observation 309.24.03
I figured one thing out for certain: It's not that I can't sleep, it's that I don't want to go to sleep because I don't want to wake up without it again. Wherever it is, I feel it out there. If I hold my breath, I can almost hear it relaying to me. It's not a dream, but it's as hard to describe as that. When you wake up from a vivid dream that seemed so real, and if you try to describe it to someone, they just look at you and think "I bet a turkey sandwich on whole wheat would be good for lunch today." Why is it that the only dreams comforting are the ones you can't describe to anyone in human words?
Go to a pet store and look at the gerbil digging furiously in the corner of his cage. It's not cute. He wants out. He wants to go home.
I went to the vietnamese market today and gathered up things from someone else's world to take home and add to my own rendition, and I followed my senses way around to the back to the fishtanks. They were full of so many different kinds of beautiful fish I'd never seen before, all for sale as food and ingredients. I looked into each tank and wondered where and how they lived before they came to this place. I resisted the urge to dip my hand into a self-serve tank and sift through the mussels just to feel them tumbling through in my fingers, but the child in front of me couldn't contain herself and jabbed a net down hard into the center of them. I asked her to stop. Please. She looked up at me with narrowed eyes, kid indifference, and we shifted our attention to the tank I was leaning over and both jumped back from a dark, snake-like fish bobbing out of the water and staring up and past us into nothingness with his mouth wide open, a pipe of water forced on him, splashing and rushing over him as if that'd make a difference for him now. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked. "Yeah," I said with a half-smile of pity, "it is." The longer I looked at him, the more I realized he was dead. It was gone.
Phrases and numbers keep repeating themselves yesterday and today --
"seismic"
11:11 am
4:44 pm
"North Dakota"
10:10 pm
"selective memory"
12:34 am
"Selective Memory"
If I lay my head down
I will see you in my dream
Wearin that polka dot dress
And sittin by the stream
Leaning in to hear you
You will whisper in my ear
And everything I need to know
I finally hear.
I wish I could remember
But my selective memory
Won’t let me.
When I was a baby we would
Go out to the park
And sit out in the fountain
And splash around until it’s dark
Days go on forever
When you only know that much
And everything you need to know
Is answered with one touch.
I wish I could remember
But my selective memory
Won’t let me.
- the Eels, "Daisies of the Galaxy"
I figured one thing out for certain: It's not that I can't sleep, it's that I don't want to go to sleep because I don't want to wake up without it again. Wherever it is, I feel it out there. If I hold my breath, I can almost hear it relaying to me. It's not a dream, but it's as hard to describe as that. When you wake up from a vivid dream that seemed so real, and if you try to describe it to someone, they just look at you and think "I bet a turkey sandwich on whole wheat would be good for lunch today." Why is it that the only dreams comforting are the ones you can't describe to anyone in human words?
Go to a pet store and look at the gerbil digging furiously in the corner of his cage. It's not cute. He wants out. He wants to go home.
I went to the vietnamese market today and gathered up things from someone else's world to take home and add to my own rendition, and I followed my senses way around to the back to the fishtanks. They were full of so many different kinds of beautiful fish I'd never seen before, all for sale as food and ingredients. I looked into each tank and wondered where and how they lived before they came to this place. I resisted the urge to dip my hand into a self-serve tank and sift through the mussels just to feel them tumbling through in my fingers, but the child in front of me couldn't contain herself and jabbed a net down hard into the center of them. I asked her to stop. Please. She looked up at me with narrowed eyes, kid indifference, and we shifted our attention to the tank I was leaning over and both jumped back from a dark, snake-like fish bobbing out of the water and staring up and past us into nothingness with his mouth wide open, a pipe of water forced on him, splashing and rushing over him as if that'd make a difference for him now. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked. "Yeah," I said with a half-smile of pity, "it is." The longer I looked at him, the more I realized he was dead. It was gone.
Phrases and numbers keep repeating themselves yesterday and today --
"seismic"
11:11 am
4:44 pm
"North Dakota"
10:10 pm
"selective memory"
12:34 am
"Selective Memory"
If I lay my head down
I will see you in my dream
Wearin that polka dot dress
And sittin by the stream
Leaning in to hear you
You will whisper in my ear
And everything I need to know
I finally hear.
I wish I could remember
But my selective memory
Won’t let me.
When I was a baby we would
Go out to the park
And sit out in the fountain
And splash around until it’s dark
Days go on forever
When you only know that much
And everything you need to know
Is answered with one touch.
I wish I could remember
But my selective memory
Won’t let me.
- the Eels, "Daisies of the Galaxy"
posted by me at 2.1.06
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home