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in a web of glass, pinned to the edges of vision

you know, I'd rather not dream.

I'd forgotten how often we saw Magritte

mucha mosaic

you know, I'd rather not dream.

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mucha mosaic
So I had what started as a tedious dream last night. Was at my parents' house, for some reason my father had decided that Tad Williams' 'Otherland' quartet looked like good reading.
So he borrowed them.

Now, despite the fact that these books have pretty distinct and unified covers and spines, Dad for some reason had thought that about 20 other books by different authors were of the same series, and I was patiently picking through the box looking for the four he wanted to borrow while explaining that he only needed those four-- and then I notice this... pocket on my left hand.
Look at the palm of your hand. Now imagine you're wearing a rubber glove, and on that rubber glove is a small little pocket where it bent against itself while it was cooling. Put this at the base of your ring finger, right along that crease that separates 'palm' from 'finger'.
Now turn the rubber into your skin. Okay, I think to myself, no idea how that happened but no big deal- I'll just stretch my hand outwards a bit, and that'll tear the adhered skin and I'll be back to normal.
Streeetch-- and THE SKIN OF MY PALM CAME UNATTACHED, in a line from below the index finger over to the pinkie-- and then partway down from the index towards the thumb.
There wasn't any blood, none at all- it was like opening up a rubber doll: painless, and easy. And I could see- what in hell was that- what the- Oh, they're the bones of my hand. Huh. And if I move my fingers they- yep, they DO move. That's- Oh, shit, I should probably wrap this up, that'd be a terrible place to get something stuck and wind up with an infection, Hey mom look at this--

And I woke up terrified.

Anybody got the faintest guess what THAT could be about?
  • I somehow have the idea the extreme image of the hand skin peeling off isn't the crux of the dream. I think it's the beginning of the dream, which seems very specific.
    A very quartet book series, 'Otherland'. Quoted from a review: (This is the story of our struggle to hold onto the worlds of our futuristic imagining -- whether they are found in inner space or outer space -- while keeping the memory of our past safe for our children.) The set is also discussed as being metaphor for imaginings online, for complex alternate personas acting in stories.
    Your Father, in his house, thought the subject of your "otherland" was not so simple, that it was in some twenty volumes. You knew it to be simple, unified, designed with a commonality of covers, and went to look for the set of four that would informe, even please your Father's interest, given he only 'needed' the four to share a view into your "otherland".
    Sounds very sweet in fact that the two of you were looking for a commonality to share, given text can do that even for strangers.
    But something in you, the dreamer, didn't think that so sweet, and that part of you took another path, a shocking image that distracted you so completely you were worried, called for help and woke up confused.
    But it's all you writing the dream, choosing the images and language to communicate the emotions. So, your Father is your historical ego looking for more entry into your 'otherland', into your travel into your own hopes for future travelings (even within poetic metaphor, given Otherlands seems to be a set of creative thoughts rich in intellectual dimension.) You the dreamer have a simple unified path to learn and travel those hoped-for elegant futures (only you know what that path you hope for might be), yet you have a fear something terrible might intervene and shock, confuse.
    Hey, sounds all logical to me.:) we all want to take the risk, to learn and grow, but some of us also have a fear it might go into something unexpected that could 'rip our skins'.
    I say, just keep on writing, and yea for dreams!
    Now I bet that's more than you ever wanted you green snake you..:)
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