dream: 3/21/2022

i had that nightmare yet again... the recurring nightmare, modified in some respects, about coming to school completely unprepared... here, i thought i was going to class to have some prep for a final, only to realize that it WAS the final. the professor was passing out those little blue books, and i could see that students were seating themselves apart from each other. i reluctantly took my book and found my seat... ostensibly, it was a calculus exam; i could hear the professor mention to the class something about the final problem. i took a quick glance at that problem: #29 or something, and heard from a distance about how a lengthy proof was required... even though it was supposed to be on calculus, the initial questions had more to do with history or religion. the last problem that i eventually woke up in the middle of had to do with a special class of ritualists known as the sword makers or sword builders (i even saw a made up japanese name for them, something like "ogori no ..."). the question was asking why, among all ritualists, they were forgiven for such things as tardiness and other violations, even when precision was required in some ceremonies. i was slowly writing my response in sloppy, panicked handwriting, something about how these "sword makers" were so vital to various ceremonies and rites and so specialized, that they were afforded some liberties that other ceremonial professionals were not. in the middle of my response, supposedly in these untampered blue books, i noticed that my friend had put a big colorful sticker on the bottom of one of the pages. in desperation, i spent some time scratching it out, and then putting some sort of tape over it, trying to decide which looked more "professional." in the end, i scratched it out, and wrote a lame "sorry" next to it, before proceeding to the next page.

i remember seeing my roommates calmly talking about something completely unrelated (apparently, in this final, people could still talk once they were done). i asked them if they were done. they both replied, "of course." i was incredulous. it still seemed like the beginning of the final period, and i was writing my hand off, and it seemed impossible, just from the sheer volume of writing that was required, that anyone would finish that early. but they were done. in fact, it seemed that most people were done. everyone was calmly going about their business as though this- all of it- were a piece of cake... and i felt alone, struggling, desperate... as i have felt at many instances throughout my life.

i rolled over in my sleep and awoke, eyes still closed, to the darkness. i remember that i had to struggle, and stop myself from continuing my dream's train of thought, to write, to come up with the ending of that particular sentence... there was this thing i had to do, wrapped up in fear... and outside of it, in this empty darkness, was a sort of relaxed oblivion... which, actually, was the true remembering. of course, i "evaporated" from the one to the other, taking me here.

[maybe: this is like death.]

3/16/2022

it's been a long time since i wrote. i suppose i have been in a funk. maybe i always am in a funk. anyway, although it is spring break, i have basically been working with our robotics team every day. i alternate between going to the school and going to the beach. it's okay, i guess, but i still feel anxious about being prepared for the actual tournament. anxious and tired.

i played a game called "omori" mainly because my daughter recommended it highly. in a way, i got really attached to the characters, and felt devastated by the tragedy which befalls them. i thought the game conveyed mental illness in a perceptive way. it left me feeling simultaneously drained and hopeful.

after playing the game yesterday, i worked on weeding the front yard. i felt motivated to really push through. there is yet one corner of the lawn that i haven't touched much. but i really tried to push through it. the weeds there are of a particular sort, they have round leaves (sort of like the spreading clover), but underneath, they create this mesh of roots that dig deep into the ground. so to pull them requires me to really dig and pull at the same time, so that i get their tap roots out of the ground. what i mean to say is that it takes a lot of effort to progress. i suppose that that effort (and i suppose any effort) fills me with a sense of despair, and i have been avoiding that feeling for a long time. i have been avoiding it with regards to many things, so that i end up feeling sort of numb.

i mean, i have been putting what effort i can into work. but it's a kind of day-by-day thing. there's no overarching vision that i have, nothing that inspires or motivates me. it's just negotiating through the present day. and the best you have in this sort of mode is a feeling of survival, it's not really a feeling of general accomplishment.

