i am horribly flawed and reminiscent.
memories
curiosity
photography
dreams
words
veganism
music
hello my dear
creations
reasons you should love me
conversations
some of my theories
typewriter
youtube
cats
amanda palmer
tegan & sara
floral
OH MY GOSH BUT WAIT JUST REMEMBERED TEGAN AND SARA WERE IN MY DREAM LAST NIGHT LIFE IS WORTH LIVING OKAY THAT IS ALL
My mind is in such a state of unrest. Such a state is ill-equipped to tackle the emotions I felt just a moment ago. They are emotions notwithstanding and my words are not functioning proper grammatically. I am living within the dreams I experience while I am asleep. Everything is imaginary. Music repeats and music overlays itself. And music is the theme. Left out in the rain or falling down hills or playing off the backdrops or from an actual you on an actual dreamstage and I hear and dreaming is all in one because my mind is multifaceted, it is not of a single dimension.
going home today for the rest of the weekend
i’m going to garden and such
it will be swell
also why are you always in my dreams? not that it’s bad or anything, it just doesn’t make any sense to me.
also have really strange dreams so i don’t know why i’m concerned about this over any if the other stuff that happens in them.
"If dreaming really were a kind of truce
(as people claim), a sheer repose of mind,
why then if you should waken up abruptly,
do you feel that something has been stolen from you?
Why should it be so sad, the early morning?
It robs us of an inconceivable gift,
so intimate it is only knowable
in a trance which the nightwatch gilds with dreams,
dreams that might very well be reflections,
fragments from the treasure-house of darkness,
from the timeless sphere that does not have a name,
and that the day distorts in its mirrors.
Who will you be tonight in your dreamfall
into the dark, on the other side of the wall?"
(as people claim), a sheer repose of mind,
why then if you should waken up abruptly,
do you feel that something has been stolen from you?
Why should it be so sad, the early morning?
It robs us of an inconceivable gift,
so intimate it is only knowable
in a trance which the nightwatch gilds with dreams,
dreams that might very well be reflections,
fragments from the treasure-house of darkness,
from the timeless sphere that does not have a name,
and that the day distorts in its mirrors.
Who will you be tonight in your dreamfall
into the dark, on the other side of the wall?"
— Jorge Luis Borges, Dream
(Source: seeyoulateraggregator, via boredomandterrorconsume)
