Travelling again.
Nothing too exciting to report, just remembering old faces, old places, that kind of thing. Once again. A somewhat dreary whisper of things could have said, should have said but never said nor sung nor rung from the floor to the second floor, or furthermore, that kind of catastrophe that stops the approach of a renewed contact, a renewed pact, perhaps a renewed friend, nevermore.
I'm somewhat drifting.
Been very tired today, slept most of it. It's very hazy inside. Brain fog, I like to call it. Tiredness in the blood, I suspect.
I have a confession to make. Not sure when I'll write it, but it's something I'd like to explain sometime. It tangles around the subject of escapism for me. And another subject, an interesting dream. One that didn't hold familiar faces (though ironically, I don't really remember what they look like anymore.) or places, or races - the kind of thing when you're simply running clockwork, a kind of manual labour kind of dream. Not my favourite, 'cos they seem to increase that every growing onslaught of tiredness.And that leads to simply being too tired to be me, and beyond that, too tired to any degree, commit to things, make things and simply do the do.
Dream. Based in the future. Not space, nor ship, but in a different reality than before. I play as a scientist, short black ponytail, tallish, unnecessary lab coat. We are studying a subject. A very short woman, about 2 and a half feet tall. Very small hands. Again, black hair, but this time in pig tails. I don't think her style was her choice. This woman decides to escape. It is my duty to prevent her from doing so, but I decide enough is enough. We run and end up heading to the female toilets. I was worried she was going to go inside the toilet and flush herself down - to try and escape through the sewer system. She explains that is possible, but she's got a better idea. She simply opens the door and steps through an invisible portal and disappears.
The dream splits. In one reality, I don't go through the portal. Maybe I tried and it didn't work. I decide to head back, I talk to my colleagues, one with a brown ponytail. Her face decorated by sharp makeup and defined cheek bones. She laughed and said it was fine, that Red Alert will think of something for them. It was this time that I realised the way they thought was like a drone. They were not creative, they were simply doing, and living meaninglessly, their actions predetermined by a computer.
Then in another reality, I do go through the portal. I end up watching some Turkish performers who were dancing. There is a man next to me, his dark brown hair in locks. We end up talking an making friends. This dream is in fragments, I don't really remember it so well. But there were iPhones and... Stuff. The man asked me to translate the Turkish, which was never spoken but there was a white chatbox beside their faces, with written Turkish inside- I had no idea, but used my iPhone to google it. I remember the letters, so as I write this blog, I googled it. 'iyi sucle deir' according to google means 'good is also guilty'. My friend who is very good at languages including Turkish didn't make too much sense of the phrase, as it is difficult to translate without context. It might also mean 'A good crime mill escapes me' what doesn't seem nearly as cool.There were some other 'Turkish' phrases, but they do not mean anything. I remember having to explain that I was actually not from this time, and lived in the past (or our current present as it is now) but the man seemed to accept it. I woke up to 'Gregory, Gregory, Gregory!' Apparently while at Judo, Greg pocket dialed his mum.
I went downstairs and ate lasagne.