i look upon people like my father-in-law or my own father as people who managed to push through. who take the time to complete things. and they seem so clean. morally. i don't know. i for some reason hesitate to push through to the ends of things. mainly because many things, it seems, have no end. and also because i am just so tired. so tired of life and its many endless needs... that always seem pointless... is that the depression talking? i am not sure. is that old age talking? i am not sure.

most of life seems a pointless illusion.

there are things that i believe in. i believe in people's happiness. i try to guard it, protect it... but then maybe that's part of my problem. i don't see beyond their smiles, or their lack of a smile. i don't see beyond the superficialities of things. or maybe i don't want to. because that would mean that i would need to involve myself more. push through. dig deeper. etc. and i'm too tired to do that. so tired...

but anyway, as i was saying, i felt a kind of quiet hope after playing omori. it's not exactly something i can articulate. it was more an openness to push through. i don't know if that can work with the story writing, etc. because it always seems to lead to some sort of tangle and snarl. it's not as though i have ever found that moment of clarity when it seems you have pushed through...

there is always a voice inside of my head saying, "what's the point?" but sometimes i do things anyway. because nothing, ultimately, has a point. sometimes we do things not because they are rational or because they have worth. sometimes we just follow the current within ourselves. and i suppose... that's okay. because as long as we are trying to be true to ourselves, and honor truth in general, i suppose that leads to the path we're supposed to go on. right?

in other words, maybe it's okay not to be perfect all the time. maybe it's okay to feel tired. i try my best, and sometimes it take my best just to make it through each day... and then i collapse, trying to dream for the next day. and that's okay. that's okay...

i hope you're okay, non-existent reader.

3/3/2022

if you spend your life effacing yourself, then you shouldn't complain when no one sees you, or even misses you when you're gone.

*****

yesterday was my birthday. it's kind of a milestone birthday, although i don't want to mention it. i usually don't feel good around this time of year. like, sometimes i feel physically ill, or in other years, i just get into a deep emotional rut. this year, i was just really - tired. kind of feeling blah. i came home after teaching at school, even though i had some (rare) empty time, and i could've basically done anything... but i came home, and the first thing i did was lay on the sofa in the garage and crash. i didn't really fall into full sleep, but i sort of drifted for a couple of useless hours (a bit less than a couple) before i got up (reluctantly) and went to my other job teaching at the acupuncture school. these routines i follow, i began to think about how long i have retraced these steps, respoke these words... i am an echo of myself. a copy of a copy. i can live this life without even thinking, really... and i think about the dreams i have, of writing, of finishing something, the same dreams that have haunted me for years, and the idea that i am no closer now than years ago makes me feel a quiet and desperate despair... also, there's a realization that even were i to finish, no one would read it- as no one read my self-published book - and so i would still essentially be cycling/spinning wheels on a gearless bike, not moving forward, not getting anywhere... and maybe if that's the case, maybe all these dreams, all these hopes, were for naught.

... no, i don't entirely think that. just sometimes i do. in my daily job, i try to give fully of myself. i really try. i don't think most people, or many people, or perhaps any people, see this. maybe it's this feeling of generosity that fails me. sometimes i think the best teachers are the ones who don't care... or more precisely, they care more about themselves, about their own survival, than they do about their charges. and that's why they're able to make things work. they're able to force the pieces of their lives to turn like perfect gears... they reshape their students in the process... my mentality, aside from "pushing" people to do things that will help them, aside from relentless encouragement, it is to allow people to be themselves. in all their chaos. and that leads to mess and frequent disappointment... i don't know if that leads to better results, better people... but it is my way. and i don't think, at this late stage in the game, that i can change it...

