My grandfather points to the sleeping cat to ask “Why didn’t God give them speech? Isn’t that a mistake? You think dogs would eat their own shit if they could talk?”
Words of wisdom to start your week to. Well it’s nearing the end of the year so I guess I could carry it forward. I like the irreverance of it all. This year’s been slow on the writing. Can’t be creative when you’re trying to get it right. How less could you stumble onto these kind of important questions?
It compeles me to try and reach some kind of worthy follow up for an answer. But it is it’s own kind of profound. Don’t answer it, just ask the question. Savour the lack in any answer to it and you can get anywhere you’d like. That’s how you avoid having nothing to say.
Or at least that’s how easy things look in hindsight. I’m not sure where all this is going, this is really just a bit of goaless writing which is a kind of liberating I haven’t know for a while. So cheers to that.
Dreamt of a dog I used to have, Honey, who looked like a really short Sheepdog . I couldn’t tell you if she was long lived or short, it’s hard to time someone’s whose been a part of your early life, but she was beloved like all dogs you dream about.
I hadn’t thought of her in a while; I ran my hand through her fur and felt it like 10 years ago, like time stood still to let me meet an old friend. I awoke and realized I couldn’t remember how or when she died and felt a little surprised she was no longer alive.
I mentioned it and a lecturer offered a little Freud. I was the dog, a symbol of loyalty, a trait my friends vouched for. What I didn’t say was that I had had another dream the night before, one where I met a friend I hadn’t spoken to in a while.
So there you have it, two dreams of mine talking to each other, telling me to wait patiently for my friend. Of course if you’re careful there’s a lot to read between these few lines but this is just the surface not the whole Freud.
I walked through a graveyard with a friend and saw a man in black standing by a gravestone. He’d move around but he was always facing the gravestone. He’d smile and cry but really his eyes looked dead.
My friend said “He waits by his grave”. I was afraid and walked faster till I saw more people standing by gravestones.
“They are standing guard” she said. I walked faster and further through the crowd, that now had all kinds of people, waiting by their deaths.
I walked till I left my friend behind at her grave and reached my own.