Friday, May 9, 2008
Melancholy. That bittersweet sensation washes over me. So achingly familiar, I feel we are old friends who though years have passed can pick up right where we left off. Le sigh is right.
I had a dream last night. It was bizarre; there was a rigid futuristic society. Walking off the beaten path could get you, well beaten. I was making a painting about two women in love (with each other) and it was beautiful but drawn without great skill (as my paintings are, what they lack in talent they make up for in exuberance). But I hid it, as I hid my escape route (naturally I had one in case the soldiers/thought police whatever came – which they did).
I can’t remember too much more. I do know I had a friend, who was helping me but he disappeared. I can’t remember if he got caught or betrayed me, all I remember is running. Running and hiding. At one point I was at a graveyard and the mud was so deep I could barely walk.
It’s one of those dreams I can’t shake. When your mind has a moment to drift it goes there, though you try not to think about it. It fades, as dreams naturally do, and you feel bereft. It puzzles you, because you are missing something you never actually had. All you can do is heave a sigh and hope you forget faster, even though you awoke vowing to remember.
Le Sigh, ubiquitous Lord of the Sighs.