here’s a memory i remember. i remember existing. i remember persisting. breathing with every breath as if those breaths filled my cells with something other than certainty that i was all in one place. i remember cataclysms of sound and surreptitious surrenders to the echo of my own soundbox chattering away in the night. i remember stories that slithered through the air like wax and wine and bundles and trundles of twine entwining our sacred swirling airframes. i remember remembering myself…looking at myself reflected on pages of books and pictures, suddenly distorted from one dimension to another without seemingly having lost a trace of the outline of my face. i remember than seemingly the echo of my features could exist in more than one every place- in fact, all at once in all over the everything. i remember the nights swallowed by the impenetrable love of silence- so much so that we wallowed in them, waded deep into the territory of our delicate dreams and layed there unconscious for hours upon end just wiggling our fingers trying to find the edge of consciousness. i remember that. but i don’t remember the dreams themselves, just the feeling that i was no longer me in exactly the same shape- all things were creamier, slightly out of focus and just beyond my reach. all dreams were dreaming me and i was subject to their whims and fancies. fancies or fantasies? i don’t want to tell the story of my dreams, for i can’t remember them. i want to tell the story of my wide awake, bright eyed, burning alive dreamings- the ones that infiltrated me mid-sentence, mid-morning, mid-breath every time i took a step. the burning layers of reality that broke me open and tore me through the atmosphere at every unbearable afterthought of the dreaming. i want to tell the story of my lucid dream awakestate which was ever present in the wild presence of my precious personhood. then maybe i can dream myself back to myself.
but where-ever have i gone to and how ever will i get back?