I learned to listen to myself, completely

August 10, 2009

Dream:

Stumbling with thug-like movement, we threaded through the decaying house of propriety. The dust was permanently settling.

The attitudes of the observers were passive.

A passive annoyance.

A slight passive worry.

It was a packed sitting room, benign emotion moving like waves through the earth. The acoustics were astounding.

I picked up the tail end of our saboteur family dutifully.

—–

“The rest have made it, now we must rush down the spiral,”

I said to you.

The staircase was slick black stone and over-sized. It had its own room. I couldn’t tell you the color of its walls; it was a room we never really spent time in. The platforms seemed to tilt from the speed of our descent. Seeing is believing. Near the end there was a piece missing, I jumped. The fall would have been deadly from that height. You stopped youself with impossible suddenness and I could see the veil of fifteen years of ho-hum pretensions drop, your face muscles taught, waiting to scream. I swear I saw the spectre you’ve been claiming as your own fall into the small hole and, suddenly blessed with a matter of its own, shatter into infinite amber bits. It could not stop with the same immediacy. Your eyes met mine and said everything. For a long moment nothing moved and nothing changed.


.

.

.

.


Each following breath filled my lungs completely. The sound of your voice was bare and smooth.

It does not matter what you said.

Julie

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