this british mad-scientist-y voice, creaked, "but how can you tell!?" and i imagined these old dessicated souls peering and mulling over forms in the flotsam and jetsam of consciousness, trying to find remnants of the old world- the living world- and most of the time failing. the "how can you tell" part was something about how the conscious mind, that devilish thing, could always recreate forms in its own image, according to its own memory, and thus pretend at reality- and the despairing "how can you tell" statement was because it was no longer possible to discern the "real" world of antiquity from something that was "recreated" and placed there...
i feel that this last was a commentary on original inspiration. it was probably a bridge thought, on the way out of the dream...
***
i went to use the bathroom in the dark, and i was gazing into the bowl, i thought of how the kappa's head is like a toilet bowl... draining away into the darkness...
***
when i close my eyes to sleep, i don't know why, but i imagine (or try to imagine) a different life... but something keeps me from a clear vision that i can feel... maybe it's just because my imagination has always been broken. i always thought it was, because it never seemed to work the way that they make it on sesame street, where you can close your eyes, and this clear alternate reality appears... no, there are always questions, distractions... you can always see the puppeteer's hands invading the show... but anyway, i felt as though i had dug myself in a rut, dug the bottom of the river with my own clawed fingers, and scooped out enough of the shit and sediment to create a trap of a sort, where the water would cycle and have a difficult time escaping... and i could see the waters of the river, and other shores, but i could never escape the rut i had made...
life is like that. we can see much farther than we can be.
i suppose i can't even conceive (in my imagination) of another relationship. it is- as vizzhini says- "inconceivable!" it's sad, i suppose. even in an escapist sort of sense, and even within my own head, i am not allowed of imagining alternatives in any way that i could feel... like, perhaps if i had opened a door into another life at this particular juncture... or, perhaps if i had gone to the summer country, free from obligations, and met someone there... it's impossible for me to "see" it or experience it. the devil is in the details, they say, and it's in the details that the vision is lost... what does she look like? why would she interact with you? what would she say? inevitably, the whole stage collapses upon itself.
...again: "ah, this is a true one!"
"but how can you tell!?"
life, the mind- it is a game of obfuscation- of make-believe... ever think of the words? make-believe. how we make something and then try to believe it. that's life, i suppose. but at a certain point, it's difficult. we know we made it... so how can we believe it? that's the rub.
i get scared sometimes, of old age. as my faculties diminish, and the only thing i have left to run away with is my mind, have i already imprisoned myself with my ravenous analytical consciousness? the one that dissolves all forms and dreams in its stomach and then refashions it all into usable proteins and sugars and fats??? all to build up my own towering edifice. (btw, not unlike my own minecraft adventure, this never-ending construction of a tower of rationality???)
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