*****

the danger of growing old is... i guess it is that you are less able to generate or believe in your own illusions. maybe also the illusions of others... some might say that is the benefit of age. it's the whole "wisdom" part we're supposed to think is the "fruit" of all that living... but it's a bitter fruit. and it disallows some of the stupid and impossible and "felt" aspects of life. i honestly think, at times, that the foolhardiness of youth, or rather, the foolhardiness IS youth, that innocence and stumbling progress IS what youth consists of... so when people ask that stupid question of what i would do, knowing what i know, if i could be young again... well, at times, i think it's an impossible question- not because you can't really go back- but because even if you could, it would still be impossible, because you would still miss out on what was essential to that time in your life, which is the magic of not knowing. in essence, going back would just bring the tired perspective of old age to an earlier point in the game... it would be like replaying the same game from level 1, after you've solved the game. all of the magical things you saw when you first played would be seen as tired and pointless things... that's what i think sometimes, anyway... when i am down.

*****

i still reflect on my lack of friends... it's no surprise that that's the case, that i have very few friends. i don't put any effort into "cultivating" or "supporting" relationships. i don't reach out... i think for me life has been about putting yourself, your full effort, into things, into activities, etc. and friends were just- ancillary- to that process. they were your comrades in arms... the people you hung out with when you were tired... the people that accepted you as you were... just sort of a passive release, a reflex. like the recoil of your lungs on an exhale...

and maybe that's part of the point... that i don't feel i can relax with most people. there is always a concern to address... and i always raise concerns, like walls, to keep people out... i know i do that. why do i do that? maybe a part of me just doesn't want to hear it. i just don't want to feel disturbed... and maybe that's the crux, that i love the quiet churning of my own whirlpool heart more than i love the disturbance that would result from letting someone in, letting someone out...

*****

i would like to be remembered as someone who cared.

but i think that it won't be like that, so much. i think in life that there are some people who attract attention and love to themselves like a magnet. and there are others who are immune to that dimension of pushes and pulls, people that are like the dead rocks that have no iron in them, that just fall to the floor when you try to stick them to a magnet... and that's just the way it is. you can't change the laws of the universe, or the laws of yourself.

"it's okay," he tells his student. "it's okay." repeatedly to say that. almost as though it is to convince himself of it. that this is the way things are. and the world may not love you. but in this moment, i will love you. i will find a place in my heart for you. remember this please. because it is the only gift i have to give, only in this moment. and then i will be gone.

i hold you to me in the way that words can, only so long as you remember them, and pay attention to them. once you forget, once you move on, then maybe that bond is lost.

*****

it's still early, on this first day of being whatever age i am. i'm going to try to sleep and dream. most of what i am now is the desire to forget... in those moments when i wake, i murmur my love to those few around me who stay, my wife, my children, my dog (yes, i love him)... a circle that surrounds me and is me... and i try to go back to sleep, again, to the dream that is my life.

dream 2/24/2022

as is often the case, i recall the second dream very vividly, and after recounting it, i recall threads of the earlier dream only vaguely. so i will talk about the second dream first.

there was this movie called shang chi and the ten rings. i saw it. but anyway, in the dream, there appeared to be this part where, in order to join this team- and, indeed, for the audience, in order for the storyline and the movie to proceed, each person had to stab their own heart, and then put something in it. i was desperately trying to do it. i tried to use these blunt wooden objects, and press them in various places on my heart (now that i think about it, there are definitely connections to my previous dream, which i hope to highlight later). in any case, i was unsuccessful at first. i started to realize that maybe i was pushing in the wrong place. maybe i was pushing directly into the sternum. so i had to shift my location slightly to the left, so i wasn't just trying to press directly into the bone, but was accessing an intercostal space- the fourth intercostal to be exact (i used to be an ekg tech, so i know about using the 4th intercostal on the left side- it's one of the places we put the stickers for the ekg machine). anyway, even with the shift in position, the whole stabbing the heart thing wasn't working. finally, someone handed me a plastic butter knife, the kind with a slight serration on one end. and i decided to try it. and guess what- gradually it worked! this whole part of the dream was extremely vivid- i could feel something gradually going into my heart... when i pulled out the knife, some thick purple blood began to escape the wound, and as my heart beated, thin jets would squirt out. i got whatever it was i was supposed to get to plug the wound and put it in...

