Every morning when I wake up, the first thing that does in the weekly notes file I use to structure my weekly therapy session is whether or not it was a night of intense dreams, and if so, and if I can remember them, what the dreams were. Often in the night, when I wake to go to the bathroom, I try to focus on a few code words or phrases from the dreams I’d had so that I remember them in the morning.
Here are three from last night, although I’ve long since forgotten most of the details, were there any.
I’ve lost what the race was about, and most of the specific things that happened along the way, but I was aboard one train in a race with another. Sometimes the trains were in the same track, sometimes separate tracks, and sometimes the race occurred on a sort of double-decker train bridge, what I remember most is that near the end, I flew above the trains and in line with the very, very few flying dreams I’ve ever had, I was flying as if standing in the air, legs dangling beneath me.
Lines from a book
It’s not that I dreamed the scenario here, it’s that at some point in a dream state part of a book came to mind. It’s not a book that exists, and I’ve no idea where the lines came from or why.
So, that’s how we ended up in my office, staring at paintings of French dicks. How do I know they were French? My father painted them. He never painted any other kind. He once told me so himself.
It wasn’t like I was present as it was being made, or somehow within it, or even that there was anything else besides the video. It almost was as if my entire field of vision was a screen playing the video. At any rate, it was entirely in black and white, and all I remember were crowds of people, often moving in circles. All to Blondie’s “One Way Or Another”, which had been explicitly recontextualized as an anti-fascist anthem about hunting down nazis.