Strange dream last night . . . about a rocking horse that I was trying to sell in this old antique store in Chelsea, London. The store was really small and was run by these two women who were both old and young at the same time. They were really familiar but I've never met them. I sold the rocking horse, much to the disdain for my girlfriend, who never entered my peripheral vision but was always present. I received no money for the transaction but left seemingly happy about it all. Pretty soon after that I was at a lock-in a bar with some friends that I had never met in this life, but here in the alternate reality, that consisted of lots of dark shades of green, I knew them very well. One of them was trying to pull an older woman who was quite inebriated. I'd know his face anywhere if I saw him in real life now but all I can say is that he was wearing a khaki jumper that was too big for him and he had blonde or sort of sandy coloured hair. He's impossible to describe aside from that he looked like the kind of guy I would have been to school with.
I've been kind of infected with that dream afterwards and all morning. Almost as if this life is the dream and I need to get back to those friends and finish off whatever it was I was doing there. It's strange that the mundane and ordinary glimpse of an alternate reality is bizarrely more curious and intriguing than wild fantasy. At least with wild fantasy I always know it's only a dream really deep inside. With this dream I am left feeling quite amputated and amnesiac.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment