and i will settle you down.
Sep. 19th, 2001 09:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslanti dream i take cole as a lover. i say to him/her: i just want to settle you down. i just want to settle you down. i cradle the face between my hands. his hands on my stomach and everywhere warmth on the torso but we're just friends i keep thinking, no harm in it.
it is the eve of a departure: i am to leave for a long time. the bed and hallways are dark: e is there. cole says, but i only date men now, this latest girl [not me] will not work out at all. when people leave he pushes up my shirt until i am exposed but i do not mind.
i wake thinking that cole's face was an excuse, an incidental image. the dark haired gamine held between my hands was the one face i do not know. is this a vision from a parallel me? somewhere i have reached the opposite side of the ocean, some of me are somewhere with someone: something travels to me of these other worlds, even though they feel so far away, post-sept11.
j this morning: but he's a she now, cole is called jen again. i roll my eyes. the politics of gender identity before tea in the morning grate against my nerves.
still the image of that glass room fills the space behind my eyes. the girl and the man.
also i dream that c and i can see the wtc from where we are. manhattan looms: she wants to go and view the destruction. i am shocked. no we can't go, we can't get there and back soon enough, i say. she reluctantly agrees. from where we are i can see the two towers, the pillars of steely glass. it is an illusion; i know the closer we get the more they will crumble down (like mount hood that shrinks behind the trees as you approach) until we arrive and our temporal state meets real time and we will be able to see the full extent of it.
i woke up not on my side of the bed this morning. frantic searching dream-feeling.
in the grocery store i was so antsy. i thought i needed to be home to receive a telephone call. there was none.
i believe i still deceive myself. i believe i am still naive. i fool myself if i think it is acceptable to continue doing this. to continue looking for his entries. to continue to pretend i do not do what i do. to continue to immerse myself in what hurts. even now i write this wanting him to read.
the fault rests with me. is this acceptable? i can't let it go. mais: le coeur a ses raisons.
it is the eve of a departure: i am to leave for a long time. the bed and hallways are dark: e is there. cole says, but i only date men now, this latest girl [not me] will not work out at all. when people leave he pushes up my shirt until i am exposed but i do not mind.
i wake thinking that cole's face was an excuse, an incidental image. the dark haired gamine held between my hands was the one face i do not know. is this a vision from a parallel me? somewhere i have reached the opposite side of the ocean, some of me are somewhere with someone: something travels to me of these other worlds, even though they feel so far away, post-sept11.
j this morning: but he's a she now, cole is called jen again. i roll my eyes. the politics of gender identity before tea in the morning grate against my nerves.
still the image of that glass room fills the space behind my eyes. the girl and the man.
also i dream that c and i can see the wtc from where we are. manhattan looms: she wants to go and view the destruction. i am shocked. no we can't go, we can't get there and back soon enough, i say. she reluctantly agrees. from where we are i can see the two towers, the pillars of steely glass. it is an illusion; i know the closer we get the more they will crumble down (like mount hood that shrinks behind the trees as you approach) until we arrive and our temporal state meets real time and we will be able to see the full extent of it.
i woke up not on my side of the bed this morning. frantic searching dream-feeling.
in the grocery store i was so antsy. i thought i needed to be home to receive a telephone call. there was none.
i believe i still deceive myself. i believe i am still naive. i fool myself if i think it is acceptable to continue doing this. to continue looking for his entries. to continue to pretend i do not do what i do. to continue to immerse myself in what hurts. even now i write this wanting him to read.
the fault rests with me. is this acceptable? i can't let it go. mais: le coeur a ses raisons.
