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Invisible in plain sight

At home, I do not leave my journal in public areas.  I don't mind if my wife or kids read it-- if they can, when often the writing is crabbed and
even I have to go back over it and add loops to make the slashes intelligible before I forget what it might once have meant.  Still, I would not
normally leave my personal thoughts lying around say on a waiting room table at a dentist's office.

So it will be interesting to see if leaving them lying around on the Internet turns out to be a public or private affair.  I think a web page on the Internet is probably less resolvable by pure chance than finding a needle in a haystack (making allowances for haystack mass, and needle length, and wet or dry weather).  Maybe not as hard as finding the needle after an ice storm...

Is the Internet the story of the human race?  A vast, multi-author, serialized, E8 emulating tale-- the whole story of humanity?  Or mostly of
geekdom? Or is it chaos-- the antithesis.  The exchange between meaning and non-meaning canceling itself out like matter and anti-matter.

Maybe the dark matter of the universe is composed of unread journal pages? Welcome to the Black Hole weary traveler, where light never
shines.  So remember, if someone asks you to leave your remarks "where the sun don't shine, " they are always welcome here!

Dreams: last night I did not sleep
                 slung in a net  through the tops of trees
                 branches scratched me and
                leaves smeared my arms
                with green scent
                I hollered with each battering and
                tried to break through the fractal dome
                but no
                I did not sleep last night, because
                my bruised body tells me so

Ok, there's been a little insomnia that more or less eliminates dreaming and replaces it with a restless tossing and turning.  I feel a little
bit like pants left in the dryer on "touch up" all night when I awake in the morning.

Sometimes my dreams are fragmented or stationary, or unbearably dull, like a buzz and an old-fashion television test pattern. Or a single idea repeated over and over and over again.  The idea is both incredibly important, and incredibly meaningless. A couple of times I have had dreams in which life altering-awarenesses apparently occurred  that I could not recall in the morning.  It makes me wonder just what the alteration might have been.  Reminds me of Crowleyan non-retrospective realities. If I were changed, how would I know?

I am almost always aware that I am dreaming.  I have never had the sense that I could stay in my dream or control it.  When I have an epiphany while dreaming, my excitement tends to wake me up.  Occasionally I will see things in great detail--but again I cannot re-create the experience while awake. Dreams most often wander from one incomprehensibly vague scene to the next, as if they have nothing to do with me personally.  David Lynch's last film Inland Empire is perhaps closest to the reality of my dreaming. 

I no longer have a lot of dreams about dying, or about invincible strength, about flying, or about sex, or doing something terribly wrong by mistake.  I tend to dream about having my dark curly hair back, being young, creating something, visiting dead relatives, loving my wife and children, work, music, art, and am often thrilled to dream of intricately designed houses of between 5 and 30 thousand square feet.  I also enjoy dreams about traveling in space, or exploring under water.  I sometimes have revealing dreams about individuals that tell me something I do not yet consciously perceive.  I have never mis-trusted anyone that has been dream-proofed as a friendly spirit.

One reason I am drawn to the fiction of John Crowley must be that I do not dream enough, and reading his work is also a form of lucid dreaming.  The Aegypt Cycle, while seeming to be more like the world we know, is perhaps no closer to our real world than Little, Big.  I find that they are actually of the same world.  After all, the same mechanisms of the house of memory are in use at both locales.  There is also the very subtle "Once upon a time" of  "the Faraway Hills."  My reading of that is-- this imagined place.  To the people in the Faraway Hills, the Hills are not far away, and so they could not rationally name themselves that (well, these days they could).  Only people looking from a distance could.  So to me it is the same as "Neverland." 

As an avid fan of utopian fiction, I was hooked as soon as I heard Pierce was heading for the Faraway Hills-- moving to the horizon-- the Shangri-la of the USA.  The Twilight Zone.  Somewhere Rod Serling might be the local grocer.  Yet so understated.  I think we are dealing here with fiction as the replication of a dream state.  Time, reality, people, are flexible and flow to their own mystic dreamlike rhythms.  I have not gotten farther than three quarters through Love and Sleep-- but there you have it-- sleep again.  I suspect what I am saying is no revelation to Crowley fans.  The work speaks on a deep level, the way dreams effect us, the way good dreams allow us to awaken refreshed and reassured about the world and our loved ones.  We want people to be that rich, that good, and that effective at just being themselves. I think that is the work of dreaming, and the work of good fiction.
Cydonia photo: ESA

This is the journal of David Ross
Your thoughts are welcome here

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