recently my dreams have taken this weird meta-ish turn & in them i will be, say, reading the upcoming harry potter book & complaining about it, because the dream-book involves smurfs who are keeping ron weasley hidden & feeding him sugar to keep him quiet. or in my dreams i will be reading a letter from someone i haven't heard from in four years, & i will realize his handwriting has morphed into j-lee's handwriting. i will wake up thinking, why would you steal someone else's handwriting?
these are actual dream scenarios, by the way.
besides having meta-rific dreams i've also been glancing over all my things with a careful eye. i think it's just part of my spring fever & general restlessness ("To have bitten off the matter with a smile, / To have squeezed the universe into a ball / To roll it toward some overwhelming question...") taking hold. to keep from submitting to my own wanderlust i weigh myself down with hardcover novels i've already read, & gorgeous whiny poems like "j alfred" & "mayakovsky."
My heart's aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it's throbbing!
then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.
� uncle Frank, "Mayakovsky"
also later tonight bee will let me drive around in her car, but i will use it as a weight or an anchor, not for the running away.