anyway, from that point on, the movie was supposed to proceed, the storyline was allowed to proceed. so i took my seat in the movie theater. i was waiting for the movie to begin, and just scanning some of the faces in the audience. it was at that point that i saw my sister, with some of her friends. and then, i noticed some of her friends had boyfriends, and that their significant others had faces that i recognized- maybe people off of my fb friends feed. and then i saw jani (brother's wife) and then my brother himself. and then i saw min, who is my friend, but who also is a good friend of my brother's. i saw all of these people sitting around me, laughing, having fun. they were all one big social group. and then i began to feel betrayed. i may have written about my strained relationship with my brother (in real life, i haven't spoken to him since 2010)... but i felt betrayed by everyone. in real life, i have been trying to meet with my sister, take her to lunch or dinner, but she has always said she was busy. that fact from real life seemed to bleed into the dream, and i thought, she said she was too busy to meet me, yet here she is with all of these friends, and with my own older brother... and min, who is ostensibly my friend, who was my friend first before i introduced him to my brother- i saw that he preferred to spend time with my brother rather than me. and i felt so incredibly betrayed and alone. i didn't want to be seen by all of these people, so i went off to find a seat of my own, far away from everyone (i remembered i was wearing a lab coat for some reason). unfortunately, min had seen me, and he started to follow me. in irritation, i just left the entire movie theater, and remember walking down the fire escape stairs...

couple things about my little stunt (stabbing my heart)... i recall (before the movie started) overhearing someone talking about how he had done something similar ( i could see a wound on his chest, plugged up by yellow wax ).... i recalled or saw an outtake from the movie about how they tried to get some korean stunt guy to actually do what i had done, but even he backed out...

so there was this other level of betrayal, that i had been the only one stupid enough to actually do what the movie encouraged... even though it asked it of everyone... and not even the actors in the movie itself- not a single person- had dared to do it... yes, so i felt stupid for having done it.

*****

in the previous thread of the dream, i was a vampire. i was this older female vampire. i had had a couple of acolytes, servants, who were not aware that i was a vampire. somehow at one point, they decided- or were charged with the task of- killing vampires. before they realized i was one, i tried to make my escape. i don't recall what i did initially to get away. but i remember jumping off the edge of some freeway into a large lake... and as my former servants were shooting crossbow bolts into the water, i made my way underwater to an island within the center of the lake. i seemed to be looking for a location that was suitable for something, perhaps to build a fortress or maybe to have a last stand. anyway, i saw an island that was covered in scraggly pines, and had orange clay like soil. i remember distinctly this cliff formation on one end of the island. because at one point, i was at the top of the cliff, and my servants were trying to hunt me down, and i tried to hide by hanging off the edge of the cliff... i slipped, i believe, and fell- not necessarily to my death, but down to the bottom of the cliff... and i think that's when the idea of stabbing me through the heart came up... because the servants realized that that was the best way to kill me...

*****

anyway, when i woke up from the second dream, there was this incredible feeling of aloneness and betrayal. i felt like all of these people were having secret get togethers around me and leaving me out... perhaps some of it was due to listening to this story on npr about how people nowadays do not have friends (i think the tag line was that a study had showed that up to 50% of people do not have a single close friend). and that got me to thinking about who my friends are. and not just facebook friends (the story on npr actually distinguished between online contacts and what they described were "embodied" friendships, that is, contacts that you actually met in person). and i thought about how i don't have any "embodied" friendships... not really. there is the aforementioned min... but he's really dean's friend now. and in any case, i did nothing to initiate or even really maintain that friendship. it was and generally has been all him... so i started to think about what's wrong with me, why do i not have any real friends (aside from my wife). why am i so unfriendly?

it's not necessarily that i miss it. maybe it's something that has been so absent in my life that i don't even feel its lack any more...

