“I always use what remains of my dreams of the night before.” ~ Eugene Ionesco
I’ve noticed something: when I’m away from home, I do not have the vivid dreams that I have here. I have no idea as to why that is. Perhaps it’s because whenever I’m away, I never quite settle, so my mind cannot drift the way that it does here. Anyway, I had a really wild one last night.
First, I dreamed I went to a tattoo parlor to get three tattoos: Two very small ones: an eternity symbol and an anchor, both on my wrists. Then I wanted a large tattoo of a swallow on my left shoulder. I talked to some people when I went in, and the friends who were with me were called back, but I kept waiting and waiting, and no one came to help me. Finally, I wandered into the back and shouted, “Is anyone going to give me my tattoos?” Two guys came up to me and said that they would do my tattoos.
I wanted plain black ink tattoos, but the artist who was going to do the swallow said that it would look better as a white tattoo. I didn’t want a white tattoo. Then we walked to another part of the parlor that was actually outside. As I was walking, I said, “Wow, that’s a great view.” The guy said, “what view?” I said, “the water, you can see the water.” He wasn’t impressed. The other guy said that he thought that the compass that I wanted (the anchor had switched to a compass) would look better on the nape of my neck. I said that I didn’t want a tattoo there. No one seemed to be listening to what I wanted.
Then the dream shifted to me being at my parents home, and I was reading the Sunday paper. I was so depressed because the paper was so small; all of the sections were folded into just one section. The death of the daily newspaper really bothered me.
Anyway, that’s about it for today. Just a note about the song: In my younger days, I did a Rickie Lee Jones thing, with the hat and the leather coat. Then the other day, this song popped up. Serendipity.
Music by Rickie Lee Jones, “Bonfires”
In the early afternoon my mother
was doing the dishes. I climbed
onto the kitchen table, I suppose
to play, and fell asleep there.
I was drowsy and awake, though,
as she lifted me up, carried me
on her arms into the living room,
and placed me on the davenport,
but I pretended to be asleep
the whole time, enjoying the luxury—
was too big for such a privilege
and just old enough to form
my only memory of her carrying me.
She’s still moving me to a softer place.
~ Leo Dangel