It's not uncommon to wake from a lurid dream still caught in the moment, pursued by the hounds of hell, in the arms of the imagined lover, out in front of the audience, swimming, flying. Eyes are open, can see the room, but at first the creation of the sub-consciousness doesn't recede.
This morning, surfacing into the real world, I felt certain that I was instead standing facing the recycling bins that are situated in front of the Hotel Oden, diagonally opposite the Gustaf Vasa church. It was evening and I had nothing in my hands to post through the slots. I had that impression, not for as much as a minute, but all the same for a very long time.
Our dreams give the most free and intense expression to our imagination, yet mine serves me a profound moment of banality.
Words, from a mostly metrocentric perspective. See Metrocentricity for pictures.
19 May 2009
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