my daughter has been wrestling with some of the same issues... although people want to have a relationship with her, she simply isn't interested. i recall myself, for most of my life, consumed by an intense loneliness, desiring some sort of relationship to help me feel human... i have a hard time understanding her, on the other side, propositioned repeatedly, but declining, out of an absence of feeling... but now, maybe i am the same as her. discontinuous with the human race...

i think my mentality, my job, all of it, are "surrogates" for true relationship. my desire for "art" (which, in my head, is the absence of an audience which paradoxically is only enlivened by pretending an interested audience) - it is a way to keep people away from me, it is an "aesthetic" attempt to relate to people but in reality it keeps everyone away from me... my job- my passion/compassion to help people- which i feel is real- maybe is a compensation for my inability or unwillingness to have truly "embodied" friendships... there is a sense of bitterness maybe, or, as in the dream, a betrayal... this sense of having been wounded in the heart, and thus, alone in that woundedness... somehow that wound makes me different from everyone else, unable to relate to anyone... that's the feeling, the overall feeling, i got from the dream...

i woke from the dream, and even though it is 3 am, i recounted it verbally to my wife. she said, "why wasn't i in the dream?" and i told her, "yeah. in dreaming and in real life, you're my only friend."

my only friend.

i went to a funeral recently for my student's father... anyway, it got me to thinking, if i died, who would come? who would care that i was gone? and i thought, maybe a few people, out of an obligation. but no one who was really my friend. no one who would miss me- viscerally. yes, people would stop seeing me go from place to place, running my stupid errands. but no one who actually had real conversations with me, or who really cared what was going on in my head or my heart (for that matter, when was the last time that i spent the time to listen to people - not my charges, not my students - but real people that are my age, or adults in any case?)... when was the last time that i really cared about the people around me? and not just "do something for them." because i always am doing something for people. it's my job, among other things... but just be open and vulnerable and allow a connection to form? i have always been moving, moving, moving... building art bridges... learning languages... etc. etc. etc. the accumulation of skills... but not really connecting to people. i don't know how. and i maybe don't want to... but i wish - secretly? - that i could have friends.

dream 2/20/2022

i had a couple of dreams...

in one, i was in some house in a colder climate (i could see the mountains outside covered in pines, and an expansive but cold sky). the house i was in was neglected... there were these- not exactly roaches, but more like these sort of bugs that invaded my aquaponics system, these wet roly-poly bugs- crawling all over the place on the wooden floors. and kate, one of my fellow teachers, kept discovering reasons for the infestation; like she found this bunch of uneaten food down one of the drains or something...

...

in another more disturbing dream...

my car, the blue bomber, was in some canal, with other cars. i suppose there was some flood or something. i needed papers from it. i suppose i had realized that i was taking courses over at williams, on wednesdays or tuesdays or something, but in my business, they had become lesser priorities and as a result, i had completely neglected them; there were finals coming up that i had to check on and study for. my papers, or i hoped, some of them, were in the car. only trouble was was the car was in the middle of this canal of water. so i leapt from the sidewalk onto my car (there was a bit of an audience)... i realized that if i opened up anything (my door) that the water would flood into the car (it was halfway up the side of the car). so i crawled around the car like a monkey... the car, disturbed by my presence on it, began to drift... there were deeper holes in the ground that threatened to pull the car under, and i didn't want that to happen... i avoided them, but suddenly the car tumbled down this ledge, and fell on its back side... and then tumbled until it was right side up again... somehow that dream faded into the next one, which also looked at things from the perspective of water...

...

i was like 007 or something in this large mansion of death. there were zombies everywhere, red with blood, their faces unrecognizable, some of them spewing out their guts... the white marble of the mansion was red with gore and blood. there was a sort of venetian moat travelling through the center of the mansion. somehow my view of everything was from this moat, which was occupied by some monstrous crocodile... the crocodile was being fed by the body parts raining down from above... when i found myself again, i was on the underside of a bridge, one of the very few places that were still somewhat clean. i was clinging onto it for dear life... there was some control panel on the underside of the bridge which i seemed to be messing with... however, i was discovered by some zombie...

