The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

  • Mood:
  • Music:

The Dream to End Them All

And behold, there is was before me, the last frontier. I peeled back the curtain and stepped into the living room. MY living room. I could feel it; it was lived in. It was mine, and I had arrived.

I knew, in that moment, that I was dreaming. This was not my beautiful living room. This was not my loving family. I've travelled far and wide in this world of dreams, but never have I held the horror that I there held, so close to my breast. It was there, distinct on the horizon, the future nightmare of rutting, chasing perfumed ladies, and relishing nothing more than a sporting contest between people I've never even met. It was so clean and disinfectant, so thin and distant, that I couldn't imagine it being what would some day consume my being; what would pass for closeness and warmth in a cold, dismal world.

It was so white and well-furnished, with fuzzy everything and deep-pile carpets. I'm more of a spartan hardwood fellow, or I thought. Everything was so soft and so settled; I had to get out before I was overcome with the urge to overturn everything and restore the familiar chaos to the landscape of my mind. I had to run, and so I ran, without looking or even hoping to escape.

And so I hit the wall.

It wasn't a mental wall, or a physical one, entirely, at least. I hit the wall of sleep and was knocked violently awake, where I stayed pretty much until it was time for work. Only after an hour or so did I skirt the light sort of half-dreaming Stage II sleep, and a half hour of that carried me stealthily past my first alarm to drop me in the waking world five minutes after it started my CD playing. But I guess it was something of a physical wall, because I physically couldn't return to sleep. I can't remember the last time I'd awakened so sharply (and I'm a light sleeper) to be so clearly awake. But it was completely without drama, even if this entry isn't; I was simply awake and vivid, moreso than I am even now after eight hours of wakefullness. I wanted desperately to go back to sleep, to remember what had sent me so violently into waking, but I couldn't. I was completely wakerife. =D

Well, okay. It wasn't =D at the time. It was much more >=O than anything else. I don't enjoy being frustrated, for the most part because I am not used to it. I usually isolate a goal, and then achieve it. And so, as I got to work, I started to draw on the loose tendrils of other-memory, recalling things at a slant, and inferring what the dream was from circumstance and wisps of thought. I was rather like Perseus (or Kid Icarus) fighting Medusa through via the reflection in his shield, as I realized that my mind had supressed the memory for reason of its sheer revulsive power. And so as I collected the thoughts, I recorded them into an e-mail which I sent to myself from work before I headed out to lunch. And, with some additions at the bottom, but little embellishment, I've brought us here.

But as I isolate and acheive a goal, I feel a sense of victory. Why, then, should this dream come to me? Is this a warning? As much as I want a happy family life, I want it on my own terms, not in some creepily American Gothic standardized and normalized fashion. Be careful what you wish for, I guess. I'm cautioned not to be single-minded in my pursuit, so that I will not one day have to ask myself the questions whose answers are the true horror; the sort of which H.P. Lovecraft himself never wrote.

  • Gender, what a concept!

    This is an essay I wrote but never shared after *last* year's #ComingOutDay. I touched it up a little, but it's still very rough (I've learned a…

  • Where ya from? :)

    The following piece is a monologue I performed for "The Griot Show" last weekend: I get asked this question a lot: "Where are you from?"…

  • Coming to rest.

    Copied from facebook (sorry, but it's something). One of the topics I was researching yesterday was sundive trajectories. It may be surprising, but…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.