Hush…Shh, she sleeps. 2009 had been the years of dreams, quite literally. I don’t recall any other time in my life being so filled- disturbingly, ethereally, lucidly, lushly, frighteningly with nightly subconscious activity. 2010 has not disappointed, thus far.
I’m wakefully haunted the last two days by my former six-year-old self- she paid me a cordial visit on the waves of REM several nights ago and the dream was so beautiful- even the light had an antiquated film-quality about it- the sunshine was golden sepia, the over grown grass of 20 Park Street shushed and danced about my little backyard world…
Collecting twigs for the kettle (a leafy soup!) I’d brush the brown bangs from my eyes and sun speckled nose. John Lennon was in attendance, I believe, and I’d have perfectly logical discussions with him about singing or whether or not Fluffanella should be baptized (my cat). I smell Pine Sol, Kool Milds menthol cigarettes, damp earth, and the cold rush of air from an open basement door. Birds chatter. Telephone poles. And again. And again. And again (I’m rolling down the side yard hill, alone). Daddy long legs frequent the painted cement wall and I collect them to pull their legs off and administer last rites- I always wanted to be a priest.
Nyquil doesn’t hurt, either- let’s see who or what I conjure tonight…
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