...

i was in the mansion itself. there was still the sense of death, or at least, that i was doomed, a prisoner. but there were no zombies visible. only different agents of some cruel man. these agents looked swarthy, like from some south asian country, malaysia, singapore, vietnam... i wasn't sure. but they had these smiles that communicated that they would very much like to kill me... i can't remember the details, but somehow i made my escape, ran as fast as i could down a corridor outside... and i could see their smiles, relaxed and assured as though they knew my escape was entirely impossible...

i somehow got into the streets, where there were more people. there were prostitutes, unattractive, malnourished, waiting around some structure like a bus stop... i was caught, and as i was being dragged on the ground by the agents, i saw a band of mendicant monks dressed in yellow (although it was clear that they had abandoned their religiosity long ago). there was a midget monk with a japanese face. he said "kiru" (cut) and wielded an ugly little knife. i spoke to him: "nihonjin?" (japanese?) and he nodded yes, before i continued to be dragged away...

...

my perspective seemed to shift, and i was no longer the person being dragged. instead, i was a young spritely girl jumping over the crowds, on structures and statues that lined the orange-lighted streets... at one point, it seemed that i was on some sort of pyramid like structure, with stairs going up into the night sky. a woman and her child beside me mentioned something about jesus christ in korean, about how that would save me, but even in the dream, i kind of scoffed at that, and simply made my way up and beyond... i kept doing this and doing this, until...

i was in the alcove of some museum of history. there were various historical structures lining both sides of the entrance alcove. i had been clamboring on top of the structures, gradually making my way to the entrance. there was a girl beside me. i realized that something was off in the order of the statues, off in the sense that it was different from when i had passed this way before (apparently, i had gone on this before). i had remembered there was a structure (with a bird head) that was particularly unstable. there had been an order at the end of the sequence, something like: western western eastern... and it was different now.

- i also had the insight- not sure if it was when i was in the museum or before- that some civilizations just had too much "culture." the statues were so ornate as to be unrecognizable and- messy. and i wondered if some cultures were like people, who wearied of the accumulation of ideas and things- most of them useless and meaningless- and if cultures ever wanted to just forget and begin again, clean of the past... 

anyway, i had a debate with the girl and the curator of the museum who showed up... they doubted whether anything was wrong with the sequence. but the curator started talking about how they wanted to sequence the pieces by "the human heart." and she started speaking with a dramatic flourish (in french), something about the progression of "liberte!" and i countered that it should simply be ordered by history...

and that was it. that was all i could remember...

*****

i am still having a hard time writing. i think the part of the dream about weary cultures is related to me, to my weariness of writing this useless avalanche of a story in my head. why can't i just write little pieces, to match my short asthmatic breath? 

*****

i've had a kind of epiphany. i really have been trying to work out the "plot" of this convoluted story i'd started to write called "kappa noodle." i had considered using a strategy of writing different plot points on notecards, and "connecting" them on a corkboard (similar to what detectives always do when they are trying to hunt a serial killer)... the trouble was that i would start writing a notecard, and then get pulled in- i would attempt to answer a question about a character, say, motivation, and then get tangled in a thousand other questions... it really felt like - (and i just came from this) - pulling a bundle of vines that are smothering up a tree... everything wraps around everything else...

when i look at the dream, at least some parts of it... i think that the structures represent the plot points. the girl jumping over them is the prospective reader (or maybe the writer, planning things out). the comment about ditching the accumulation of culture is perhaps a part of myself, that is tired of trying to work out this gordian knot, and would just like a clean break from it all... and the discussion with the museum curator represents a kind of debate within me; on the one hand, of maintaining "historicity" (which in this context relates to logical sequencing), versus the progression of the "human heart" (which in this context means following the significance, the feeling, the drama - or, alternatively, of just going by feel, not by logic). the exclamation of "liberte" represents the feeling of freedom promised by that perspective...

at least, that's what i THINK is being said.

