Semper mortuus

[muckefuck]

In my dreams, 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.

Comments

[vschanoes.livejournal.com]

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.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

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.