memories not mine
Apr. 18th, 2003 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmAfter not even three hours of sleep, and a couple of more of drifting in and out of consciousness, I just woke up with the most profound sense of well-being. Which is sort of amazing as I'm about to have really expensive headshots done, am not rested enough and still haven't quite gotten the CD burned. Oh yes and hair and makeup will be here in 45 minutes.
I can't remember it well, only snatches of it, and none of it should seem to inspire the way I feel right now, which is both incredible and moderately creeped out.
In most of the dream, I was observing a boy who was clearly myself. At one point he was in a laboratory, filled with reptiles and walls and shelves made of smokey and dirty glass. Scientists assistant types were there, as was an albino pug dog that was explaining to the boy his destiny and origins. The boy protested, saying it made no sense he couldn't be a Romanov, but the dog said, no, he was _the_ Romanov and that he should be careful because such boys become such men that give birth to such terrible things.
Then I remember watching blue hawaiian shirt print vans speed through the most verdant and fabulous green hillside, trecherously fast, awful and garish music blasting. Then there was a hill, from which hundreds if not thousands of pristine wooden pine coffins were emerging from its sides, slowly tumbling over to a sight unseen below. A large wooden cross bounced down these coffins, each time making a perfect red splash of blood. Then there are two men on the hill, silohuetted in black so that one can not make them out as anything more than shadow puppets and they kill this rotund woman. Through all of this, I am aware that this is the nurse and that this is Romeo and Juliet, but that this is the true story, and far more deadly and cultish and magical than the ones we've been told.
A gym class, in a school. There are three boys, one the one that started this, sitting off to the side, playing halfheartedly in this little nook off the main gym, watching boys and girls with knee socks pulled all the way up, play in the main part of the gym. They are there because their bodies can never learn anything. It is less embarassing if they stay put. They can do what they want, it doesn't matter. They bounce balls across the burnt red and white flecks of the linoleum.
Dark and damp forrest then, sunlight barely filtering through the trees. The boy again, slightly older, being warned by someone I cannot see in the "frame" to be careful of who he loves. To be careful of men who would rape him. Because he would get pregnant and give birth to things that would cover the earth. He nods in earnest, shy, abashed. He is asked if he is in love. He nods. He mentions some other boy -- I cannot hear the words, but know the fact of it. He is told he is magic. He is told he is in even more danger.
Scientists, in the lab again, discussing the secrets via computer.
And then I woke up, feeling wonderful (and incredulous at it) with a misrembered line from an Ani Difranco song I was listening to last night, stuck in my head. And that seems important too:
o/~ I don't care, if they eat me alive
I've got better things to do than to try and survive
and I've got the memory of your warm skin in my hand
and I've got the memory of love, of love and dry land. o/~
Now. I can tell you where most of that symbolism came from and what poked my skull last night to make it shake to the top. But what I can't tell you, is quite why it came to the top in that way. Especially as parts of it I've dreamed before.
I don't remember my dreams that often, which is why I tend to post them up when I do, and very occassionally, I wake from them with these profound senses of well-being, that seem so odd, and so often out of sync with the content of the dreams, that I can't help but feel visited upon.
Like I've said a thousand times, my life iinvolves a lot of belief in strange magics.
I can't remember it well, only snatches of it, and none of it should seem to inspire the way I feel right now, which is both incredible and moderately creeped out.
In most of the dream, I was observing a boy who was clearly myself. At one point he was in a laboratory, filled with reptiles and walls and shelves made of smokey and dirty glass. Scientists assistant types were there, as was an albino pug dog that was explaining to the boy his destiny and origins. The boy protested, saying it made no sense he couldn't be a Romanov, but the dog said, no, he was _the_ Romanov and that he should be careful because such boys become such men that give birth to such terrible things.
Then I remember watching blue hawaiian shirt print vans speed through the most verdant and fabulous green hillside, trecherously fast, awful and garish music blasting. Then there was a hill, from which hundreds if not thousands of pristine wooden pine coffins were emerging from its sides, slowly tumbling over to a sight unseen below. A large wooden cross bounced down these coffins, each time making a perfect red splash of blood. Then there are two men on the hill, silohuetted in black so that one can not make them out as anything more than shadow puppets and they kill this rotund woman. Through all of this, I am aware that this is the nurse and that this is Romeo and Juliet, but that this is the true story, and far more deadly and cultish and magical than the ones we've been told.
A gym class, in a school. There are three boys, one the one that started this, sitting off to the side, playing halfheartedly in this little nook off the main gym, watching boys and girls with knee socks pulled all the way up, play in the main part of the gym. They are there because their bodies can never learn anything. It is less embarassing if they stay put. They can do what they want, it doesn't matter. They bounce balls across the burnt red and white flecks of the linoleum.
Dark and damp forrest then, sunlight barely filtering through the trees. The boy again, slightly older, being warned by someone I cannot see in the "frame" to be careful of who he loves. To be careful of men who would rape him. Because he would get pregnant and give birth to things that would cover the earth. He nods in earnest, shy, abashed. He is asked if he is in love. He nods. He mentions some other boy -- I cannot hear the words, but know the fact of it. He is told he is magic. He is told he is in even more danger.
Scientists, in the lab again, discussing the secrets via computer.
And then I woke up, feeling wonderful (and incredulous at it) with a misrembered line from an Ani Difranco song I was listening to last night, stuck in my head. And that seems important too:
o/~ I don't care, if they eat me alive
I've got better things to do than to try and survive
and I've got the memory of your warm skin in my hand
and I've got the memory of love, of love and dry land. o/~
Now. I can tell you where most of that symbolism came from and what poked my skull last night to make it shake to the top. But what I can't tell you, is quite why it came to the top in that way. Especially as parts of it I've dreamed before.
I don't remember my dreams that often, which is why I tend to post them up when I do, and very occassionally, I wake from them with these profound senses of well-being, that seem so odd, and so often out of sync with the content of the dreams, that I can't help but feel visited upon.
Like I've said a thousand times, my life iinvolves a lot of belief in strange magics.
