All posts by The Roaming Spaniard

I know I was born and I know that I'll die. The in between is mine.

The Funeral

My mother was born in the Midwest, so it makes sense that her funeral would be celebrated there. Although it wasn’t exactly a funeral, it was a memorial with my mother’s ashes in a silver urn and all her family and friends there.

I was playing the piano, beautifully.

To dream that you are attending a funeral for a still-living parent suggests that you need to separate yourself from your parent’s restrictions and confines. The symbolic death may give you the courage you need to take the next step toward your independence and autonomy.

To dream that you are playing a piano indicates a quest for harmony in your life.

http://www.dreammoods.com

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Black Mirror

Do you remember the Black Mirror episode White Christmas? The one with Jon Hamm in it. If you haven’t seen it I’m about to spoil the ending. Hamm’s character is convicted to a “free” life within society but condemned to live it in isolation. Due to artificial implants in everybody’s eyes his vision and everybody else’s is altered. As part of his sentence he sees others as gray figures and others see him as a red figure, living within society, coming and going freely but unable to truly interact with others.

Now my dream. In a society where technology is integrated within the human body my mother is a Luddite, therefore my eyes are just regular, non-technology integrated, human eyes. I can see everybody, I can see him. I do.

He is my neighbor I see him and I wave at him, I walk towards him with a smile, he seems surprised. – You can see me? – I looked at him, he is attractive, older than me maybe a few years.  – Of course, you are standing right in front of me. – I explain to him that I don’t have implants in my eyes, thanks to my mom, so I can see him fine.

We talk, we laugh, we go out to dinner and it doesn’t go well. People looks at us in a weird way, they can see he’s been sentenced, how do I recognize him? How can I even see him? In their small, well-trained minds they cannot see, because they cannot understand.

Days pass, not so much in isolation since now there is me to talk to. We are neighbors, we are friends and then we are lovers. – Are you not afraid of me? – He asks me one day in bed, while he holds me and run his hand through my hair. – I researched you. Dating advise gone wrong? You were selfish, chose to cover yourself instead of coming forth and maybe saving a life. You decided not to act. I don’t think you are actively dangerous to me, aggressive, you won’t harm me. Maybe simply not act. –

Days continue to pass and we continue to be in each other’s life. We seem happy together but I ask him (and myself) why is he with me? I know the answer, because there is nobody else. I am his entire world, but this doesn’t seem to bother him, he smiles and tells me – You can see me with more than your eyes. –

 

Weird dreams and where to find them

I was on a train, I cannot remember the type of train but it was a long ride. A was with me, we were both riding to the same destination, or so I assumed in my dream, I knew we were riding in the same train and going in the same direction. I remember going through fields like the ones you see on British shows, with the sun shinning and the soft wind blowing. I remember A’s face in profile, serious and pensive.

A dystopian world. There were many of us in a big group waiting to be assigned, waiting to be assigned to each other, to be married, or to be a couple as determined by others – who knows who they were? – The one I wanted, the one who wanted me we were not to be. He was to be my friend’s, was she my friend?

His brother was a thief, he was not. I hardly remember him and I was in love with him. Or I thought I was. I remember good sex and a two story building.

Em

The stars above the empty circle below. The alien voice inside me. No, I’m not schizophrenic it’s just Em, my . . .  roommate. She’s been there for a while, since that trip to Prince Edward Island to visit . . . who was it again? Well, it doesn’t matter.

I learned pretty fast not to talk about her, they would think I was schizophrenic. By they I mean everyone: mom, dad, grams, school, friends, doctors . . . Specially doctors. Imaginative child is ok, crazy, psychotic child not so much. Sometimes I wonder how her parasitic existence is affecting my thought processes or my brain development, after all she is attached to my brain.

Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. She lives and so do I. I think I would miss her if she wasn’t there and she would miss me terribly, basically she would be dead.

 

The stars above

To the infinity of space, and she looks out through the glass wondering what she is. She is who she is, but what is she?
Introspection in space, the vacuum without mimics the vacuum within.