I had a dream last night and I never remember my dreams but I was in a place that was a sprawling complex that could be a house or a business or a mall or an airport, who knows because everything is always fuzzy around the edges in my dreams. But this place had a lot of rooms and was full of washing machines, the top loading kind that have the metal lift-lids.
And of course there are monsters but please don’t ask me to describe them either because like everything else in these laborious episodes, they are fuzzy (and I believe that that makes it obvious that it isn’t about the monster but more about what I am doing to myself (don’t ask).)
Did I mention the washing machines are everywhere, along every wall, in every room and the monsters only means of attack? That’s right, the monsters were attacking through the lift-lids of those top loading washing machines. You know that sound they make when they get dropped, that clang? Imagine that sound mixed with some unintelligible groaning and moaning, or is it growling, anyway the dream is filled with that sound.
And I have to find heavy stuff that’s heavy enough to keep the lids down and the monsters out. I have to sort through room after room of random crap, mindless possessions to find something for each top loader heavy enough to keep the monsters out. Seems fairly standard except I wonder what on earth is the point of me having to sort through what amounts to someone else’s junk, possessions. I mean, this is a dream right, I should be doing all kinds of fantastic stuff; I could be flying or a spy or hell, I’d settle for a cowboy at this point. Anything but a rummage sale picker of random objects.
So I’m in my dream bored to tears, in the midst of this not really very anxious quest for weighted items and I realized that they wont be able to push through because they will have no leverage, so i just need light things and can basically use anything to keep the lid down.
That’s was my big revelation. Chew on that. Then I woke up and remembered:
My generation can’t sit still,
they can’t meditate or hear their
stomach over the timbre of their singing; they relax
to a drum set and like sharks they must
always keep moving to stay alive,
always keep moving to stay alive-
geographical fixes, moving without change,
butter the bread where it’s lightest.