muckefuck: (zhongkui)
[personal profile] muckefuck
In my dreams, [ profile] monshu is always dead. Or I should say "has died". A couple weeks ago, I dreamt that I found him sitting up in a corner of the kitchen, frail and wrapped in a blanket, and I wondered how to break it to him that he couldn't keep on using that body since we'd cremated it. Last night was more positive: he had the robust physique of the days before the NET. It occurred to me while coming downstairs to find him lying supine on a cot or window seat on the landing of the grand staircase where he'd slept the previous night, that he could have died again after coming back to life, so I was joyful to find him alive and kicking. I had a question about what had been going through his mind during the last moments before he died that I was anxious to ask, but I discovered the timing was inopportune: he'd just finished wanking. Maybe there was an exception last week, when I dreamt we were making a return visit to a skerry in Scotland. I don't remember being particularly conscious of him being restored to life then, but I woke up with the notion in my head of saving a handful of his ashes to toss into Kilbrannan Sound.
Date: 2017-02-03 06:51 pm (UTC)

From: [identity profile]
You might eventually be able to dream about him alive. For a couple of years I'd always remember my dad was dead when he showed up in my dreams, and wake up, but for the last few years I've been able to just hang out with him as if it's no big thing. It's really nice.
Date: 2017-02-04 04:03 am (UTC)

From: [identity profile]
the mind & psyche are really fucking unreal, eh?
Date: 2017-02-07 10:36 pm (UTC)

From: [identity profile]
My dreams about my late best friend were like that. I always knew she was dead, but for some reason I was seeing her again. In one she came back so I could take a better picture to have of her, but I woke up before I could find the camera.
Date: 2017-02-08 06:17 pm (UTC)

From: [identity profile]
I wish I'd taken more pictures before he got so sick. There's almost nothing from our early days together--we didn't make prints or backups and lost most of those photos.

More than that, though, I wish I'd made recordings of his voice. Now all I have is the outgoing message on the answering machine and a few cranky minutes of video he recorded by accident in the acute care facility.


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