Apr. 16th, 2009

proximoception: (Default)
Had a dream that seemed extremely significant and wrote these things down before losing it:

chewing on things, paper

attacks (but [something] solid books in areas [something] or chewed through shells)

authors in dreams - those she dreams will be healthier, will live



box format
seasonal


I think it involved following a female up and down a mountainside, one simultaneously reminiscent of Mary Poppins, Auntie Mame, and the Witch of Atlas. I was either in tow or enamored.

What she was like depended on what side of a generally box-like circuit she was at. I'm not sure whether it was the top or going down the slope from the top (the 'downward side' - yes, I think perhaps that) where she went mad. There were, among others signs of madness and damage and blight, bookshelves along the vaguely stairlike way (so on the left as we went down, as the route was counterclockwise) in which were books, hollow white fragments of shells of books she'd gnawed on [day content: our neighbors are leaving for the weekend, we're caring for their big crazy dog that runs in circles but is fun, she has a basket of half-chewed up shells of chew toys]. But sometimes there were real books there, colorful, intact ones, and these corresponded to her spells of sudden exaltation in among her cruelty (because here she was cruel to me, and herself and everyone). In one she said she authored them in dream, and those she dreams will be healthy, be healthier, will live - and by this she meant me and us, not the books, and behind her hope you could sense many failures, whether hers or failures that somehow were other females, as though she were the human race or the maker of it and it chiefly or somehow its progress. And surely this was the winter side, though I don't remember what else was there because of waking up, and the other sides other seasons. I'm not sure how well the scheme held up, or what autumn would be like as high ground. The area sometimes seemed to be a park or resort, perhaps a ski resort, and I had the sense of fields around, though these may have been lingering bits of whatever dream has led me to this one, not entirely destroyed by the lathe of dreams.

She was crucial but frequently mad. Maybe aspects of god role, mother role, breathless guide to the new role, couldn't tell but perhaps erotic object role. But now I'm definitely out of it and interpreting. (Stumbling to write it down, felt the presence of influences there, so maybe not interpreted in after but aspects of the feeling that the dream was: Borges' story "The Circular Ruins" definitely, "The Library of Babel" because the colored books felt like truths, maybe some Stevens/Little, Big scheme for the seasons; the box progress something like that bizarre Fred Astaire poem I put up here a few months back, also I see now like the circles of Laney the dog - as well as her leaving the path, as well as her being overpowering since that dog is crazy and fun and huge). Yes, now all gone. Way too much of it fell into sands as I grasped it. And of course it all seems insignificant now.

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