Last night’s, or rather this morning’s dream:
P. 1
I went to bed with an old friend, and I had an outbreak of herpes on my lip. (which I do now, in real life). And I wouldn’t kiss her, and in the morning my guy friend asked if everything was alright, because he’d found so;me condoms with a lot of blood in them. Me and my lover-friend went to see and I looked at my penis., which had a cut in it. I’d done a poor job love-making, too forceful- I’d brought open wounds.
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P. 1
I went to bed with an old friend, and I had an outbreak of herpes on my lip. (which I do now, in real life). And I wouldn’t kiss her, and in the morning my guy friend asked if everything was alright, because he’d found so;me condoms with a lot of blood in them. Me and my lover-friend went to see and I looked at my penis., which had a cut in it. I’d done a poor job love-making, too forceful- I’d brought open wounds.
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Real life:
I was reading Jung’s Man and His Symbols yesterday and it was interesting that dreams could be an upside-down version of reality. I so happens that two nights ago upon receiving a text message from a friend, that we’d agreed to hook up. I was still feeling a little under the weather, so when it came time, I explained my history of oral herpes and adamantly expressed that there be no kissing. My mental health unravelled before her. Probably the weed that we smoked had something to do with that. There was no hooking up, and thus no transmission. That night I fell asleep right after I’d scared her out, with my clothes on and a lamp on too. I was sick and I felt it roll in heavy. It took over. I woke in the morning with a sensation that I had a cold sore, and it was not ill founded. One of those suckers had manifested on my bottom lip, classic. So I’m grateful that I scared her away instead of hooking up- I may have been in a phase of infection.
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Cont.
Then a potential punk house move-in.. They seemed so cool, until I got a vision realizing the difference between living there and visiting- there was an exoticism that wore off, and the charm and stickers all over and punk references began to trigger claustrophobic notions in me. We were about to form a band, they asked if I played drums. I stirred in my bed and hit my high hat (in real life), breaking me from sleep, in a sad-funny way. A melancholy funny, the bridge between waking and dreaming, blurred. It makes me wonder if the dream is pulled from the subconscious only before waking, to justify the loss of consciousness.
