Dreams

I woke up this morning, 4:30am, fantasizing. Dreaming about packing things. First it was all my excess clothing. Things that no longer fit me, in size or in style or function. Then it was all my performance clothing and formal wear. I would sell them to chubby girls who don't want to spend loads on a ballgown cuz, you-never-know, they just might lose that weight and want to splurge on something nice when they do. Then it was all my musical scores. I'd put up a notice on the classical music forum and sell them off. Finally my piano. Rich loves that piano and I used to. Maybe he can just keep it.

Then I fantasized myself living Arizona. I'd take a job doing anything. Work in a store, or even waitress and I'd live alone. I would no longer have sex. Sex is a distraction. It's an animalistic drive that is mostly self-serving no matter how sensitive and giving a lover you might be.

This fantasy of mine went as far as to include a Shaman. I would meet a Shaman in Arizona and I would learn from him to heal with energy. I like that idea. And this would be my new life. And it would make me happy.

Because the problem I'm facing is that I'm doing everything I do now because I don't know what else to do. I no longer really believe this persona I've spent years becoming. I no longer buy her brand of bullshit. She's trapped in her trappings while her soul is screaming out for something entirely different. Her soul is waning but not quietly. She is asking me, in my dreams, sleeping and waking, to please choose another path.

But here's my problem. I only know the path I'm on. I don't see any signs pointing to anywhere else. Maybe I have to pave some new roads. But truth is, aside from these dreams, I have no real sense of where to begin.

One big happy family...

Wrote this the other night after seeing pictures sent to me by a friend. I won't even try to explain it. Here you go...


Happy family, 1/1/08

Guilt and rage sat on the stairs
silently contemplating each other
rage's eyes darting
while holding a rigid stance -
Like a black sky before a storm -
(like her suppression).

Guilt sheepishly bit at her hangnails
nervously avoiding the cameraman
- Lust -
whose telephoto lens hit the middle of the scene
That space - a barometric truce.

meanwhile innocence played nearby, and
melancholy made a meal of them all.