dream 2/13/2022

had another dream of sorts... for context, i have been struggling with the plot of the story i'm trying to write. and by struggling, it literally feels like it is whittling me down into madness... anyway, from what i recall of this dream: we had started to redesign our house so that it had elements of nature indoors. like, in the middle of one room, right in the middle of the carpet, was a tree growing straight to the roof. or rather, there were a bunch of treelets, because they hadn't exactly grown into one trunk yet... oddly enough, there were trees also growing out of me, like out of my leg, because i guess at one point part of the plan was that i stand in the center of all of it, and be like part of this tree growing in the middle of the room...

in another room, there was a system of ponds.... like, again, right in the middle of the room. i was concerned, because there were parts were the pond wasn't bordered well, and i could feel the water leaking into the surrounding carpet. at first, the pond seemed very small and shallow. in fact, it had nothing living in it. but as i looked closer, there were snails in it (little water snails), and then goldfish... and before i knew it, there was this giant snapping turtle, which swiftly crossed over the paltry bamboo fence around the pond. i followed it, and while it passed over a white towel on the floor in the kitchen, it left a long trail of yellow poop on the floor. i tried to catch it, but as i rounded a corner, it kind of disappeared. i returned to the pond, hoping it had returned... as i did so, i noticed some wriggling in the carpet, and saw the legs of a giant harvester spider... and then, before i knew it, there was a wooden scorpion, some kind of cross between a harvester spider and a scorpion... it was attacking me. its legs were so thin they were basically invisible to me, so when i fought it, it was more a matter of just randomly flailing. after a while, i started running from it, and it quickly pursued me around the house...

*****

my story simply grows more incongruous. i am trying to map the plot, etc. etc. to find the structure, the plan, of the story... but i keep getting pulled into wrestling with details... like, if i do this, then how is it consistent with that? what is the motivation of this character? why would he/she care? it really eats away at me. oftentimes, i just lie on this couch and am rambling to myself about details of the plot. sometimes i dream obsessively about some detail, and it seems i have come up with a solution, but really, it's just repeating some stupid aphorism over and over... when i wake the inconsistencies are still there... i have struggled out a basic structure to the plot, but it seems... i don't know... i have to flesh it out... i think, unfortunately, that my process is never clean, and it involves a  degree of suffering, of measuring out my own flesh to cut and eat...

i feel like i am falling into depression. i feel like i am going mad. i am becoming somewhat neglectful and tired and arthritic and whatever... and i don't seem to particularly care. i long for sleep, but then i hate sleep. but it pulls me down relentlessly. i want the promise of a dream, a dream that would liberate me. not the sort of dreams i get, these nightmares, these ugly things. these meaningless things...

dream: 1/23/2022

this was a dream (of sorts). the trigger to remember it was the moon knight, because a lot of these so-called phase 4 marvel characters were in it, supposedly. what i can recall is that there was this weird character who sort of wore this red dead-poolish thing over his head, along with a backwards tie... and at the same time, there was this youngish korean/japanese girl who kept following him, and trying to communicate with him. there was some kind of connection between the two... and they kept meeting each other at "events," like massacres or odd phenomenon (like some kind of interdimensional portal)... there were other characters, it seems, but for some reason, i can only remember those two clearly...

this dream sort of occurred to me as i was rolling on the carpet beside my wife, who was lying on the downstairs sofa... it wasn't exactly comfortable, although i had once prided myself on the ability to sleep on a hard floor... it required me changing positions periodically in order to "balance out" the bruises, so to speak (no, there were no bruises to speak of)...

i'm kind of in a limbo with regards to writing, and other things. it feels like everything "real"- work particularly- is coming to a head. i don't know how else to describe it... i am incredibly tired at it all. the way the world doesn't work. the way that each little incremental step forward is accompanied by failure of yet another joint in the machinery... if entropy is so all-encompassing, why fight it? why not just let it all fall to shit? that's what i ask myself, in my more weary moments...