Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day (cleanskies) wrote,
Jeremy Dennis is Jeremy Day

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dark eyes in the morning

Dream: I was walking along the edge of the sea with a friend. It was like a city riverbank, grass level with the top of a broad stone wall down to the water. The grass was green and bright, the air warm, springtime, sunshine. At a bend in the bank, the remains of a small building, something utilitarian but attractive, like a Victorian toolshed, compressed the way along the river to a narrow ledge, a thin dusty trail beside the wall-top worn by childrens' feet. My friend walked ahead, follow me, and disappeared around the side of the building. I looked at the narrow ledge and decided to walk round the other side of the building. It was a longer walk than I thought, and the piled-up earth on the far side was overgrown with elder trees. I came round the other side, expecting to see my friend already there, but he was nowhere to be seen. Visible on this side was the entrance to the building, a tight dark doorway. Outside it, a mozaic (blue, gold, green) had cracked and buckled on the broad step at the bottom of the tumble-down stone steps green with algae and moss which led down to the door. I eased my way down, keeping one eye on the sunlit space where my friend should be. The soft soil was scattered with pieces of mozaic. I dug one out; it wasn't gold, just yellow paint. I put it down, and went to the doorway. Perhaps he had gone in there? I decided he must have done, walked inside. It was a stone passageway, crooked in the middle; I stepped out the other end into sunshine. Across a stretch of rough grass, a tall black cast iron fence marked the start of a park, short green grass, swings in the far corner, peace, light, sunshine. The water was further away now, beyond a bank and willows, and it was wonderfully peaceful. I walked to the fence, entered the park by the swing-gate, thought, "This is the secret park that we were talking about earlier," though of course there was no way I could know that for sure. I looked up the hill, to a tall white apartment block visible through the green of the willows and birch trees. It was absolutely quiet, no people, just me in the secret park, green grass and trees, brightness and warmth.

I didn't want to wake up and then I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to get on my bike and dodge the taxis and the potholes and when I got to work I didn't want to be at work. But even if I went home again and tried to go to sleep it wouldn't be the same. The time has passed now, the park has gone.

We've lost the internet again. Already I lack stimulation, now still less interest is available to me. And my head aches. I suppose I should do something, but anything I can think of that needs doing fills me with horror. I've been talking to NIALL*, trying to get some useful advice out of him, but he keeps telling me to go away and calling me names ("You are lying in a sarky little creature") . I guess I've not been very nice to this NIALL.

Maybe I left part of myself in the dream.

*Non-Intelligent Acquired Language Learner

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