heh, my professor is making a sculpture of a license plate with this quote as an actual outdoor installation, and I find that so fucking perfect nowadays. That is how it is.
Two things of significance:
One-I am finding out how much paranoia is truth. People fuck with you purposely everyday for productivity or self-destruction. People want to be lied to, they want to be manipulated, they want things to be made sickeningly simple, they want to be sheltered. They feel loved this way.
Two-I am that horrible, maddening in between of all of this … no one can live in this world today and not do these or they would not survive without being a hermit. Lip service is a science and as good as a degree, look at our president. I cannot live in this world of bullshit, I have this horrid itch to scream and yell and jump up and down and slap people into reaction. But actually I find that all I have to do is question them. This has a similar affect. I keep people up at night, I make them not want to be around me because I am “too brutal, too harsh, too arrogant.” I love things this way.
Anyway, I am self-predicting my future in my dreams and in my stream of consciousness writing. I think I am might be sounding extremely deluded right now, but this is just as much a surprise to me as anyone who actually reads this.
Two particular dreams I have had. One 2 months ago about saving my brother was especially strange, considering even the mood it put me in when I awoke. A strange serene calm. There was a lifetime in this dream. My brother was dying in the present moment and I was holding him to my chest, willing back time so that I could save him when this fatal accident would occur. But he just kept dying, so I went on a journey with a friend to cities with van Gogh-like lighting and dining chairs in the streets, roads and steps twisting as they can only in dreams. We found an enclave in the woods eventually and I realized what I had to do to save my brother. I performed a strange ritual at sunrise on a beach and this was very natural to me (which is funny because I am a night person and live in the Midwest far away from any beach, anyway). I constructed these eggs out of childhood wooden toys my brother and I had been given as young tots. I wrapped egg shells around them with twine and threaded bark, then buried them in this pit with twigs put together in a very particular fashion and burned the entire lot. Alone, I danced and chanted around this as the sun rose and the pink colors filled the sky; it was so real as if this had happened and I was practiced at it. This was supposed to represent a bridling of the power of birth, love, and my willing sacrifice and passion for my brother, a special female rite. This is what I felt in the dream at least. Then things were harnassed and my brother was safe. Then I won’t tell this to anyone in my family but my brother and I rolled around naked and laughing in the sand after this in celebration. This is admittedly really weird, but I felt it had no sexual connotations. It was more like a family being comfortable and happy together, like Indian village boys wrestling naked in the woods as youth. It all felt so primitive and free. Years passed and things were fine. Then my mother accidentally uncovered the buried ritual and descrated it by doing so. She had undid everything I had worked so hard for. This horrid feeling of bad things going on behind my back, things I didn’t know of but felt festering in my ignorance and innocence of events and manipulative intentions. I was in the car with my mother at the age of 16, and suddenly this girl with curly dirty blonde hair was in my seat and I was sitting on her lap. She seemed familiar to me, not in a good way, like she was hiding from me her real identity because she knew the extreme action I would take if I knew her. I kept asking her who she was, I demanded to know. Then I knew her as being responsible for all this evil and started choking her, shouting that I loved my brother and that would save him, that there was power in what I said. She laughed at me as if everything I did from then on was futile, and I awoke. Fuckin’ freaky.
The second dream was just a couple days ago. I was dreaming that I was in between being pregnant and suddenly not. I was being showcased with my mother I think in my grandparents’ house, like a breeder. My grandfather was in this dream seeming to have something to do with this strange turning off and on of my pregnancy, and anyone who knows me knows how much I despise this man for a multitude of reasons. I can’t remember all of it as well anymore, but I remember eating off this enormous pork roast that looked just like a pig with all of my mother’s family sitting around and my grandfather at the head of the table. We were picking the meat off its hide and it was just falling off to reveal its ribs and skeleton. Sort of morbid, but we kept dining on this soft meat and it was so disgusting; it tasted just like raw flesh (I don’t know what that tastes like considering I’ve never had raw flesh but that is the feeling I had in my dream). I can’t reaveal anything further than that because it all goes into abstract feelings of what’s going on and I can’t explain that.
Also, as I am working on my art projects, I work in routine and pattern of process. I make patterns and know where to put the shading and so on in this abstract intuitive sort of way. I keep having the feeling I’ve done it before in a dream, but it was so minute a detail in my dreaming state I didn’t know what it meant and forgot until now when I am actually repeating these processes that I had in my dreams. I cannot make sense of these things that seem to hold so much subconscious significance. Maybe it is too much or too little, I don’t know. I am just baffled at my own psychology at present.