Drifting Gently

First I have to admit that I do not “like” to dream in my sleep. I know that it is not a question of “like” or “dis-like”, every human being, maybe every mammal (think of dogs & cats), does dream while sleeping. I have no real idea about what it actually is, what the brain does and why. It may be a process of “cleansing”, of processing daily occurrences, it may a kind of steam-rolling through outdated memories to create space for new memories. All I know is that it is a very powerful “machine” creating images, feelings, situations.
I do not suffer from nightmares, in fact I can barely remember any dream that frightened me, or made me wake up screaming. This happened in my life very seldom, years ago for the last time, and I can not remember what it was.
I still can remember two dreams, one was peculiar and I once wrote about it here. The other involved a kind of war scene, and I think I died there. But again, these were not frightening, but very impressive.
Usually I go to sleep, and if it all goes well I simply loose consciousness, and come back some hours later. Sometimes, when my sleep is interrupted by a call of nature, the awakening is a bit like emerging through layers, an image, a shadow may be lingering in my head, and when I go back under the sheet, it continues.
I think what I described is absolutely normal. In those dreams it is “me” who is talking, moving (one way or another), meeting people, seeing things.
But for some months now, something changed. Now it is a voice that tells me what happens, or does not happen. It is like an auctorial narrator, the (all knowing) voice out of the “off” in a film that talks, and keeps on talking. I can not remember the text, not even single sentences or phrases.
As a child I once tried to find out where the “I” is. I located it somewhere between my eyes, a little upwards behind the forehead. The narrator is not my “i”, and I have no clue who or what it is, who speaks there. In a dream some weeks ago I saw a modern house, do not ask me why I knew that it was built between the wars, sometimes around 1930 (it was top modern for the age, think of the Rietvelt house, but different), it was located in the then Czech Republic ; in front of it stood a Tatra car, red, with three headlights (maybe a 603), dirt was dripping from its right front wheel. I thought something along the line that you have here most modern European design, but the road is not macadamised (and the word “makadmisiert” (tarred) was there), while the narrator took over, and the journey went on. It switched from “I” to “the narrator”.
I have no idea what to make out of this. Maybe I am just getting a bit paranoid from too much isolation, or maybe I start to lean towards hypochondria. But as long as there are no voices telling me what to do in the outside world, and as long as no Janizaries are approaching, all will be fine.

*

St 76

I do not want to dream. Of course I know that any human dreams, other animals too. It is some kind of hygiene of the brain, and possibly is connected with the management of memories, I do not know for sure. All I want is to sleep undisturbed.
Of course some dreams are lively, and sometimes they feel real – like another life. And there are situations when I have to get up in the night to visit the loo in a half comatose state, and I not really “leave” dreamland – it all returns, keeps on going in the second I am back in bed.
I never wrote a dream diary, I never wanted to “keep” them. Some were not nice, and I was happy to forget them finally.
Here I was working in an archive, or better : I was using an archive. I saw the rooms, and it was clearly not built as an archive, but some large house re-used. The materials were shelved, in storage, I saw boxes, files, folders – it was a modern archive, 20th century, the materials consisted mostly of filled out forms, and carbon copies ; most stuff was person related, personnel files.
“They” / the authority clearly did not want me to be there. I had the strong feeling of being not wanted, looked at with suspicion. The whole thing had some “Eastern” feel, some interiors reminded me of a location in East Germany I had visited ages ago. I was not allowed to use the central catalogue, or any other tools. I was referred to a lousy typed list. My job was to find & collect files, but I was not given a tool to locate them. (There was a “Zentralkatalog”, but I was bluntly dismissed.)
At some point I thought, literally, “Fuck you clowns, I do it my own !”, and that is what I did. I wandered the shelves looking for hints – there are always some ! – and finally got an idea how the whole “stock” was organised. At one point I realised what I had to look for, a signature that started with “St 76 …”. I found some files, and wanted to return for more research the next day, but was denied further admittance.
To this day I have no idea what I was looking for, nor what “St 76 …” stands for. All I know is that – when I finally had found it – I memorised it, I did not want to write it down, I not even said it loud. All I took from this archive is the start of this signature.
I have no clue why this dream stands out, and does not go away.

Fryday

I feel small ; old ; bucklig, hunched. Is “consumed” the right translation for “verbraucht”, is “washed out” more fitting ? I do not know. I feel like a spat out chewing gum.
Occasionally I look into he bathroom mirror, yes the one with this charming light (one bulb is broken again, it’s always the right one), and look at myself. “Take a good look at yerself and describe what you see. And Baby, do you like it ?” As Led Zeppelin put it.
I honestly can say that I do not like what I see : A puffy face with red flecks, greeny-black bags under the eyes ; everything falls down, even my stupid nose.
The working week just was. The news, ah bah. Some pollen do their nasty thing, Haselnuss und Erle (nut’s’n alder) on yellow alert, oh yes, bite me. What concerns me is that yesterday the views of my blog spiked up to one hundred (!) with just two American visitors. The dashboard says that only the main, starting page was visited / seen, no other posts.
Whatever.
What is left is sleep. The hope for deep, undisturbed sleep, preferably without dreams. Last week’s dreams were disturbing, unsettling, I’m glad not to remember.
Now, come on Morpheus, time to trundle off.

… schlummbelum-belum …

I very much like the fact that the Tag der Arbeit  (Ger., Eng.) is celebrated with a day off. I slept in after a night of weird dreams I sadly can not recall, this time I really have interest in them. I woke up several times and had the impression that it was much earlier than it actually was (awoke at five, thought it was about eight in the morning), and when I went back to sleep I had the impression that the dream’s action would simply go on, as if what I had done or “was in” would simply continue. I only “really” slept , dreamless & undisturbed, in the morning and awoke at noon. All this is very unusual for me. Over the last days there was a bit of tension and stress around, but things seem to have cleared up. Now it’s time to finally write down this damn piece about the village’s fountains – yes, I still haven’t done it, shame on me !
Spring took a break, cool weather, grey skies, now and then rain. This morning they erected the Maibaum (Ger., Eng.), with hum-tata and beer, well done lads. While driving I often listen to the Bavarian State Radio’s station 1, and I am a bit astonished how they work on “Bavarian identity” by emphasising “traditions”, be it the maypole, be it “Tracht” (= traditional costumes) – happily spinning the yarn about “age-old” origin and descent of these set pieces. They should know that all this is purest 19th century romanticism, inventions for a purpose in order to construct a kind of identity for a newly formed state, the brand new kingdom of Bavaria, by the grace of Napoleon. Perhaps as a “Franconian” I’m a bit too critical, or I simply do not like the hypertrophied old-Bavarian “mia san mia”-ego, it always smells a bit of stale Weizenbier.
BTW in Munich finally a museum was opened that deals with the history of the Hauptstadt der Bewegung (Ger.) ; Munich was remarkably reluctant to tackle this topic over the last seventy years, while Nuremberg, the Stadt der Reichsparteitage, attacked this heritage a bit more offensive.
While the look into the news of this week was mostly frightening, I find one thing a bit outstanding : There is the small chance that what we call the universe is in fact a hologram, a kind of projection then. Perhaps it’s all shadow-play only, and some of the players got awfully drunk and rude, that could explain some of the murderous nonsensical atrocities one has to watch while stumbling over this planet. On the other hand, those responsible for blossoms, flowers, petals and scents did a fine job. Oh, and cats too, of course.