Moviolas of Nod

Crazy ass dreams all this week and I can recall only stray, odd snippets.

A few nights back, in Snooze Land, I was moving back to Cambridge – to a large sun-filled, loft-type place, close to MIT (our old, pre-Valhalla, neighborhood). Sounds great, no? Yeah, except for the distinct lack of ocean and no Jen or Oni. Sure. I guess. Emmm, no.

In the new digs, I was surrounded by utter chaos – a maelstrom of opened, half unpacked boxes, lamps, garment racks, MORE goddamned boxes and other random shit. Everything was a confused clutter.

I would have new roomies. EEK! Who were they? Who knows? Mega enorme unknowns. I hate unknowns!

This morning’s specter, the mess from which I just woke, was another relocation horror. We had to leave Valhalla – all four of us. The Amazing Bob was still very much alive. We’d sold our houses and were packing up for the nomad action. We didn’t have a new crib but still we were moving on. Why? Beats me all to Hell and back.

Our dear, soon to be departed home, was pandemonium and I was panicked. The Gentle Giant dudes would arrive any moment and we weren’t anywhere close to ready.

Where would we find another patch of Avalon that we could actually afford? I didn't want TAB to be as freaked as me so I assured him, we’ll go to a hotel for a few days and then find a nice, new crib. Mega agitata – how would we pay for a hotel and would a few days be enough time to find someplace awesome? I was rockin' some major dubiosity.

Later same night/same dream, Jen and I, on a sunny day, were biking through hilly woods near the ocean’s edge. We came upon an isolated house. Could we move here?

And then (in the new house or was I in the one we were leaving?), I was mega focused on painting an old wooden mailbox with bright, sharp but pale peacock blue pigment.

Apparently, last night, I was dreaming in David Lynchian chapters.

I wanna know – what’s up with all this entropic-esque, relocation shit? Also too, why, oh motherfucking why, I gotta leave Valhalla EVAH? That salient tidbit’s never revealed.

Then, in another cot-time moviola, I had hearing again – not full strength but I knew it’d all come back. I was listening to soft classical music (Debussy? Ravel? Satie?) and savoring the violin’s mellow resonance.

Looks like my subconscious was giving me a fucking break from all the anarchic unknowns. Thanks brain!