That Alphonse Mucha poster actually does remind me why I travel, and the mood I need to keep myself in when I do so. Jeunes filles. 2pm wake from another strange Brexit tinged dream, army of bureaucrats charged with enacting the Brexit try to stick to pure leavers or remainers, but impossible as so many people torn even in themselves, so just let everyone enact it and then I felt the increased Priapic power of going ahead and f–king anyway.
Well a totally disturbed sleep today, waking constantly, checking time to see it still early. A sexy dream about office to everyone’s steamy lubricious rising priapic shock determinedly turning towards Brexit, and it felt an Italianate Brexit. Woke with erection, feeling so steamy lubricious. Is this the start of the countdown to my Brussels holiday? So randy now.
7am woke tossing and turning dreaming about living in a small poky basement flat, waiting for —— and — to come back from holiday, and desperately trying to clean the place up before they got back. But all the time I was feeling a sense of shame and misery that I could not be the man —— wanted me to be and deserved, I would always let her down, despite me loving her so much. A sad dream.
Well I slept through to 1457 today. Was dreaming about arriving in Vienna, I was thinking I have arrived like this before or I have dreamed this before, not sure how meta the thought was. I was near head of line of people who had just disembarked from a train or coach or something, and we are now walking across a big square, up a black iron ladder, swinging legs over black rails at top over black iron bridge then down ladder at other side. Woman with baby and I thought again she has not prepared any internet access for herself or her child. Shake my head. Sure I have had this exact dream before, but I wake up and still feel no desire at all to return to Vienna. It is too far, and therefore feels too expensive, and that I have stretched myself too thin. The further from home I travel the more the money worries me and feels harder to justify, more I want to be heading home.
I dreamed of —— again last night; it was lovely to be with her in a dream at least. I can’t remember what happened now, but she was happy & smiling & beautiful & hugging me. Will we really never be together again?
Wake up just 1pm busting for piss, wet down below either from leaked piss or sweat, tossing & turning in horrible dream, I am in desert, trying to hide and escape from enemy soldiers, some Arabian Nights fantasy. But even if I hid and escape, where to ? Just into endless desert? Or I can fly by force of mind like a djinni and fly across the desert?
A most bizarre and heavy long dream about 18th century adventurers sailing across southern seas to land where they believed the 2nd incarnation of Jesus was living, there they meet a man coming out to meet them and they walk across to meet him, a Charles Cogan Lewis. A bearded, brown-suited, top-hatted Victorian gentleman who apparently was Jesus. I cannot remember any more but it was a portentous and ominous dream. I felt the power of their quest, and their belief that this was Jesus, and the momentous moment of their meeting. I wake exhausted, shattered, aching all over.