quarterly depression

I'm starting to forget stuff. I can't focus. I've been riding a pretty high creative balloon for a few months. Now, with my mom's illness, and my friend Flo's illness, I find myself crashing quite hard. I want to write, and have moments where I can find my voice, but it's like I'm tuned late in the night to some wavering and drifting am radio frequency, unsustainable, with lots of background static. It comes in clear for the moment, and then it's gone before I can make out just what tune was playing.

Last night I had dreams of which only fragments remain today. There was Cosmo, we were making tofu and soy milk with some woman I don't know or can't remember, a still living, but long lost love was there too. They were all there solidly floating in my dream. I have to say it felt good to dream about people I love who are not around anymore -- to see them animated and talking to me in my dreams and suspended amid the colors that bring life to my senses as if part of some beautiful Calder mobile turning above my head.

Maybe dreaming is like death, because the thoughts manifest from my brain, so the characters I commune with in my dreams are really projected from my own psyche. We're all woven together in the after life of the spirit. So maybe when you dream you are partly dead and drifting within the mass of the infinite. I see my dead friends and they love me. They love me even more than they did when they were alive. I see long lost loves and they love me again too. I miss all of them and cry when they finally dissolve into the vapor of waking reality.

Why does everything seem to have two sides? All that I miss seems tangled in a violet mist of love and contentment, but on the other hand, it is my scourge. I have fallen in love with a dream, snapshots of time. I pine away, cuddled up to those nice warm delusions, leaving sad reality starving in the rain. I'd rather not face it. Have I betrayed it, or has it betrayed me?

The dream where I have no arms to grasp and hold what I love descends upon me. Now all my beautiful fantasy slips into the fragrant lavender ether. It all becomes too real and I am left empty and depressed. Barely able to find my voice. When I try to push the breath out to scream all that comes is silence. A vacuum. The disembodied thoughts float off and fade away into a black chasm of apathy. All hope lies within the fantasy, I just can't let it go. I just have to sleep and die to my dreams once more.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=px5N5u0lLmY&feature=related