08
Mar
11

tuesday (chapter 2)

veni.  it is not unusual, during one of his naps, for him to lose consciousness so deeply that waking seems an intrusion, that cold, hard slap of reality & as he pulls himself up to sit at the side of the bed, befuddled & possibly bemused by what had been playing in his mind moments before.  that alternate universe fuzzy & warm, a little tingling in his crotch warm (men, you know,) his hands warm from the covers as they rub his eyes & run through his hair (such as it is.)

vidi.  the thoughts that had just seconds ago been so real, recede ‘poof!’ a wisp of smoke on the horizon (a message) & he stands, perhaps stretching, deciding whether one foot will be placed in front of the other, the sleep sloughing off him, a warm shower of memory & pleasure (what, what, what had he been dreaming about? it was less real & more visceral, a series of sensations, emotional & physical & intellectual–there may have been images associated with those feelings, thoughts, but were secondary to how he was processing the information provided by his mind.)

vici.  a dog is sleeping by the window, laying in a pile of comforter & fluffy dog bed, snoring; he leans across the animal, a distance of a couple of feet & pushes through the curtains to shut the window, the dog doesn’t stir.  standing in this eggplant-painted (aubergine said the paint chip)  room in his underwear, the skylight from the bathroom sending a column of light across the floor to the bed as he turns to make his way (still slightly dopey from the sleep, walking in the deep end of the pool, if you were watching from that corner of the room where the spider lives, you’d notice him using his arms to break through the wakening resistance, the ripples & waves of air visible.)

it is only by stepping onto the cold marble tile of the bathroom does he begin to really slough off the dream, nap, sleep, the depth from which he has climbed out of to stand at the bowl, a warm stream splashing, a little current of pleasure tingling up his spine, the remnants of the dream, the nap, the loss (its little death.)

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© Robert Patrick, and Cultivar, 2008-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts, photographs and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Robert Patrick and Cultivar with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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