NEEDLING

Cannot seem to write tonight. All is bizarre, from another country with a language I do not understand and cannot put down. The dreams of tiredness which cannot rest have started once again. They’re no longer these mystical awakenings or pseudo-awakenings I once felt them to be (even if they weren’t) – late teen to early twenty-something’s – I don’t know what to call them – they’ve simply been categorized as the sleepless night of anxiety dreams, or at least somewhere in there. Half awake, half asleep, conscientious yet unable to control your mind, electrical surges and massive bodily energy, yet the inability to lift a finger, all this with the complete awareness of being in my bed in my room asleep. There lies the trick, the dreams always start as if I’m awake in my room and all is the same as reality except maybe little smidgets of runaway imaginative juices here and there. Then from a supposed normality which eases me into the dream without suspicion, everything becomes slowly distorted. The door is in the wrong place, or I’m facing the opposite direction, or I’m in a slightly different kind of bed, or I’m watching my room even though my face is buried inside my pillow, or whatever, any little detail which clues me right in, but by the time I see it, it’s too late, I’m in and cannot get out, I’m in and often do not want to get out. The knowledge of awareness, the knowledge of exactly what is askew in one’s reality, even if the very knowledge within this particular reality is that it is not real, is an intoxicant, a curious person’s nightmare or a potentialy deep rooted pleasure of conscience unconscious. To walk into a completely new reality knowing full well that it is completely un-real and does not exist, knowing full well that you’re inside your imagination’s universe, a realm you weren’t supposed to travel through, is exciting.