nous sommes fanees

February 14, 2011

I used to have exactly two dreams, ones that I could remember anyway. The more notable of the two was a washed out grey loop of film that I often saw weekly for a period of four years. The central image is thus: Me, dangling my feet in a swimming pool I’m certain is back in Vancouver while an unnamed woman in a blue swim cap swims away from between my knees. Warm rain is falling on the surface of the pool. There is no one else there. The streets are deserted because the world may have ended the previous day. It is cold, but not insufferably so. Mist rises from my mouth as I begin to speak, to call out to her to return, but she does not stop to turn back. She is swimming to the other end of the pool when, inexplicably, the scene repeats itself and she finds herself once again between my knees. I can hear a strong thud below as her feet curl back against the side of the pool to propel her forward once again. If I reach down, my fingers will graze the soles of her feet. Watching myself from three feet behind my dreamself, I see that I am seated on a chair, carrying a warped guitar.

This is from Steve Erickson’s Arc D’X:
“. . . Tell me about your dream, she said. He shook his head. I don’t have a dream, he said. Once you did, she said; and he answered, It was someone else’s dream born in me, at the moment it died in someone else. And then it died in me, and I don’t know where it went, I don’t remember it at all. Lauren told him, I know where it went. She said, It was born again in my child, and it killed him . . . And now the dream is out there sailing the seas in a bottle, for anyone to find.”


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