After being totally delusional for a few months and now hearing voices for almost ten months, I am exhausted. I am waiting to heal. I keep thinking if I find Zoey everything will correct itself and the voices will shoo.
I’ve always held interest in dreams and dreaming. I’ve often wondered how authors came by their definitions when writing dream dictionaries… folklore, circumstance, personal interpretation.
I woke up one day and it seems I ate an apple, for all of a sudden my dreams fell upon a new dimention. Their meaning opened unto a new realm, one I never imagined. Though I’ve yet to find the ‘complete’ encyclopedia, dreams I had years ago make sense now. Simple images.
In the room stands an empty bed frame
and empty book shelves
built into the walls painted blue
In the room stands a bare matress and box spring
the same bed frame and shelves, though the arrangement is
reflected and the bookshelves are full
before the walls painted red
Outside I sit in the passenger side of a beaten
and tired brown sedan
Talking to someone about a serial killer
My true north lies in the blue room
comforting, south pole
but it seems I keep finding myself walking on
I am tired of being broke. I am tired of my living situation and my financial situation. I would leave town if I had the money, if I had somewhere to go. I am tired of not having my own computer, my own apartment, my own sheets and pillows, my desk… hell, I miss my lighting. My stuff is getting destroyed sitting in storage and everything I worked so hard to achieve these past few years has been flushed down the toilet in under ten minutes. I seriously feel I will never recover.
The remains of my former life — coffee, cigarettes, and Daisy. I keep buying higher-grade coffee as a form of commiseration, a consolation.
And the anger, I don’t feel it. I need something I feel passionate about to pull me through this, something I care about, something that gives me hope and strength — a specific motivator. Cohesion.
I am leaving. Please do not try to find me at this time.
I have about four of these notes saved from this past summer when I would pack up all my camping gear and head for the mountains. Recently I decided I would simply keep it all in my car for a while and haul it around. On one of these trips, I was seriously desperate to find a solution, suicidal without a plan other than to camp — to hide — and I kept asking myself over and over again, “What happened?”
Taking dictation, I was given what I now think are explanations. It seems the more time passes and the more grounded I become, parts of it are coming together.
I don’t recall what I originally titled this one, I’ll call it “Chris – The Deuce”.