The dreams are worse

I thought starting this new phase this new city would keep the dreams at bay. Perhaps it is the illness or [perhaps the mojo of this place but the dreams are more vivid and more upsetting.

Night before last it was a swimming pool. I was trying to keep it clean and show it to people and then finally sell it, but he kept blocking all of my actions. Once, having an all night sex party that I wanted to attend but wasn’t told about – but watched from a high high window.

Last night was a house, full of rooms that were unused. The house had a swamp outside of it. It looked rather like that Club in Portland – all dark and hot, but beautiful at the same time. There were people there. He was playing music again, but this time just for me; just him and a guitar. Though I know he is making music again (I’ve been dreaming of that for over a month) I doubt it is just him and a guitar, that is not his style.

The house was broken inside. I had to go through drawers to find something. The drawers were filled with maps. I should have taken one of those maps and followed it to where ever it told me to go. I sort of did, in real life. I chose a city and moved to it and now I am a stranger among strangers. But haven’t I always been.

I must go, shake off the death grip of that dream, have a shower in my blue bathtub, have cereal at my cozy kitchen nook, look over my balcony at this strange city – Maybe my dreams will change to those before the war – those that for told a quiet life filled with flowers and walks to the river.