Sometimes I get so absorbed in a book that the world around me disappears completely and I was reading Everything is Illuminated again today at school during lunch time. I found shelter behind my hair and the book and tears were rolling down my face and suddenly this guy touched my shoulder to tell me I had to go to class and I wanted to punch him in the face because he disturbed me even though he just wanted to help me but it made me cry even harder sigh. I want to live in that book even though it is so horribly, horribly sad. I want to be every word of it.
You were that ugly, crooked smile that consumed my face whenever I fell off my bicycle - right into the soft, powdery snow.
I think my unconscious mind is experimenting with the amount of pain you can actually feel when you are dreaming. Last night I got pierced through my back with a huge sword, but lived for several hours I think. It was horrible, so horrible. You can actually feel that pain, so so sharp. I can still feel it now.
(The plane-crash-dream hurt a lot as well)
Constantly looking in front of you because you don’t want to see how much blood you’re losing, getting weaker. Weaker, weaker. Trying to find a phone to call your parents, but only running into former friends who you don’t want to know how much you are hurting. Hiding from them in corners and eavesdrop on their conversations about trivial things.
Living towards the point where you are going to collapse, but with acceptance. Only worrying about other people while you are dying.
I stumbled upon a ‘creeping leaves’ parade of little children after our plane crashed.
I felt as anxious as I’ve been feeling every time I stepped into a train recently. We were going to some kind of festival I assume, but had stepped out of the train several times for unknown reasons. My head felt heavy and I remember resting my head on the arm rest between our seats, being held in place by the pressing feeling of sleep approaching.
The train’s speed decreased again. And after having just seen this dreamless, gray mass for a while (Sleep doesn’t seem to speed up time when you are already dreaming.), I could see we had crossed a large distance across the sea and were now coming to a stop on an island.
It wasn’t a big island, I assumed. Though I couldn’t see the sea continue on the other side. The only things I could see in the area were the station, and an enormous building rising up from behind it. Thinking it was an hypermarché of some kind, we walked off into its direction. I was feeling quite hungry after the long voyage, after all.
At first glance, it actually did look like a supermarket. Little gates, check out points, high cabinets. There even were countless people to be seen. But when we walked past the first row of cabinets, there was nothing but an enormous empty factory hall and the countless amount of people in it. We were confused, but the people tried to calm us down. They told us they were planning on demolishing the factory that day, but that it was postponed.
Right after we were being told that, I heard a thump in the distance. Like the sound of dull thunder in the distance. Nobody thought anything of it since they were sure the factory wouldn’t be demolished that day. More thumps, more and more. Light flashes, cracks making their way across the ceiling. Light coming through the cracks. Still nobody moved. I remember thinking that being crushed under the concrete of the structure would be easy. That it would be finally all over for me - that being scared of something is usually less bad than the actually thing, just like death. But when the ceiling started to come down in slow motion, I grabbed Kimberley by the shoulders and started dragging her outsides. Still nobody made a move, except for us.
Later I heard nobody but us survived the bombardements. They all got crushed under the ceiling.
They didn’t feel afraid for a moment.
I was so sure a thunderstorm would break loose above my head any minute. Though I was out at sea and there was just a slight wind blowing through my hair, I was constantly watching the sky, waiting for the first lightning bolt to hit the land ahead of me.
Because I was watching the sky so intensely, I didn’t notice how the water behind me was forming itself into a tidal wave.
(I still thought it was going to thunder when I woke up.)
((The forecast says it is going to thunder today.))
Blood red skies, cobalt blue mist. Enormous castles, water running uphill, falling. Metamorphosis. Philip Glass’ music, hollow feelings.
I love the sound of my door, opening - it’s like a whisper.
My Efteling colleagues in their working clothes, ’Eefje, we came to pick you up for work.’, ‘But I can’t! I have to pick someone up from the station.’ Declining rides to work, walking to the station by the canal, meeting someone at the station, but it turned out to be someone I’d rather stay away from. Efteling bicycles everywhere. Double spiked/pointed, rusty steel shoes, sand-coloured pants that seemed to switch from shorts to trousers and back. Uncomfortability. Switch of scene; I went to work, but found myself in a basement. People from yesterday’s party and some of my new colleagues again. Getting new working clothes, sparkly vests and short see-through shirts, but I got to keep my brown pants. Following the group of people, but the elevator doors closed right before me. There also closed a door behind me and I got trapped in the elevator shaft somehow. The floor under my feet disappeared and I woke up.
A schooltrip. The bus arrived and we were led into a beautiful big white building, to a wide room that looked like a white church with big windows everywhere. I sat down on one of the benches by the window and looked outside. It was this beautiful swamp-like scene with engraved pillars overgrown with ivy. There were eyes on the pillars, looking through the ivy at us. I could see a crooked tower of another church behind the forest in the distance, this one was very dark unlike the one we were in at that moment. The swamp was very restless and kept making wave-like movements and bubbling up. ‘This isn’t Heukelom anymore, is it?’
We were told that, in the swamp, there were many treasures and objects hidden. Everbody wanted to start looking for these treasures right away, without giving it a second thought, but I was terrified to be swallowed by the swamp. My teacher told us then that the ground in the ‘swamp’ was elastic and that it was impossible to be swallowed by it. The ground under my feet, still in the church, started to feel like a not-sticky bubblegum-like substance, and when I tried to stick my foot in it a bit deeper, I could make out something hard. I jumped into the substance and fell down a bit. I pulled and wiped the substance off the hard object and saw it was a little treasure box (it looked exactly like a little box I bought last weekend). I wanted to take it with me to my seat, but my teacher told me we were not going to look for treasures today and would have to wait for tomorrow. Afraid that someone else was going to find it before I got the chance to open it, I tried to put it back as deep as possible. I jumped with all my force into the swamp, but no matter how deep I placed the box back, it came up to its old place. Just where I found it.
I still can’t stand the fact I will never know what was in the box.
In another part of my dream, I went to the psychiatrist with someone I don’t know that well. Only her face. She spoke English, but could understand Dutch. The psychiatrist spoke to her in Dutch and she answered in English. She sneezed and I said ‘gezondheid’ to her. ‘What’s that?’, she asked. ‘I said, gezondheid. We say that to each other when someone sneezes. Don’t you say something like that in America?’, ‘Ha, no, of course not. Don’t be dumb.’, ‘Not something like cheers?’, ‘Well, yes, but nobody ever does that because it sounds dumb.’, ‘Oh.’
Races on bare feet, rocky roads, hurting feet, flashbacks to dreams I’ve had before, but had forgotten about. (rapeseed fields, forests, traveling to france, looking for rolls of film, old farms, walking until you see the land softly being swallowed by mist, by sea water), grandfather’s house, my teacher in sixth grade (I had forgotten his voice, but when I heard it in my dream, I knew it was exactly how his voice sounded).
Dreams and nightmares about meetings, trips abroad, underground malls, themeparks, pink vans and slaughterings with giant knives and stitched up wounds.
Books books books books books.