(no subject)

[metrocentric]

Back in the trough of the week, moving through it as through sludge in bare feet, with twigs.

I've had old father Crass on the stereo solid the last two nights, all ultraruby 's fault.

This occurred to me this morning as I was crossing the Park: if other people's dreams are uninteresting to us, it's possibly for the same reason that we forget our own so easily within moments of waking, that they did not really happen. This also could be the reason that people seek to tell us about them, not so much to impart information to us, but to fix the details in their mind through the telling. And, and, and this: we often want to hear about the dreams of those that slept beside us when we wake together because, with different views, we took the same journey.

Then I got to work and abruptly stopped thinking.

Comments

[ex-ramona222.livejournal.com]

That is the most disturbing image of cannabalism that I have ever seen. It's even worse than the gift wrap I have of snowmen throwing snowballs at each other.

[mercuryfading.livejournal.com]

Not only is it cannabalistic, but something in the way his lips are is quite perverse. He enjoys it! He's not only a cannabal, I think he's a psychopath as well. With very bad taste in boot/sock color combination.

It's interesting about how desperately we often try to remember our dreams. They have no bearing on our day to day life; they never happened and are not real. Most rational people don't believe they really truly mean anything. Yet at least one day a week I'll sit over my coffee and try to piece something together that's just gone. It feels like an adventure I've taken that I can't remember. Or maybe a drunken night with scary dark patches.